They took off and the ’copter swung south, over Derwent Water, heading for the Borrowdale valley, and from there it would begin its climb to the Lingmell Col. She had little time to think about her fear of flying in a machine that defied physics. Modelled on a bumble bee, and an attempt to mimic Mother Nature, the craft was a clumsy excuse for a working aircraft. But the benefit was that it could move up and down, unlike a jet. The craft banked and she caught her breath. Derwent Water was a perfect oval from above, and she stared at the islands made famous by the literature of the past: Swallows and Amazons jumped into her head and the tales of Benjamin Bunny and Squirrel Nutkin. But today she wasn’t heading into the cosy backdrop of a fictional idyll. Soon, the cluster of hills to the south-west grabbed her attention and she saw the great peaks of Pillar, Kirk Fell and Great Gable in the distance. The western fells were black with sheer rock and scree, and some of her most exhilarating climbs had been achieved there, but it was fairly inaccessible and kept the summer tourists, who were more interested in ice creams than proper walking, at bay.

It was a privilege to be flying over them, and Scafell Pike loomed ahead, the highest of them all. They could see plumes of smoke billowing on the wind. The cloud cleared at some points, and Kelly’s stomach knotted as the unusual sight interrupted her adoration for the views. They weren’t here to count peaks.

‘Jesus,’ Johnny said. ‘It must have been full of fuel. Do we know who was in it yet?’

‘No,’ Kelly replied. ‘I’ve got people working on it. It must be a private charter. We’ve contacted Carlisle airport for a list of private aircraft requesting permission to fly over the national park, as well as submitted flight data and plans.’

‘Probably some rich guy from down south holidaying for a few days,’ he said.

Kelly agreed. It was likely that, if Carlisle airport hadn’t approved the take-off from their own turf, then it must be a private charter. There were plenty of private homes with helipads in the Lake District. It was a millionaire’s paradise, with huge modern and traditional homes using vast swathes of land for privately chartered journeys. For those who had no patience for the M6, it was a fun option, if expensive.