Chapter 5
Ginger woke early the following morning, full of anticipation. He got up swiftly and performed his ablutions before Biggles was astir. He removed the bandage from his wound and was relieved to find it sufficiently healed not to have to replace the dressing. It could have been awkward to deal with when he was swimming.
Ginger decided to put his bathing costume underneath his shorts, which would save him the embarrassment of having to change on the beach. If he had not dried off sufficiently by the time they came home, he could always find a secluded spot, put his towel round his waist and swap his costume for his shorts, he reckoned. He had never had to consider that before. Life was much more complicated when there were women about, he was beginning to realise, although he did not subscribe to Bertie's view that they were trouble; quite the contrary. He found Jeanette's presence very pleasant indeed.
"You're up early!" exclaimed Biggles when he opened his eyes to find Ginger fully dressed and about to leave.
"I thought I'd have an early breakfast," explained Ginger. "To let the food settle before I went swimming."
Biggles' lips twitched. "Of course," he agreed dryly. "Very sensible. There's a map on the table for you, showing a decent beach."
Ginger thanked him and put the map in his pocket. He hovered, wondering whether he could decently depart now that Biggles was awake.
"Don't let me keep you," Biggles told him, amused. "I'm sure Jeanette has the same idea and you don't want to keep a lady waiting."
Ginger looked sheepish and bolted for the door. Biggles smiled and shook his head. He knew how Ginger felt, he thought sadly. He hoped the affair would prosper and not turn sour as his liaison with Marie had. He sighed and pushed the thoughts of Marie to the back of his mind again. At least Jeanette was an ally, he thought. There was no reason why the romance should be doomed.
Ginger picked up his rolled-up towel on his way out and sped down the stairs to the dining room. The first to arrive, he helped himself to a light breakfast and sat down to eat. As Biggles had surmised, Jeanette was also up early. Ginger leapt to his feet when he saw her come through the door, carrying, as he had, a rolled up towel.
She smiled at him and he felt his heart lurch. He smiled back and drew out a chair for her. When she sat down, he served her with the breakfast she selected from the sideboard. Their hands brushed. Ginger felt thrilled by her touch.
They conversed in low tones, their heads close together, for no other reason than it was early and their being alone together gave a conspiratorial air to the occasion.
When they had finished eating, Ginger took the map out of his pocket and showed it to Jeanette. The best beaches for swimming were annotated and they discussed which one to use. Ginger turned over the piece of paper clipped to the map and read a warning to avoid stepping on sea urchins as the spines would fester if they penetrated the skin.
"Not everything in Paradise is pleasant," he remarked as he pointed the danger out to Jeanette.
"There was a serpent in the Garden of Eden," she smiled.
"As long as there isn't one in the sea," murmured Ginger feelingly. "Sea urchins are enough to be going on with."
They picked up their towels and made their way out of the Consulate. Bertie paused in his descent to watch them go from the stairs. The pain of jealousy was sharp as a knife as he saw Jeanette slip her hand into Ginger's. Algy came up behind him.
"Forget something?" he asked, curious that Bertie was making no effort to move.
"Not really, old boy," drawled Bertie. "Just wondering how to kill the unforgiving minute, don't you know?"
"Well, if you're at a loose end, why not come to the tennis match with us?" offered Algy. "I'm sure we can find you a partner."
Bertie hesitated then made up his mind. "Actually," he murmured, "I thought I'd pay a visit to my cousin's husband. He's at the Naval HQ."
"Excellent idea," agreed Algy as they both went in to breakfast.
Ginger and Jeanette left the Consulate and made their way through the town. The streets were crowded with Arabs and Algerian French. If Ginger was shocked at the way the French elbowed the Arabs out of the way, he was even more dismayed by the constant pestering of the small Arab boys offering "shoeshine, Johnny?" or wanting to buy soap or other commodities. Tall, thin French Senegalese soldiers wearing a fez kept order in the streets. They wore heavy, hobnailed boots, which they indiscriminately used to good effect on their fellow Muslims.
Jeanette pressed closer to Ginger in the crowded streets. Instinctively he put his arm around her waist to keep her close and protect her. Gratefully she slid her arm around him and hugged him. Ginger grinned, feeling a warm glow at her touch. He had never expected to be thankful that there were so many people about.
