I’d been driving for Sir Derek for about four and a half years and never received a complaint.
I doubt that he knew my name, but I was unconcerned.
The salary was good and the fringe benefits were better.
Let me explain.
I have a good memory and it came in handy when I drove Sir Derek to work each day. This was the time of day when he would review his share portfolio.
“Never trade when the market is open.”
This advice was not coming my way, of course, but I made note of it nonetheless.
Things were going along nicely and I was amassing quite a little nest egg following Sir Derek’s trades.
Unfortunately someone left the gate open and I kept on driving, right onto the tarmac.
Sir Derek was busy reading through an important contract and the sound of the aircraft approaching barely penetrated the cabin of the Rolls Royce.
I slammed on the brakes and Sir Derek slid forward in his seat and hit his head on the polished wood.
He wasn’t very happy and he would have survived long enough to give me a good ‘telling off’, but, unfortunately, the tip of the still spinning propeller hit the top of the limousine and a piece of metal embedded itself into Sir Derek’s skull.
He didn’t say much after that.
I managed to avoid going to prison by saying that Sir Derek ordered me to drive onto the runway. Sir Derek had such a fearsome reputation that I was eventually believed.
I lost my job but by then I had enough to retire on.
The money that the magazine gave me for my exclusive story ‘How I survived the carnage in a silver Rolls Royce’, was enough to buy me a small house in the suburbs.
My only requirement was that the house needed to be as far as possible away from any flight path.