The Atlantic Sky by Betty Beaty Page A

had time to notice that all the windows were shielded with green shades, and that Captain Maynard was wearing a pair of dark glasses.
    ‘All right,’ Captain Prentice said. ‘We’ll have a break.’ And Captain Maynard pulled off the dark glasses, and wiped the sweat off his forehead.
    ‘Tell Mr. Crosbie, ’ Captain Prentice went on, ‘that we shall be doing some asymmetrical—’
    ‘In other words,’ the other pilot put in with a grin, ‘two engines stopped on one side.’
    ‘—instrument approaches,’ Captain Prentice continued as though he hadn’t spoken, ‘to fifty feet above the runway ... and then climbing up again.’
    ‘Yes, sir.’
    ‘I don’t want to make it any more difficult for Captain Maynard by having the trim of the aircraft upset by more people than are absolutely necessary clumping around in the tail.’
    ‘No, sir.’
    That was all. No smile. No thanks for bringing up the coffee and sandwiches. No interest at all in what was going on at the back.
    When she returned to the cabin, Cynthia was half-way through serving out her trays.
    ‘Ah well, Miss Aylmer,’ Mr. Crosbie said when she gave him the message. ‘You sit down for the present. And after Miss Waring finishes with the port side passengers, you shall have your turn—’ he said it as though it was a privilege she wasn’t going to miss, ‘with the starboard.’
    Ten minutes later, when Cynthia, too, had collected her verbal pat on the back from Mr. Crosbie, and was eating her own lunch in her seat, Patsy found herself alone in the galley, putting the cups on her share of the trays.
    And it was then that she realized that the galley was moving from side to side. She looked out of the window, and the wings seemed to be see-sawing up and down.
    She poured out the coffee, and then suddenly a frightening feeling of nausea came over her. It was too hot in here, that’s what it was. Firmly she took the tray and walked out into the cabin.
    But somehow, the aisle had become a cake-walk. The coffee slopped into the saucer. She clutched at the back of a seat with her free hand, but it seemed to twist away from her. Then there was a frightening dip down that appeared to take her with it. These awful deep plunges Were like nothing she had ever experienced before. She saw grey and white cloud scud past the portholes.
    At last things were steadier, and she managed to provide Myra Yorke with the tray.
    The other girl gave her a sympathetic sideways glance, and asked her if she felt all right.
    ‘I’m fine,’ Patsy said. ‘Really I am.’
    The second tray was easier. I’m getting the hang of it, Patsy tried to tell herself, but half-way through the third tray, the wobbling started up, and again the aisle started tipping. This time, the coffee slopped all over the tray. Patsy felt herself go dizzy, and Just at that same moment an enormous lurch seemed to tip the whole of the cabin sideways. The plastic cup keeled over and plummeted down to the carpet. The plate slipped off and scattered meat and potatoes all over the aisle.
    Patsy started at an enormous dark brown stain that looked as though it was growing bigger and bigger. She bit her lip hard as she bent down over the debris. ‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘I don’t know what happened—’
    Mr. Crosbie came over immediately. Instead of the look-what-you’ve-done-you-silly-girl attitude she expected, he said kindly, ‘It was difficult for you, Miss Aylmer. Very difficult indeed.’
    They were together on their knees in the aisle, mopping up as best they could, when the door of the flight deck opened, and Captain Prentice came in.
    He did not offer to help. He looked down at the coffee stain, the bits of broken potato and meat on the immaculate upholstery. All he said to Patsy was, ‘It would have to be the newest Astroliner in the fleet,’ and then curtly to Mr. Crosbie, ‘We’ll be landing in five minutes.’
    No inquiry about whether they’d completed their programme for the