Free The Atlantic Sky by Betty Beaty Page A

something. So, for everyone’s sake, Patsy just stood in the galley, and hoped that Miss Trent would hurry up and come back and give her something to do. Then she pressed her nose against the galley porthole and gazed outside.
    A bright moon was shining now, and the mountains and the still water of the Lake District were a clear wonderland down below her. She cupped her hands round her eyes to press out the lights behind her while the moonlit wing moved like a silver blade above the majestic scene below.
    When she heard the firm, heavy footfall of Joanna Trent in the galley doorway, she said dreamily, ‘You know, Miss Trent, I think I could stay at this window and watch all this for ever. I’d no idea that flying was like this—’
    ‘Nor I,’ a deep voice said drily. ‘And I’m sure,’ Captain Prentice’s voice went on as Patsy spun round quickly from the porthole, ‘that you could stop and stare at it for ever. Unfortunately, World-Span Aviation would not find it a profitable arrangement. And now,’ he went on, ignoring her flushed, uncomfortable face, ‘Miss Aylmer—’So he did, after all, remember her name—‘there’s something I’ve noticed—’ Patsy’s hand flew up immediately and involuntarily to her obviously culpable cap. ‘—about the difference between pilots’ trips under supervision and those of stewardesses.’
    Perhaps, Patsy thought, more hopeful at the trend of the conversation and lowering her hand to her side again, this is just a friendly little talk at the back to put a new girl at her ease.
    ‘In the former,’ Captain Prentice went on, ‘the supervisory pilot merely sits and watches the other man do the work—’
    At the very word work and the emphasis he gave it, Patsy changed her mind about the pilot’s purpose in speaking to her. Captain Prentice (she had been silly to think otherwise) was still on the job.
    ‘—while in the latter it appears customary for it to be the other way round.’ The tone of his voice went drier than ever. ‘The supervisory stewardess does all the work. And the stewardess under supervision merely sits watching.’
    For a fleeting second, Patsy thought there was an odd quirk of humour about the calm, firm mouth. But no, when she looked again it was set in its usual uncompromising line.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
    ‘What for, Miss Aylmer?’
    Patsy hesitated. The man had a knack of twisting her tongue and paralysing her brain, so that the right words never came. ‘For—’ she flushed and floundered. ‘For,’ she said again; and then in a rush of fear and confusion which in the end only sounded like downright rudeness, ‘For admiring the scenery.’
    ‘Far be it from me,’ he said, ‘to interfere with your simple pleasures, but since on the manifest your name appears as a member of the crew, perhaps it would be as well to supply further evidence that we are not, in fact, carrying another passenger.’
    Patsy’s colour deepened at the injustice of it. After all, Miss Trent had indicated that she shouldn’t do anything till she was told— keep out of my way, that’s how she had put it, kindly but firmly implying that one woman in a very small kitchen was quite enough, thank you very much. It crossed her mind that Captain Prentice needed straightening out on these details, but when she opened her mouth, the only words that came mumbling out were, ‘Sorry, sir.’
    But he wasn’t even there to receive the apparent apology. Satisfied, it seemed, with ruining her flight, he had continued on his way up the cabin, and disappeared into the crew compartment.
    For a moment, Patsy stood still. Then she thought to herself, perhaps he’ll be coming back in a moment. Hurriedly, she walked up the aisle. Miss Trent was thrusting open the flight deck door, carrying her laden tray competently and easily. She looked curiously at Patsy. ‘What’s up?’ she whispered under her breath.
    ‘Nothing,’ said Patsy. ‘I just thought I ought to help