Though the sleigh ran easily enough, the pony’s short legs sank into the snow alarmingly until they got under the lee of a wall bordering the path to the flat, raised ground where the helicopter pad and hangar were situated.
Looking for all the world like a plastic bubble, the helicopter was waiting, its door open, its rotor blades turning gently.
Jack came to meet them and take charge of the sleigh while Rafe, a hand at her waist, escorted her across to the small silver machine.
After a momentary hesitation, she ducked her head and climbed in.
Rafe closed the door and, a moment later, swung in beside her. Then, having fastened both their seat belts, he put on the headset and turned his attention to the controls.
The engine note rose to a whine and a second or so later, the downdraught from the rotor blades whipping up the surrounding powdery snow, they lifted off into the blue, blue sky.
As they levelled out Rafe glanced sideways at her, noting her absolute stillness, the slim hands clasped into fists, the way her eyes were fixed blindly on the control panel.
‘OK?’ he asked above the engine noise.
She nodded without moving her gaze.
Reaching out, he took the nearest hand and squeezed it reassuringly.
She gave him a small, wavering smile.
‘That’s my girl.’
After a minute or so she took a deep breath and forced herself to look down. She was rewarded by a truly fantastic view. A winter wonderland of glistening snow, a montage of fields and hedgerows and silver filigree trees.
Fascinated, she began to pick out small dwellings and isolated farms, streams and roads, and clearly, on the smooth white snow, the tracks of animals.
Then in no time at all, it seemed, the countryside gave way to town and they were coming in to land on the Denaught’s clearly marked helicopter pad.
With its high grey stone walls, its towers and turrets and battlements, the place looked more like a castle than a hotel, Madeleine thought.
On the same wavelength, as he so often was, Rafe raised his voice to tell her, ‘Long before it became one of London’s top hotels, the Denaught was a fortified country house belonging to Sir Ian Bolton.
‘After the Bolton family died out, the place stood empty for a time until some property developer realised its potential.’
When they touched down and the rotor blades slowed, he removed his headset and, unfastening their seat belts, queried, ‘So how do you feel about your first helicopter flight?’
She surprised herself by saying, ‘I enjoyed it. I hadn’t expected to, as I’m terrified of heights.’
‘It’s somewhat different from standing on the edge of a precipice.’
‘I pictured it as being just as terrifying.’ She laughed.
‘But still you came.’ His voice was dry.
She hoped he hadn’t guessed what she had in mind. It would make getting away all the more difficult, if he had.
But if the worst came to the worst, she would refuse point blank to go back with him. And if he tried to force her she would kick up a fuss, she decided as he came round to help her out.
The Denaught appeared to be very busy, and she was greatly cheered to see a red-coated doorman dealing with a steady trickle of taxis arriving at, and leaving, the main entrance.
There was much less snow here, a mere carpet compared to the thick covering they’d left behind them, which made walking easy even in fashion boots.
‘Better make the most of it,’ Rafe said, when she remarked on the fact. ‘If the forecast is right, we’ve more heavy snow coming overnight, with blizzards in our neck of the woods…’
‘Good afternoon, Mr Lombard…madam…’ A youngish, round-faced man in a smart navy-blue uniform appeared from nowhere. ‘Lovely day.’
‘It is indeed,’ Rafe answered.
‘If you and the lady want to go straight in, I’ll take care of things.’
‘Thanks, Steve.’
‘You seem to be well-known here,’ she remarked, as they made their way across the concreted area and through a side-entrance.
‘Yes, it’s a place I often use. Apart from the fact that they have an excellent chef, the helicopter pad is extremely useful, and I keep a car here,’ he added nonchalantly.
As they reached the foyer, with its crackling log fire and seasonal decorations, a grey-haired, distinguished-looking man wearing a cream carnation in his buttonhole, bore down on them.
‘Good afternoon, Mr Lombard…’
‘Afternoon, Charles. This is Miss Knight.’
‘Miss Knight…’ Obviously one of the old school, the manager made her a courteous little bow.
‘I must apologise for giving you so little notice, at a peak time,’ Rafe said.
Charles waved away the apology. ‘It’s always a pleasure to have you here, Mr Lombard.’
As their coats were borne away by one of his minions, he added, ‘Your usual table’s ready, and your guest has arrived.’
Rafe nodded. ‘Thanks.’
‘The young lady’s waiting for you in the private lounge.’ He indicated a door to the right.
Madeleine’s thoughts began to race as, a hand beneath her elbow, Rafe escorted her across the foyer towards the lounge.
Remembering his previous phone conversation, she felt hollow inside.
As Fiona couldn’t get to the hall, had he suggested that they meet here?
But if he had, why had he included her? Unless he’d decided that she was safer under his eye than left to her own devices.
After all, he had no idea that she and Fiona had ever met, no idea that she knew about the bargain he had made with his godfather.
And she was hardly likely to tell the other woman how he’d tricked her into going to the hall. So perhaps he was hoping to present her simply in the role of physiotherapist?
The role he had asked her to play.
Another thought struck her. Did he mean to take Fiona back in the helicopter? Though how did he intend to extract ‘reparation’ from her with his fiancée on the scene…?
Well, whatever his intentions, if it was Fiona waiting in there, he had a nasty shock coming.
But if it was Fiona, she’d rather tell him the truth now than have to face the other woman.
At the door to the lounge, her insides churning, she dug her toes in and asked jerkily, ‘Who is it that’s waiting?’
‘You’ll see.’
‘I’d like to know.’
Shaking his head, he said decidedly, ‘That would spoil the surprise,’ and, opening the door, propelled her inside.
She was aware of a log fire burning in what seemed to be a deserted room, before a small figure came hurtling towards her. Almost knocked off balance, she found herself being hugged with a warmth and enthusiasm that went straight to her heart.
‘Katie!’ she exclaimed, half laughing, half crying. ‘How you’ve grown. You’re getting really tall. You almost come up to my chin.’
‘You haven’t changed at all,’ Katie declared. ‘You’re