Lifeboat! by Margaret Dickinson Page B

was a technique Mike had perfected for himself in his quest for height, but each time it was like a high-speed elevator, causing his stomach to heave into his throat and leaving him with a sensation of nausea. But it was worth it, anything was worth it to get that little bit of extra height.
    He straightened out into the wind and soared into the clear air. Ahead was another cumulus, bigger than the last. Finding its core, Mike achieved a smooth climb of some five knots and this time he was able to venture right into the cloud reaching a height of some eight thousand feet. This short cloud climb confirmed that all the blind-flying instruments were working correctly and that Mike himself was not out of practice at this type of flying. He came out of this cloud to continue his search for further thermals. There was nothing at present that would take him much higher than he was already. Now he was losing height and soon he found he had sunk below cloud base which had by this time reached four and a half thousand feet.
    â€˜Blast!’ he muttered and set his instruments for a course heading south-west. It was from this direction that the storm-clouds would come and Mike intended to meet them.
    Macready arrived home for a late breakfast just before eleven. Julie—forwarned by telephone—had bacon, egg, sausage and tomatoes frizzling in the pan.
    Of Howard Marshall-Smythe—there was no sign.
    Julie greeted him. ‘Dad—the Sister from St Botolphs rang about Nigel Miller, is it?’
    â€˜Milner. Aye, how is he?’
    â€˜Out of Intensive Care and in the Children’s Ward and doing nicely.’
    â€˜Aaah,’ Macready gave a long sigh of satisfaction. ‘That’s good news.’ He sat down at the table smiling—a smile that broadened as Julie placed his breakfast in front of him.
    â€˜Mmm, this looks good, hen.’ Between mouthfuls he asked, ‘Any plans for today?’
    â€˜Well, I thought we’d take a picnic out this afternoon if it keeps fine.’
    â€˜The forecast said thunderstorms this afternoon.’
    Julie grimaced, ‘Oh well, perhaps we’ll have to think of something else.’
    There was silence between them. Macready was thinking about the sailing-dinghy, hoping that they were not thinking of using that, but he could not bring himself to voice his fears, not even to Julie. For the first time in their close relationship there was a constraint between them, caused by Howard.
    Was that the reason he couldn’t quite take to the young man as he would like to have done. Macready was honest enough to question his own motives, but could honestly answer that it was not jealousy of the fact that he was her boyfriend and might come between father and daughter. Macready just could not feel easy with Howard. He had known the time would come when there would be another man in her life—he would not have wanted it otherwise—but if only it could have been someone like young Tim perhaps.
    Macready cleared his plate, drank his tea and watched in silence as Julie set a breakfast-tray. He noted the careful preparation, the items placed just so, the Sunday paper folded beside the plate.
    â€˜What on earth is that? ’ Macready could no longer hold back the words as he saw her pouring an unusual type of breakfast cereal into the bowl on the tray.
    â€˜Muesli—it’s very good for you.’
    Did he detect a hint of defensiveness in her tone? Macready murmured, ‘ Och, you’ll no beat porridge for ya breakfast, hen.’
    Julie turned to face him and then Macready was relieved to see the impish humour—so like his own—twinkling in her brown eyes. ‘Och away to yon bed wi’ ye,’ she mimicked him.
    Macready chuckled and levered himself up from the chair. ‘Nay—I’m away back to the boathouse. The visitors were beginning to drift in when I came away.’
    Concern showed on Julie’s face. ‘Oh