The dawn mist still clung to the grass of London Heliport as the Airbus H155 helicopter waited like a steed for its riders. Baroness Angela Dodson of Kesteven stepped out of her car, flanked by her newly appointed secretary and bodyguard, who guided her towards the waiting aircraft.
From a distance, it looked like a dark, elegant bruise upon the grey tarmac… its colour a deep navy so rich it appeared almost black beneath the overcast light, broken only by a sharp silver stripe running the length of its fuselage. As she approached, the scale of the machine asserted itself: the bulbous, glazed nose housing the pilots; the sturdy undercarriage; and the daunting sweep of the five main rotor blades, drooping slightly at rest like the petals of some heavy, metallic flower.
