Chapter 4

After the others had left Biggles lingered a while on the terrace to finish his drink before heading up to the bedroom he shared with Ginger. The two of them arrived at the door at the same time.

"Are you alright?" Ginger asked his CO as they entered the room, thinking Biggles still looked pale.

Biggles looked at him quizzically. "I should have thought I was the one who should have been asking you that question," he countered. "You're the one with a bruise on your chin and blood on your leg."

Ginger looked down. His thigh wound must have re-opened when the lieutenant had knocked him down. A trickle of blood had run down to his calf, soaked his stocking and congealed. None of them had noticed in the aftermath of the incident.

"You should get that cleaned and bandaged," Biggles told him. "Wounds don't heal quickly in this climate."

"I would have had it dressed at the hospital," said Ginger, "if I had spotted it at the time. There was so much going on, I never realised."

"I expect that Jameson has a first aid kit somewhere," opined Biggles. When Ginger turned to go in search of the official, Biggles stopped the lad. "I should wash the blood off first," he suggested.

Ginger removed his stocking, putting it to soak to remove the stain, and rolled up the leg of his shorts. The partially healed wound looked healthy, but it was clear to see where the damage had been done. He made a good job of cleaning it up, pulled the material of his shorts over the injury and slipped on his shoe.

He made his way down to the foyer, but there was no sign of Jameson. Ginger wandered the corridors in search of someone to ask. One of the cipher clerks came out of the despatch room as he was passing and he took the opportunity to ask her if she knew where the first aid box was. She smiled at him and took him into a side office. He had seen her before, he realised, when the accommodation had been sorted out. She was very blonde, with a curvaceous body and her lips and nails painted scarlet. She reminded Ginger of a film starlet.

"Sit down," she told him, reaching down a large wooden box with a red cross in a white circle. "What's the problem?"

"I need a bandage and some antiseptic," said Ginger, still resolutely standing. He thought if any woman was going to be dealing with his wound it would be Jeanette or her mother and nobody else, except perhaps a nurse and he would find that bad enough.

The young woman looked him up and down, noticing his missing stocking and the trace of blood that stained the bottom hem of his shorts. "Leg wound?" she asked him with a twinkle in her eye.

"My thigh," he told her, blushing.

"Take your shorts off and I'll bandage it for you," she told him matter-of-factly.

Ginger was shocked. "What!" he exclaimed in horror. "I'll treat it myself, thank you," he gasped, "if you'll give me the dressing."

She laughed. "There's no need to be shy," she told him. "I'm fully trained in first aid. Besides," she added, "I've been married twice; I've seen it all before."

"All the same," insisted Ginger, feeling very hot under the collar, "I'd rather do it myself."

"Please yourself," she said, handing him a bottle of iodine, a pack of lint and a roll of crepe bandage. "Make sure you put back what you haven't used when you've finished with them," she told him as he made a hasty exit. Her mocking laughter followed him out.

Ginger closed the door behind him with a sense of relief. It must be something in the air, he thought. How could she have been so sanguine about telling a perfect stranger to take his clothes off? Had she no shame? He made his way back to his room as fast as he could.

He met Jeanette coming down the stairs as he was going up; she had changed into a peacock blue dress with a low neckline and full skirt. One of Mrs Jameson's cast-offs, Ginger assumed, but it certainly looked good on its new owner.

She saw the bandages in his hand and asked him in a voice full of concern, "your wound is 'urt?"

"I must have knocked it when I fell," he said. "It's been bleeding and Biggles said I should put a dressing on it."

"Beegles is right," murmured Jeanette. "You should 'ave it dressed. I will ask maman. She will bandage it for you. Come."

Pleased to have an excuse to spend time in her company, he followed her up to her room. She opened the door and spoke to her mother who was just about to go down to dinner.

Madame Ducoste fussed over him like a mother hen. Of course, she would dress his wound, she told him and sent Jeanette to get some hot water.

She took Ginger into their room, made him sit on the edge of the bed and told him to let her see the injury. Ginger drew the material back and exposed his maltreated flesh. He did not feel self-conscious at doing so, he thought with surprise. He could barely remember his mother, but when he had fallen and hurt himself she must have treated him much as Madame Ducoste was doing now.

Jeanette came back with a bowl of clean water and a towel. Madame cleansed the injury and applied the iodine. Ginger winced as the antiseptic stung the raw edges of the wound and Jeanette looked concerned.

"It's alright," Ginger hastened to reassure her. "It's just a bit sore, that's all. It's a good thing that it's stinging."

Jeanette prepared a lint dressing and handed it to her mother, who applied it to Ginger's thigh and wound a bandage round it.