They made their way through the narrow streets until they reached the sea. The slight breeze off the water was refreshing. The crowds had thinned and then disappeared, but Ginger continued to hold on to Jeanette's waist and she seemed content with the arrangement as she made no move to release him. Happy together they strolled along the coast until they found the beach that they had chosen and made their way down toward the sea's edge. The water was crystal clear.
Ginger unrolled his towel and laid it out on the sand. Jeanette followed suit, placing hers beside his.
Ginger unbuttoned his shirt and took it off. Jeanette blushed. Ginger hesitated. What should he do now? While he was working out his next move, he folded his shirt carefully and placed it on his towel. Sitting down, he removed his shoes and socks and carefully rolled up the stockings, placing them in his shoes for safe keeping. Jeanette watched him covertly, thinking how neat and tidy he was.
"Where are you going to get changed?" he asked hesitantly. "Those rocks look quite secluded." He indicated an outcrop which had a natural indentation on the seaward side. "You can hang your towel across the gap to make a changing room and I'll move to the other side to give you privacy," he offered.
Jeanette smiled at him gratefully, acknowledging that it was a good idea and he was very thoughtful.
Ginger helped rig up the towel as a curtain and then retired to the space behind the rocks away from the opening. It was the work of a moment to slip out of his shorts and stow them, neatly folded, with the rest of his uniform. He was sitting with his back to the rocks when Jeanette's shadow fell across him.
He turned and looked up. He caught his breath in admiration at the sight he beheld. Jeanette was wearing a navy-blue bathing costume, printed with shell bursts in gold and silver. It had a flared skirt that emphasised her figure while preserving her modesty and the costume's neckline was sufficiently low to make Ginger's heart pound. He dragged his eyes away, breathing deeply, and concentrated on her face.
"You look stunning," he managed to get out.
Jeanette smiled radiantly at the compliment. She knelt beside him and laid out her towel again, placing her clothes on it as she had seen him do with his uniform. Ginger saw that her bathing costume had a deep U shaped back with a tie at the centre. He fought the desire to caress her bare skin and stared at the sea.
"Madame Jameson said it was an old costume," she told him as she folded her dress. "She did not want it." She shook her head in amazement. "She 'as so many clothes!" she exclaimed in wonder.
Jeanette glanced across at him and noticed the faint scars criss-crossing his back. "Mon Dieu!" she cried in shock. "What 'appened to your back?"
Ginger blushed. He had not given the visible reminders of his troubled childhood a thought. "It was a long time ago," he muttered, embarrassed.
Jeanette looked at him compassionately and remembered what he had told her about his father. She felt a rush of sympathy and love for him.
"Le pauvre Ginger," she murmured. "Quelle horreur!"
Jeanette sat down on her towel beside him. His skin had started to go brown where it was not covered by his clothing, contrasting with the pallor of his torso, which was smooth and hairless. She realised that she found him very attractive. Impulsively she reached out and touched the livid scar on his shoulder, below his collar bone. She had not noticed it when he was in Monaco, but it was clearly an old bullet wound and the projectile had gone straight through his flesh.
"You 'ave been wounded before," she observed.
"In Norway," explained Ginger.
Jeanette asked him how it happened and Ginger briefly narrated the events that had led up to his being shot in the shoulder as they escaped.
Jeanette stroked the scar gently. "You 'ave been fighting for a long time?" she asked in surprise.
"Since the day war was declared," admitted Ginger.
She looked at him in admiration. She had not realised how much action he had seen.
Her caress was making Ginger's head swim. He felt weak.
"Race you to the sea!" he exclaimed, hoping he would make it, feeling the way he did.
He leapt up and started to run down to the water's edge. Jeanette ran after him.
"Attention!" she warned him. "Look for those creatures! The spines."
Ginger had forgotten about the sea urchins and Jeanette's warning was timely, but he reached the surf without mishap and plunged into the waves. Jeanette followed him.
Playfully she splashed him as he swam; he laughed and kicked up some spray, then struck out for deeper water. They frolicked among the swell and talked contentedly, lazily sculling in the warm, clear Mediterranean, discussing what would happen when the party reached London, although Ginger felt so ecstatic with the way things were in Algiers he hoped the transport back home would never come.
At least, he realised from their conversation, Jeanette was expecting to continue to see him once they were back in England, which cheered him greatly.
