The Wave at Hanging Rock: A Psychological Mystery and Suspense Thriller by Gregg Dunnett

men who were crossing the scary bridge. And she asks them questions. You know, a questionnaire. They have to interpret ambiguous pictures, squiggly lines. They have to tell her what they think they can see in them. And when they finish the woman gives them her name and her phone number, just in case they have any questions about the questionnaire they’ve just done. I’m sure that’s normal for psychologists?”
    “Pretty much standard practice.”
    “Right. Anyway, the same woman then did the exact same experiment again, but this time on a normal bridge, a few feet above a little stream. This time think, I dunno, Pooh sticks. Teletubby land. A bridge you wouldn’t feel scared on. And you know what they found?”
    “ Misattribution of arousal.” Natalie said. She remembered the case now.
    “So you do know it?” Jim sounded disappointed.  
    “Yes and no.” She said quickly. “I’m not really familiar with it.”
    “OK,” he said slowly. “Well perhaps I should go on. What they found was the men who met the same sexy researcher, same low cut top, on the scary bridge were more likely to interpret the images as sexual, and twice as likely to phone the researcher afterwards and ask for a date. What about that? There was a link between fear and attraction.”
    “Really?”
    “Yeah. And you know what the really interesting bit is?”
    “No.”
    “They did the same experiment again, but reversed, so that it wasn’t guys being tested but girls , and they found exactly the same thing. Put the girls in a heightened state of stimulation - if I can use that word - and they’re more likely to link that to thoughts of sex. More likely to find the person they’re with attractive.”
    “That’s fascinating,” Natalie said. “I must remember that if I ever meet a sexy man with a clipboard on a bridge.”
    “I think that would be wise.”
    “Well thank you.” It occurred to her for a moment that this was all he’d phoned to tell her, but he didn’t keep her wondering for long.  
    “So anyway, that wasn’t why I phoned. Are you busy tonight? I know this great restaurant.”
    “ Tonight?”
    “Too short notice?”
    She thought of the books. There was a bottle of white wine in the fridge. Half of it had her name on, the other half her flatmate’s.  
    “Not exactly.”
    “That’s a relief as I’ve already booked it. There’s just one problem.”
    “What’s that?”
    “The restaurant’s in Ireland.” He didn’t give her time to take that in. “Actually that’s not the problem. I didn’t tell you but I’ve just bought my own helicopter. The problem is I got it second hand. It might be a bit shaky, rattly. Some important bits might fall off on the way over. It might be a little scary if you know what I mean.”
    “Slow down. What are you talking about?”
    “You’ve flown in a helicopter before right?”
    “What? No.”
    “Oh. In that case it’ll definitely be scary. Flying out over the sea like that. Nothing below you but the churning waves. You’ll have to be careful not to let that fear/attraction thing affect you.”
    She shook her head. She said the only thing she could think of.
    “I’ll do my best.” She wondered if he could hear the smile in her voice.
    “Can you meet me at the airport in an hour?”
    “ One hour?! ”

    It hadn’t been nearly enough time, but she didn’t want to be late. She showered with the door open, shouting out to her flatmate questions about what one wore for a first date in a helicopter. They settled on a summery dress with a denim jacket. Matching pants and bra, thank God there was something clean. Then she drove, as he’d told her to, around the side from the airport’s main entrance where a smaller road she had never noticed before took her to a little car park. Inside the perimeter fence a number of helicopters were parked up, and further away a collection of light aircraft. He was standing by a gate. He waved her into a space and then punched a