Page 61 of Beyond Her Manner
Gillian peered down out of the window as the helicopter ascended smoothly, the buildings below became smaller and smaller. She placed a hand on her stomach, feeling a little queasy. When she took a deep breath, it didn’t go unnoticed.
“Everything is fine,” Viola said through her headset. “I’m a good pilot. Trust me.”
Gillian nodded. She did. Even though she’d never fully trusted anyone besides herself, she had complete faith in Viola’s abilities.
They remained silent during the flight, with Viola occasionally talking to someone Gillian could only assume was air traffic control. She took the opportunity to admire the breathtaking view of the South Downs, with its undulating surface covered in a patchwork of woodlands, hills, and fields. She felt an incredible sense of freedom as if she were detached from the world below, soaring effortlessly through the air.
They couldn’t have been in the air more than ten minutes before they began descending. The weightlessness gave way to a slight pressure as the landscape below loomed larger.
Gillian stole a glance at Viola; her concentration never wavered as she skilfully navigated their descent onto a large expanse of grass in front of a Victorian mansion.
As Viola commenced what appeared to be shutdown checks, Gillian took the opportunity to collect herself. She automatically moved the sun visor, hoping to find a mirror, then felt foolish as she remembered she was in a helicopter. When Viola wasfinished, she shot around to Gillian’s side and opened the door for her, holding out a hand to assist her.
“Enjoyable? Or are you ordering a taxi to take you home?” Viola asked, as they joined the path from the lawn to the restaurant.
Gillian thought before answering. “It was tolerable, I suppose.” She hadn’t exactly enjoyed it, but it hadn’t been as bad as she was expecting. Like a plane, the takeoff and landing had been the most terrifying, but they were over swiftly.
Viola’s forehead furrowed as her eyebrows lifted playfully. “Only tolerable? Maybe I should call you that taxi.”
“I’m sure I can find it tolerable and still request a ride home.” Gillian grinned.
“Let’s see how you behave in the restaurant first,” Viola teased, nudging her shoulder into Gillian’s. “It’s Michelin-starred, so none of your rudeness or I’ll call you a taxi myself.”
There was a time when she would have objected to such a statement, yet now, she found herself smiling at Viola’s gentle teasing.
A doorman greeted them at the entrance to the restaurant and led through several oak-panelled corridors with high, ornate, moulded ceilings and crystal chandeliers. A waiter seated them at a table overlooking the lawn and the helicopter.
They exchanged awkward smiles as they took their seats at the beautifully laid table for two. Not wishing to add to the giddiness she was still feeling from the helicopter ride, Gillian ordered an orange juice from the waiter when he returned a few minutes later.
“Would you prefer something stronger?” Viola questioned. “Please don’t feel like you can’t partake because I’m not.”
“I’m feeling a little light-headed from the flight,” Gillian replied, hoping it was simply that and had nothing to do with the beautiful woman across the table, who was currently removingher blazer. A hot sweat washed over her, and she picked up the menu to fan herself. She needed to get a grip. Feelings like the ones Viola just caused were a thing of the past and needed to stay there. “So,” Gillian continued, desperately trying to think of something to distract herself, “flying… is it even called flying if it isn’t in a plane?”
Viola raised an eyebrow at her.
Gillian could have slipped under the table and never come out. Why did she say that? Why was her brain all mushy?
“I suppose we could call it ‘helicoptering’ if you think that works better. Traditionally it’s called flying.”
The heat searing through her intensified from embarrassment. “Oh yes. Of course.”
“Are you okay, Gillian?” Viola said as she tracked the ever-faster-moving menu. “You look a bit red.”
Gillian put the menu down and stood up. “Yes, fine, thank you. I’ll just nip to the…” She trailed off, spotting a directional sign for the lavatories.
Grabbing her handbag, she headed towards it. Her head was heavy and her mind fuzzy. Reaching the toilets, she stood in front of a mirror and took deep breaths. She desperately wanted some cold water on her face. Knowing it would ruin her make-up, she settled for washing her hands instead.
A woman appeared from one of the cubicles and their eyes met in the mirror. The woman, who bore a vague familiarity Gillian couldn’t place, flashed her a smile. Gillian returned it and focused on washing the soap off her hands as the woman washed hers. Catching a brief look at her in the mirror, Gillian noticed she was still smiling to herself. She looked genuinely happy and at ease.
Gillian tried to recall if she had ever felt like that in the previous years — or decades even. What did one have to do in life to have such a smile on one’s face? She recalled the briefmoment when she had thought the manor was all hers; she had felt genuine happiness then, until it was ripped from her clutches.
Throwing her damp towel in the laundry bin, she turned to leave, giving a final glance towards the still-smiling woman. Navigating her way back to the table she racked her brain, trying to place her.
“The dry cleaners,” Gillian muttered as she retook her seat opposite Viola. Their drinks had arrived, so she took a refreshing sip of orange juice.
“Dry cleaners?” Viola asked, a questioning eyebrow raised.
“I saw a woman in the lavatories. I couldn’t place her at first, but now I realise she’s the woman you helped with her dry cleaning.”
