The weather was slightly better, otherwise Tiger would have had to wait longer than anticipated at the helicopter terminal on St Mary’s. He had dropped the Ordnance Survey team on St Agnes and been instructed by his base to fly to St Mary’s and pick up a co-pilot. The firm had been a pilot short for a month now, without any sign of a replacement for old Eric who had finally retired to his cottage in Dorset. The new pilot would be billeted with him for the rest of the week, sitting in the left-hand seat, before doing any independent flying, just so that safety procedures could be confirmed and so that Tiger could make sure the new recruit was up to scratch. There were only two men in the Ordnance Survey team so the new pilot could conveniently be accommodated.

He had a name and a description. Sam Ross. Red hair. About thirty-five. Medium height. He scrutinized the passengers as they came off the Penzance helicopter. He wondered if his expected contact had missed the flight until a voice asked, ‘Are you Tiger?’

He turned around to see a redheaded thirty-five-year-old of medium height. ‘I’m Sam Ross,’ she said.

Tiger covered his embarrassment at making the obvious false assumption and shook her hand. ‘Hi! Tiger Wilson. Can I take your bag?’

She shook her head. ‘No thanks. I can manage. Where do we go?’

Tiger indicated the small cafe. ‘Coffee first?’

‘Yeah. Thanks.’

Had Tiger been expecting a woman, this is not the sort of woman he would have been looking for. Sam Ross was bright-eyed with short red hair. Her eyes were light blue and her skin pale except for the lightly flushed cheeks. She seemed almost too slight to be a helicopter pilot. Her fingers were long and delicate–those of an artist–but her slender figure presumably belied her strength.

They sat down at a table. Tiger was surprised at how relaxed she seemed to be. He was expecting a kind of worried intensity–the sort that usually accompanies someone embarking on a new job, in a new place and with new people. Instead, Sam Ross seemed totally at ease.

‘So you know the Jet Ranger?’ he asked.

‘Pretty well. Flown them for two years now, along with Squirrels.’

‘And how long have you been flying altogether?’

‘Oh, since I was eighteen. Got my private pilot’s licence in my twenties. Couldn’t keep me out of the sky after that. But I never thought I’d be able to do it for a living.’

‘We do have female airline pilots.’

‘Yes, but it’s bloody hard. And there are lots of men who wish we weren’t there.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘Sorry. Did that sound a bit heavy?’

Tiger shook his head.

‘Didn’t mean it to be. But you do get looked up and down a bit. I think a lot of guys think you must be…you know…the other way.’