When they had had their fill of swimming, they returned to the beach and lay in the sun, side by side, to dry off. Ginger felt tired and weak after the exercise, which he put down to not being fully recovered from his wound, but he briskly towelled himself dry and slipped his shirt on to avoid burning as the sun was fierce. He looked at Jeanette stretched out on her towel and almost had to pinch himself to be sure he wasn't dreaming. Her jet-black hair framed her face and spilled over the clothes she was using as a pillow and her skin was tanned a glowing golden brown. She looked so attractive he had to concentrate on gazing out to sea until he had got his thoughts under control.
"This is fun," he murmured, thinking that perhaps that was the understatement of the century, "would you like to do it again tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow it is Sunday," pointed out Jeanette. "Maman and I would like to go to Mass at the cathedral."
"Of course," acknowledged Ginger immediately. "I'd lost track of the days." He hesitated. "Would you mind if I accompanied you?" he asked tentatively.
"We would be very 'appy," Jeanette told him, smiling delightedly.
Ginger grinned. "We can call at the cathedral on the way back," he suggested, "if you'd like to go to confession."
She put her hand on his arm and made him glow with pleasure. "I am pleased you are 'ere," she told him. "I am …" she hesitated struggling to put her feelings into English, "… grateful; you are so … considerate."
Ginger blushed. "I care for you, Jeanette," he admitted. "I only want to do what's best for you."
She stroked his cheek, thinking how smooth it was. "You are kind, Ginger," she breathed. "I am so lucky I 'ave met you."
"Not half as lucky as I am to have met you," he countered emphatically, placing his hand over hers. Impulsively he drew her palm to his lips and kissed it gently, then closed her fingers on the kiss and squeezed her hand.
Jeanette laughed delightedly. She placed her palm to her lips and pretended to take the kiss. Their eyes met. Ginger thought his heart would burst with happiness.
"If you've dried off, shall we go and have some lunch?" suggested Ginger. "I'm sure we can find a decent café in town."
"D'accord," agreed Jeanette. "But not the NAAFI," she teased him.
Ginger blushed. "No, not the NAAFI," he confirmed.
Jeanette gathered up her clothes and prepared to change among the rocks. As soon as she had disappeared, Ginger swapped his bathing costume for his shorts. When Jeanette came back, he was tying his shoelaces.
They tucked their towels under their arms and, hand in hand, headed back to the town. Before long they moved closer, embracing each other's waists again. Ginger began to suspect that Jeanette was as happy to hold him as he was to touch her.
They stopped at a small chic café in the avenue de la Marine and Ginger ordered two cups of tea with their meal. He was somewhat surprised when the drinks arrived to find how thick and strong the liquid was.
"Good grief!" he exclaimed, "I've heard of strong tea, but this is ridiculous! Don't leave the spoon in or it will dissolve!"
Jeanette laughed and sipped her drink. "It is not like the tea the Americans gave us," she observed. "And not at all like the tea at the Consulate."
Ginger took a sip of his. It was green and tasted of mint. "It's not proper tea at all," opined Ginger. "Still, it's wet and warm and better than nothing," he concluded. "I suppose I'm just fussy."
"You are English," laughed Jeanette. "The English think tea is important, n'est-ce pas?"
"You can't beat a good cuppa," admitted Ginger with a smile. "No matter how bad the situation, it's always improved by a cup of tea."
She reached across and took his hand. "I shall like England," she declared, gazing at him tenderly, "if all the English are like you."
Ginger blushed, at a loss how to reply; he contented himself by squeezing her hand gently.
When they had finished their meal, they made their way along the street to the cathedral. Ginger suggested they stopped at one of the shops and offered to buy Jeanette and her mother a lace mantilla each. "You'll want to cover your heads," he stated, "and I don't suppose Mrs Jameson has one to give you."
Jeanette was overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness. "C'est si gentil," she breathed as he told her to make her choice from the small selection on offer. He watched indulgently as she fingered the lace and decided which one to have.
When she had made up her mind, Ginger paid the bill, grateful that the Consulate had allowed him to draw his Air Force pay. "Here," he said handing her the parcel. "You can wear yours today and give your mother hers when you get back."