"Thank you, madame," murmured Ginger when she had finished and secured the crepe. "I hope I shan't keep having to ask you to do this." He pulled the leg of his shorts down over the dressing to hide it and stood up. "Good as new," he smiled to Jeanette.

He cleared up the remaining bandaging and prepared to return it.

"May I accompany you both down to dinner?" he asked politely as the gong reverberated along the corridors. "I can drop these off next to the despatch office on the way?"

Madame Ducoste smiled at him fondly. "But of course," she replied.

Outside the door, Jeanette took the dressings from him and slipped her arm through his as he offered his right arm to her mother. Ginger felt proud as punch as he walked down the stairs between the two of them. His leg felt much better now that it had been re-bandaged. He couldn't think why he had not noticed before that it was uncomfortable and bleeding. He could only put it down to being shaken by the unpleasantness in the garden and the excruciating embarrassment he had felt following his discovery of what went on in the Black Cat.

Algiers was a funny town, he reflected as they descended the stairs. There was a definite atmosphere that had nothing to do with the strange mixture of smells and the heat; an unsettling undercurrent of something he couldn't define. Perhaps it was the presence of the army and navy in large numbers, he speculated. He had never seen so many men in uniform in one place before.

To his great relief the office next to the despatch room was empty. He replaced the first aid equipment and made his escape. Jeanette and her mother were waiting for him in the corridor.

The others were all about to file into the dining room when Ginger arrived with his party. There was a stranger talking to the princess, a much-decorated American Marine with a loud, self-assured voice.

"Where have you been?" enquired Biggles, irritably. "I thought you'd got lost."

Before Ginger could explain, Biggles cut him off. "Never mind," he continued. "I want you all to meet our guest from the American Consulate." He took them across to where the U S Marine Lieutenant Colonel was standing chewing a cigar and introduced the three of them to the officer.

"How do you do, Colonel Eddy," murmured Ginger politely, offering his hand, when the introductions had been made.

"Gee, I'm just swell, young fella," boomed the American, shaking Ginger's hand vigorously. "How ya doin' yerself?"

Ginger winced as his hand was crushed. Somehow, the man just wasn't what he had imagined Americans would be like, from the portrayal of his gangster heroes on the silver screen. He felt Jeanette press herself close to his side. He could appreciate that the towering presence of the man could be intimidating.

"Lieutenant Colonel Eddy is the American equivalent of our Colonel Raymond," Biggles informed Ginger. "He has come to ask the princess for any help she can offer in intelligence gathering about Sicily."

"I see," breathed Ginger, looking at the American in awe. A bigger contrast with Colonel Raymond would be hard to imagine, he thought. Where the British Colonel was suave, sophisticated and self-effacing with perfect drawing room manners, the American was loud, brash and seemed to fill the room.

There was a general move, orchestrated by Jameson and his wife, to organise the party into pairs for dinner. Ginger, delegated to his delight to escort Jeanette, brought up the rear. At the head of the procession, the American Colonel was limping as he escorted the princess, Ginger noticed. He wondered if the marine had been recently wounded. Perhaps he had been involved in the fighting around Oran.

Algy also noticed the man's limp. The uneven gait made him think immediately of their arch-enemy Erich von Stalhein, who had feigned a limp at Zabbala. He murmured as much to Ginger, who, having only the vaguest idea of their First War exploits, was surprised to hear about the limp. Last time they had met, he had not noticed the German limping and said so. "He used to put it on," growled Algy. "He likes to play act."

The thought of the drama of the firing squad scene enacted during their first encounter flashed into Ginger's mind. Play acting! He would hardly call it that! The business still gave him nightmares from time to time! Erich was also in the same business, reflected Ginger. If the American was in stark contrast with Colonel Raymond, how much more so was he with the urbane German, he thought. He could not imagine the immaculate Prussian talking so loudly that it was impossible not to listen to his conversation. At least the American did not seem disposed to gloat, thought Ginger, which was just as well considering he dominated the conversation at the dining table.

Whether in honour of the American or just because it was available, the meat for the main course was peacock, accompanied by cabbage and an Algerian rosé. Ginger was surprised to find the bird palatable; he had never considered it as food before. Laughingly, he practised his French with Jeanette until Biggles caught his eye, shook his head and nodded at the American, which Ginger took to mean that the Marine did not speak French.

