London by Chance
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Chapter 1:- ...
What Chance de la Croix liked most of all about his new helicopter was the powerful sound of the rotors. Decisive. Reliable. Satisfying.
The rhythmic chopping that accompanied his commute from West Sussex was the reason he'd learnt how to fly to begin with. When the eager young salesman had extolled the speed of the sleek black machine, he hadn't lied. But he'd missed out the best bit.
These blades were the ultimate.
The helicopter had reduced his journey by a good 30 minutes, from his converted rectory on the outskirts of sleepy Watertonville to London's Square Mile business district. Chance considered that he'd invested last month's sizeable bonus wisely. After all, he'd earned it, through sheer hard graft. Making certain that his early evening news and views show, London by Chance, maintained its position as the clear leader in its time slot.
Yes, the helicopter represented a well-deserved reward to himself, for achieving yet another professional goal. No more checking the travel updates for him.
On a gloriously warm, cloudless summer afternoon, he guided the helicopter down to a smooth landing on the rooftop helipad of the Energy-Media TV building. Like he did every day of his adult life, he hit the ground running, jogging at a brisk pace to the stairs and his penthouse office below.
Very briefly, he caught himself thinking that he was running from his past. From memories of doubt and pain which belonged to a younger Chance de la Croix. A doubt and pain that no TV lens ever saw.
He shook the thought from his head, glanced around quickly at the machine which would whisk him home above the traffic later that day, and swiftly descended the stairs. Because if he continued moving, wasn't he moving on? Wasn't he making progress?
His office afforded a stunning view of central London, the air shimmering with heat haze. He kept the office the way he kept his home. Each object in its place and a place for each object. No unnecessary frills, no frivolous purchases. Chrome, leather and glass furniture, which approximated his vague notion of what passed for tasteful. All strictly functional. In a word, it looked like an impersonal showroom, owned by no one.
The room also contained his alert, hard-working young PA Dave Anderson. A man not afraid to add a personal touch that would never occur to Chance. Dave's hobby was gardening, and he filled his office with plants and pots of all shapes, sizes and descriptions.
He'd been with Chance for a little over a year, straight out of university, and helped enormously with the preparation of the week-day show. His upbeat, can-do attitude made Chance's job considerably easier.
Particularly when a major London story broke shortly before broadcast. Or even during it. The twelve year age difference between them had certainly not been an issue. Not when Dave could type a professional script for a breaking story in a matter of minutes.
What Chance de la Croix liked most of all about his new helicopter was the powerful sound of the rotors. Decisive. Reliable. Satisfying.
The rhythmic chopping that accompanied his commute from West Sussex was the reason he'd learnt how to fly to begin with. When the eager young salesman had extolled the speed of the sleek black machine, he hadn't lied. But he'd missed out the best bit.
These blades were the ultimate.
The helicopter had reduced his journey by a good 30 minutes, from his converted rectory on the outskirts of sleepy Watertonville to London's Square Mile business district. Chance considered that he'd invested last month's sizeable bonus wisely. After all, he'd earned it, through sheer hard graft. Making certain that his early evening news and views show, London by Chance, maintained its position as the clear leader in its time slot.
Yes, the helicopter represented a well-deserved reward to himself, for achieving yet another professional goal. No more checking the travel updates for him.
On a gloriously warm, cloudless summer afternoon, he guided the helicopter down to a smooth landing on the rooftop helipad of the Energy-Media TV building. Like he did every day of his adult life, he hit the ground running, jogging at a brisk pace to the stairs and his penthouse office below.
Very briefly, he caught himself thinking that he was running from his past. From memories of doubt and pain which belonged to a younger Chance de la Croix. A doubt and pain that no TV lens ever saw.
He shook the thought from his head, glanced around quickly at the machine which would whisk him home above the traffic later that day, and swiftly descended the stairs. Because if he continued moving, wasn't he moving on? Wasn't he making progress?
His office afforded a stunning view of central London, the air shimmering with heat haze. He kept the office the way he kept his home. Each object in its place and a place for each object. No unnecessary frills, no frivolous purchases. Chrome, leather and glass furniture, which approximated his vague notion of what passed for tasteful. All strictly functional. In a word, it looked like an impersonal showroom, owned by no one.
The room also contained his alert, hard-working young PA Dave Anderson. A man not afraid to add a personal touch that would never occur to Chance. Dave's hobby was gardening, and he filled his office with plants and pots of all shapes, sizes and descriptions.
He'd been with Chance for a little over a year, straight out of university, and helped enormously with the preparation of the week-day show. His upbeat, can-do attitude made Chance's job considerably easier.
Particularly when a major London story broke shortly before broadcast. Or even during it. The twelve year age difference between them had certainly not been an issue. Not when Dave could type a professional script for a breaking story in a matter of minutes.
