The pilots indicated that they were ready and the bird lifted a little off the turf. Donald looked over at Bart, who was like a small child peering out of the window. He had to admit it was a luxurious model. The interior was all tan leather and mahogany tables, seating a capacity of at least fifteen. What a waste of money, Donald thought, but that was the point with Bart. The upholstery smelled new, and at least the opulence gave him some sort of comfort. From their elevation, Donald could see the housekeeper’s car returning from dropping off the girls. He felt his groin stir, and that was the problem with clandestine lasciviousness: it was intoxicating. Like the first time one tastes sugar: a desirous seed is planted and grows stronger and stronger until the passion for it exceeds all sensibility. But that was the thing about money: it had the power to transcend all boundaries.

‘I’ve asked them to fly over Scafell Pike,’ Bart gushed.

‘What?’ Donald asked in horror.

‘Oh, don’t worry, Donald, you’ll love it.’ Bart patted him on the knee and the contraption rose steadily further up into the air, until it nodded to the sprawling stone estate of Laurie Fell that had been their home for the weekend, before spinning round and up over Lake Ullswater, which he could see snaking away like a lazy fat serpent. For a moment, Donald forgot his fears: this was no Iraq or Kuwait. He held his breath as the mountains came into view and the vista mesmerised him into silence. The brandy helped, and the memory of the two girls.

Scafell Pike was to the west, and, like all the high peaks at Christmas time, covered in snow. The sky was bright blue and Donald felt his heart leap as he took in the views, committing them into his memory bank, in order to tell his wife.

It had been a damn fine weekend.

Chapter 3

Kelly parked in the multi-storey next to the shopping centre. It was away from the courthouse and she knew the way around the back from there. The press would be all over the place and waiting for her to turn up, and she could barely handle it as it was, without having to face them as well. It was a sensational story.

…Female copper limps home to Cumbria after being implicated in a fuck-up in the Met, tries to become superwoman, lording it up back home, but never quite fitting in, and then falling flat on her face again. Oh, and dumped by her boyfriend too, the great Johnny Frietze, decorated ex-army officer, mountain rescue legend and champion of PTSD. What a bloke…

What a loser she was.