Ginger watched fascinated as the American cut up his food and transferred his fork to his right hand to scoop up the mouthfuls. What appalling table manners for a senior officer, he thought, having had it drummed into him by Biggles and Algy how to handle a knife and fork properly. When he finished the course, he put his knife and fork together and put his hands in his lap. Ginger glanced at Biggles to see if he had noticed the way the American ate, but his CO's face was expressionless as he made polite conversation with Mrs Jameson.

Algy seemed to be getting on well with the cipher clerk who had been so bold when offering first aid that afternoon, thought Ginger. He supposed that Algy would have been less shocked by a woman who had been twice married than he was, but would he have accepted her ministrations, Ginger wondered. Perhaps he would, mused the young man. Algy seemed to be completely relaxed in female company; he did not seem to have either Biggles' puritan streak or his own awkward gaucheness when it came to dealing with the opposite sex. Ginger sighed, wishing he did not feel so ignorant of women. He particularly wanted to know how best to proceed with Jeanette.

"What is wrong?" asked Jeanette gently when she heard his exhalation.

Ginger shook his head ruefully. "I was just thinking how ignorant I am," he murmured.

"I do not think you are ignorant," she told him, tenderly. "I think you are kind and modest and very shy. You are, what was it Bertie said today …?" she paused and wrinkled her forehead delightfully before continuing, "a gentleman officer."

Ginger smiled. "An officer and a gentleman," he corrected gently.

"C'est ça," she affirmed. She reached out and took his hand as it lay in his lap. "I would not like you to change," she breathed.

Ginger coloured and hastily moved his hand across to his hip, although he did not let go of hers. That was exactly what he was afraid of, he reflected. He was acutely aware that he was changing. What he was increasingly feeling for Jeanette was not very gentlemanly at all; on the contrary, it was rather bestial and primeval. He did not want his baseness to coarsen her purity, but he could not put this into words. How on earth could he even hint to Jeanette the depravity of what he was thinking when he saw her? How could he let her know he would like to hold her and caress her and murmur endearments in her ear? If she ran away from him when he kissed her on the forehead, he was convinced she would never come near him if she knew that he wanted to kiss her on the lips and run his hands over her body. He swallowed hard and rubbed his hand over his forehead. He was feeling hot. He took a gulp of wine, but that did not help.

Jeanette regarded him sympathetically. "'Ave you a fever?" she asked him anxiously.

"Sort of, I think," murmured Ginger.

"Is it your wound?" she asked him concerned.

"Not the one in his leg," interjected Bertie acidly as he watched them miserably. "He'll get over that in time, but he may never be cured of the sickness he's suffering from at the moment," he added bitterly.

"Take no notice of him," urged Ginger, distressed that Jeanette might think he was physically ill, rather than merely mentally suffering. "He's only being facetious. I'm fine."

Jeanette glanced from one to the other, sensing the tension between them. Bertie had rushed to Ginger's rescue this afternoon, now he was goading him again. She was puzzled.

"You do not like Ginger, Bertie?" she queried.

Bertie looked shocked. "Whatever made you say that?" he asked, deftly catching his eye glass.

"You do not say nice things to 'im," she observed. "You do not like 'im to be friends with me," she added perspicaciously. "You are not 'appy that 'e is 'appy. You are not like 'is other friends."

Bertie went white. "Oh, I say!" he exclaimed. "That's a bit thick. I'm concerned for him, that's all," he protested. "I've only got his best interests at heart."

"I, too," averred Jeanette smiling at Ginger, "so we should all be friends, no?"

"Yes," stated Ginger emphatically. "Definitely!"

Bertie said nothing. He merely nodded curtly, unable to trust himself to speak. The little minx, he thought, seething. If she really had Ginger's best interests at heart, she would take herself off somewhere and leave him alone. She had put her hand in his lap, for heaven's sake! Bertie burned with envy. He was relieved when Mrs Jameson took the ladies and the port was passed.

Ginger for his part waited with a fever of impatience for the cigars to be smoked and the decanter to make its way several times round the table. It seemed an age before Jameson suggested that they rejoin the ladies and he wasted no time making his escape.

Jeanette was waiting near the French windows leading to the terrace. As soon as he appeared, she joined him. Their hands met and clasped unconsciously. As in the garden at the hospital it seemed so natural and right.

Ginger led her over to the retaining wall overlooking the city. The lights twinkled below. "I can't get over that," he told her, marvelling at the sight. "There's a complete blackout at home. An ARP warden would have a field day with this little lot. He'd be shouting 'put that light out!' until he was hoarse!" he exclaimed in amusement.

Jeanette wanted to know what an ARP warden was and Ginger explained about Air Raid Precautions. "There are still lots of raids at home," he said sadly. "Sometimes, I wonder if this war will ever end. I can hardly remember a time when we were at peace."

