THE plane was fitted out like something out of a James Bond movie. Nikolai was accustomed to first-class international travel, but this was mind boggling.

He couldn’t cut and run now, leaving Rose to face the consequences, but he felt like it. He buckled his seat belt with grim resolution. Let’s get this over with.

For the first part of the flight he was alone, apart from a dark-suited, elderly attendant who spoke in monosyllables. Somewhere up front there’d be a flight crew, but he never saw them. Erhard had made the arrangements. He just had to trust Erhard. Only, why hadn’t Erhard answered his calls for the last few days? How sick was he?

What was Nick walking into?

Rose was due to catch the flight in Newcastle. He’d committed. To marriage.

Yes, to marriage, and it seemed weird. He sank into the luxurious upholstery and let his thoughts go where they willed. They asked questions he couldn’t answer. Things like, would Rose get cold feet? What if Erhard’s illness wasn’t the reason for his withdrawal? How alone would they be?

It wasn’t an uncivilised country they were going to, he told himself, his unease deepening with every mile they drew further from London. The worst that could happen was that he and Rose were asked to leave. Or refused permission to land.

The plane was in the air. His escape was cut off. Next step Rose.

‘Would you like refreshments? A beer?’ an expressionless fight attendant-Griswold, according to his name badge-asked him, and Nick shook his head.

‘No, thank you.’ He didn’t need a beer. He needed to keep every faculty crystal-clear.