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“I know what you mean. It’s exhilarating.” I’ve never done this before, and it’s a whole new experience to be open to the fresh air as the balloon begins to head west toward the city of Exeter.
“This is amazing,” I say to Alan, who grins.
“I know. We’ve done this a few times because it’s such a fantastic experience. I had to organize it for you both when I knew you were coming.”
I look away. He’s doing everything he can to try to persuade me to stay. And that’s fair enough. I guess I’d do the same if I was in his position.
“We’re lucky that the summer weather has held for so long,” Vicky says.
“It’s been gorgeous,” Heidi agrees. “Last year July was a washout.” She blinks, then bites her lip. “So my grandma said, anyway.”
My heart skipped a beat, but neither Alan nor Vicky seem to have noticed her slip. Heidi meets my gaze and grimaces before looking away. I give her shoulders a squeeze. I was the idiot who didn’t put Alan straight when he assumed we were a couple, and I don’t want her to feel bad.
The hot-air balloon flies at about ten miles per hour, and it gives us plenty of time to see the sights and admire the view. We fly slowly over the city of Exeter, while Ria starts pointing out places of interest, like the remains of the Norman Rougemont Castle, the winding River Exe, and then the cathedral, resplendent in the middle of the green, and she traces the playing-card shape where the Roman fortress once stood.
After that we continue to head west, out across the patchwork quilt of the Devon countryside. William takes us to the edge of the moors, and when Ria tells us we’re flying over the town of Briarton, Heidi peers over, looking for her cottage, although we’re too far up to make it out.
It takes us about ninety minutes to fly as far as Haytor, where we drove to the other day. We look down at the brown, purple, and green bruise of the moors, the ancient gray rocks, and the tiny ponies.
“It’s an amazing country,” I murmur to Heidi. We’re cuddled up as it’s quite fresh up here in the air, despite us both wearing jackets—plus I can’t keep my hands off her.
“I love it,” she replies. “I feel so at home here, in a way I don’t in New Zealand. I don’t know why.”
I kiss her brow. “Maybe because you’re half English.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
My lips rest against her temple. I suspect it’s more to do with her escaping her father’s control and being able to live her life the way she wants here, although I don’t say as much.
The more I’m with her, though, the more I realize it would be a mistake to try to persuade her to return to New Zealand. She’s happy here. She has friends and a great job. She is British now, for all intents and purposes. Her life is here. And when her visit to New Zealand is over, I’m sure she’ll be relieved to get back.
Our journey has come to an end, and William begins to return to the airfield. This time, he takes us east to the coast, and then we fly up the coastline, looking down at the thin strips of golden beaches and the deep blue water before we float back up over the kaleidoscope of fields. It’s a fantastic flight, and it’s made me wish I was seeing more of the country.
It’s past nine a.m. by the time we land. We thank William and Ria for the marvelous experience, and then Alan drives us back to Hawkerland Manor. They ask us to join them for breakfast, so we go up to the house and sit with them at the table in the conservatory. Alan calls the chef out, and he asks us to choose from a long menu of possible breakfasts, including a full English breakfast with eggs, bacon, and sausages, as well as things like kedgeree, ricotta hotcakes, omelets, pancakes, and waffles.
I go for the full English, while Heidi chooses the chef’s recommendation of spiced oatmeal fritters with coconut caramel pears.
“Does he work here all the time?” Heidi asks when the chef excuses himself to cook our meals.
Alan chuckles. “No. We used to have a full-time housekeeper when the girls lived at home, and she did a lot of the cooking because we were always so busy. But now they’re gone, she only comes part-time. She does leave us some meals that we just throw in the oven when we don’t feel like cooking, but when we have guests, we hire a proper chef from a local firm.”
“What would you like to do this afternoon?” Vicky asks. “We were wondering if there was anywhere nearby you’d like to visit? We thought maybe Bath?”
Heidi’s eyes light up. “I’d love to go to,” she says breathlessly.
“Did you have any plans?” Alan asks me.
“I was thinking about doing some work,” I say, “but I guess I can be talked out of it.”
“Of course you can!” Vicky protests.
“I can hire a helicopter at the flying school,” Alan says, “and we’ll pick up a car the other end.”
“Sounds terrific.” Part of me would like to have spent the day in bed with Heidi, but as appealing as that sounds, I know how much she’ll love going, and I’m interested to see somewhere Roman.”
So after we’ve eaten breakfast, Alan flies the four of us up to Bath, then drives us from the airport to the site of the Roman baths. It completely blows me away, and Heidi is in her element. We end up spending a couple of hours walking around the Sacred Spring, the Roman Temple, the Roman Bath House, and then the finds belonging to the ancient people of Aquae Sulis, with Heidi giving us a rundown on the history and archaeology. She’s fascinated by the numerous objects that were originally thrown into the baths as offerings, including over twelve thousand Roman coins, and curse tablets—messages inscribed on sheets of lead or pewter, rolled up and thrown into the spring. I love her passion for the place, and I’m glad I was able to visit it with her.
“I guess you know how strange this feels,” I say to Alan as we stand in front of the gilt bronze head of the goddess Sulis Minerva, while Vicky and Heidi have a look around the shop. “It’s two thousand years old. I mean, I know our country is young, but I’ve never really thought about how it must feel to live in a place where people have walked before you for thousands of years.”