Jeanette felt his sadness and moved toward him. Instinctively, he put his arm around her shoulders and she did not pull away. They stood together companionably in the warm darkness, not needing to talk, happy in each other's company, despite the sombre nature of their thoughts.

"It's funny," murmured Ginger eventually, "it seems very peaceful here. The war seems a long way away. It's hard to believe that there's still fighting near Bone and on the borders of Tunisia. That we'll go back to bombing and dog fights in England."

"I, too, wish the war would end," Jeanette told him earnestly. "There is so much destruction, so much death." She turned to face him and laid her hand on his cheek because he was in shadow. "So many loved ones lost," she murmured sombrely.

Ginger's heart stopped for a moment at the caress and then raced on. "Henri will be alright," he reassured her, assuming she was afraid for her brother. "He'll have to pass a medical before he's allowed to fly. They won't let him back in the air until he's fully fit. He's a good pilot. When he gets his transfer to Treble Six, we'll all be doing our best to look out for him."

"I am sure of that," breathed Jeanette. She felt his muscles contract as he smiled.

"Cheer up," encouraged Ginger. "We've got at least a couple more days' holiday from the war so let's make the most of it. Would you like to go swimming tomorrow?"

"Oh yes," said Jeanette enthusiastically. "I love to swim." She moved her hand from his cheek to his shoulder.

Hesitantly Ginger placed his hands either side of her waist, expecting her to move away, but she did not object.

They both jumped guiltily and swiftly let go of each other when Algy's voice broke the silence.

"Hello, you two lovebirds," he teased. The blonde cipher clerk was at his side and they had clearly got to know each other well over dinner. Ginger envied the casual way they both had their arms around each other's waists.

"Elaine and I are going to play tennis tomorrow," announced Algy cheerfully. "Do you want to come?"

Ginger's heart sank. He had been looking forward to swimming with Jeanette, but he would have to ask her if she would prefer a tennis party. Perhaps she would like it better than being on the beach with him; she might regret having agreed to a situation that could be considered intimate when they were wearing their bathing costumes. "Jeanette?" he questioned, "would you rather play tennis?"

"Thank you, Algy," she said prettily. "You are kind to ask, but I 'ave accepted to swim with Ginger."

Ginger felt a warm glow of happiness at her response which also excused him from feeling obliged to play tennis. Algy's grin broadened, but to Ginger's relief he did not tease him.

"Have fun," was all Algy said as he withdrew with his companion and left the pair alone.

"Are you sure you would rather go to the beach with me?" Ginger felt compelled to ask.

Jeanette giggled, thinking his lack of self-confidence in courtship was so endearing. It must be the famous English reserve she had heard so much about; if he had been an Italian or a French boy, he would have pursued her with much more machismo, she thought, but that was why she found him so attractive. She suspected he would have been devastated if she had preferred to play tennis, but he would never have admitted it.

"Oh yes," she told him firmly. "I am very glad you invited me. I will look forward to it."

Ginger smiled happily. "Me too," he agreed with heart felt enthusiasm. He would have liked to get back to holding her as he had been before Algy's interruption, but the moment had passed.

A thought struck him. Maybe, for Jeanette's sake, he should invite her mother along as a chaperone. After all, Madame Ducoste might not be very happy for her daughter to go off alone bathing with a young man. Jeanette hadn't mentioned it, but maybe she had taken it for granted that they would not be alone. Perhaps he ought to suggest it for form's sake.

He hesitated, not knowing how best to broach the subject. "Perhaps you'd better tell your mother," he suggested eventually. "That we're going swimming together, I mean," he clarified.

"D'accord," agreed Jeanette, taking his hand to lead him across to the table where her mother was talking to Biggles and the princess over coffee.

"Do not worry," she whispered to Ginger before they walked across, "maman will not object." She squeezed his hand gently. "She knows," Jeanette added teasingly, "that you are an officer and a gentleman."

Ginger gasped then laughed. "I wasn't sure of the form," he admitted.

She looked at him lovingly. "You are …" she hesitated, searching for the right word. "Honourable," she said eventually.

"I try to be," said Ginger, only too well aware of his shortcomings.

They reached the table and Jeanette spoke to her mother in French. From what he heard, Ginger gathered it was a statement rather than a request for permission. Jeanette had seemed pretty sure of her mother's reaction, thought Ginger, and that confidence did not seem to be misplaced.

He told his CO of his plans. "That sounds an excellent idea," affirmed Biggles with a smile. "I'll get some information off Jameson about the best place to swim. If Madame Ducoste has no objection, I'll escort her to see Henri while you look after Jeanette. I don't think Algiers is any place for a lady alone."

"You're right!" confirmed Ginger with feeling, thinking of the unpleasant naval officer in the hospital garden. "There are men about who want to take advantage."

"It's always like that with a large garrison," averred Biggles philosophically. "There's something about soldiers en masse that's quite brutish. It even took me aback and I've seen it before."

Ginger coloured. It was exactly what he was thinking about his instincts.

"Sit down," directed Biggles. "Do you want some coffee?"

Ginger nodded. He drew out a chair for Jeanette and sat next to her. Biggles passed across a couple of cups.

Jeanette reached for the coffee pot and poured out the liquid. The domesticity of the scene made Ginger realise how much he longed for a home life and family. Biggles and Algy had provided companionship, and he was very grateful to them, but he wanted something more, he realised. He felt vaguely disloyal. Biggles had done so much for him and taught him so much, Algy too, but they could not supply what he was currently craving. He realised he wanted someone to come home to who would care for him and cosset him. Mrs Symes did her best to look after her 'gentlemen' and she spoiled him rotten, he had to admit, but she was no substitute for a wife or mother of his own, he thought sadly, although she was the nearest thing to a surrogate mother that he had.

Ginger sipped his coffee in silence. Algy rolled up to the table and drew up a chair. Ginger noticed that the cipher clerk, Elaine Algy had called her, was no longer at his side. Without really knowing why, Ginger suspected Biggles would not have approved if she had been there.

Algy helped himself to coffee and grinned at Ginger. "Have you got some swimming togs sorted out for tomorrow?" he asked with a twinkle in his eye.

"Yes, thank you," replied Ginger quickly, fearful that Algy was going to tease him about bathing in the altogether as had been his usual practice.

"Good," said Algy, taking pity on him. "I'm glad you won't be having to swim in your shorts." He winked conspiratorially and Ginger had to grin.

Bertie arrived just in time to hear Algy's words. "Are you going swimming, old boy?" he asked.

Before Ginger could say anything, Biggles intervened. "Ginger and Jeanette are going to the beach tomorrow," he stated approvingly, "which strikes me as an excellent idea in this hot weather. I can't think why Algy wants to run around a tennis court."

"It makes the drinks après tennis taste so much better," smiled Algy. "Besides," he continued with a wink, "you know what they say, 'faint heart ….'"

"You 'ave a problem with your 'eart, Algy?" asked Jeanette. "You should not be playing tennis," she added concerned.

The others laughed. Even Ginger had to smile. "It's a saying, Jeanette," he explained. "Faint heart never won …" he hesitated and blushed, before continuing lamely, "… anything."

That made Algy and Biggles laugh again. Bertie polished his eye glass furiously, but did not join in.

"Just make sure your heart isn't faint, Ginger," advised Algy kindly.

Ginger smiled sheepishly.

Madame Ducoste stood up, announcing that she would go up, and the men also rose courteously. Ginger immediately offered to escort Jeanette and her mother to their room.

"C'est gentil," murmured Jeanette as her mother thanked him.

Jeanette slipped her arm through Ginger's as he escorted them from the terrace. Bertie watched them go, his face expressionless.

"I wonder if he's realised it isn't platonic yet?" asked Algy with a grin as he helped himself to more coffee.

Biggles and the princess smiled, but Bertie stood up abruptly. "I'm off to bed," he announced shortly and left.

When Ginger and his companions reached the bedroom, Madame Ducoste went in immediately, but Jeanette lingered to say goodnight. Ginger tentatively put his hands on her waist as she had allowed him to do on the terrace before they were interrupted. To his delight, she merely rested her hands gently on his arms and did not push him away.

"Goodnight," he murmured. "Sleep well. I'll see you at breakfast. I expect I'll be up early."

"I am looking forward to swim tomorrow," she told him. "Pleasant dreams, Ginger."

He kissed her gently on the forehead and released her reluctantly, waiting until she had closed the door behind her before running down the stairs two at a time, feeling as though he was floating on air.

Touching her waist was only a small measure of progress in getting closer to her, he thought, but it was definitely progress – and she had not objected or pushed him away.

He wondered how he would react to going swimming with her. Just the thought of Jeanette in a bathing costume was exciting; how on earth would he cope with seeing her for real? Soberly, Ginger told himself he might need to spend a lot of time in the water.

Biggles was not in when Ginger returned to his room. Presumably he was having a last cigarette with Algy before retiring, assumed Ginger. He washed hastily and got into bed. He was asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow. Biggles' arrival shortly afterwards did not interrupt his pleasant dreams.