"Merci, Ginger," she murmured gratefully. Impulsively, she kissed him on the cheek and then blushed at her boldness.
Ginger smiled delightedly, thankful that he had taken care to shave, even if he hadn't felt he really needed to. He offered her his arm and together they carried on to the foot of the Kasbah where the cathédrale St Philippe, a Moorish building with an arcade of arches at the top of a steep flight of steps, was situated. Tall palm trees swayed in front of the Governor-General's Winter Palace next door, casting their shade on the pavement. They climbed the 23 steps that led up to the portico and paused outside the door. Proudly Jeanette donned her mantilla while Ginger removed his cap and they entered the building. It was dark inside after the bright sunlight. There were only a few people sitting in the pews. A lamp burned before the altar. It had been so long since he had been in church, thought Ginger, he had almost forgotten what to do. The faint scent of incense which seemed to pervade the very structure took him instantly back to his early childhood.
Jeanette dipped her fingers in the stoup and crossed herself before genuflecting and kneeling in one of the pews. Ginger copied her, recalling dim memories of the time before his mother's death. He thought sadly that she would have been delighted to see him there. He knelt beside Jeanette and silently gave thanks for deliverance and for having met the girl at his side. He commended his mother to God and prayed for the repose of her soul. Wondering if he was being insincere, he appended his father's name to his prayers, although his father had been a Protestant and not a practising one at that.
Jeanette looked up and met his eyes. He smiled and sat back. "I'll wait for you here," he whispered.
"You will not go to confession?" she asked him.
"I have never made my first communion," replied Ginger candidly. "I'll attend Mass with you, but I can't take the Sacrament."
Jeanette nodded understandingly as Ginger moved aside to let her make her way to the confessional.
Alone with his thoughts, Ginger sat in the darkness and waited. It was peaceful and he felt content. It seemed no time at all before Jeanette came back and knelt beside him to say the prayers the priest had enjoined as penance. Ginger looked at her bowed head fondly and offered up another prayer, this time for her wellbeing.
At length she sat back and took his hand. "I am ready," she announced. They rose and left. After the darkness of the cathedral, the sunlight was blinding. Ginger donned his cap and put his arm around Jeanette's waist again as they strolled in a leisurely fashion through the narrow streets back to the Consulate, content to take their time and enjoying each other's company. Algiers was a beautiful city, thought Ginger, and very exotic. It was a strange mix of French and Arab cultures, which was reflected in the architecture. They glimpsed steep, narrow alleys where the balconies almost met over the narrow, cobbled steps that prevented vehicular traffic. Donkeys carried enormous loads, threading their way between street children, women and sleeping natives. The lack of sanitation revealed itself in the less than exotic stench that drifted from the quarter.
Behind them, Bertie, who had happened to be approaching the cathedral on his way back from Admiralty Headquarters when they emerged, could have wept with frustration and chagrin. They had only been holding hands when they left that morning, he thought. Now they had their arms entwined and were hugging each other around the waist. What on earth had they been up to on the beach, he wondered miserably. Had that little minx been leading Ginger astray, for all her much-vaunted modesty? He was so innocent. And what had they been doing in the church? Surely she hadn't persuaded Ginger he wanted to marry her, had she? Bertie blotted out the thought of the two of them in bed together; it was too painful.
With an ache in his heart he watched Ginger walking jauntily along, admiring the lad's slim figure. No wonder that woman had her arms round him, thought Bertie bitterly. He wouldn't be able to keep his hands off the young man if he were allowed, either. Bertie silently cursed the burden that he carried, wishing that he were like other men, but he knew that he wasn't and that there was nothing he could do about it except deny himself the gratification he so craved.
The object of Bertie's longing escorted Jeanette up the steps into the Consulate and saw her up to her room.
"I'll probably sit out on the terrace before dinner," hinted Ginger as they lingered in the corridor. "Once I've got rid of this sand," he grinned.
Jeanette lovingly brushed an imaginary speck from his epaulette. "I expect that maman and I will also sit there," she murmured. "It is so warm, it will be pleasant to sit in the shade."
Ginger made an effort to tear himself away. "I'll see you later," he promised as he made for the stairs. Jeanette watched him until he had gone out of sight before she went to show her mother the presents Ginger had bought.
Whistling cheerfully, Ginger clattered down the stairs and swung round the corner, almost colliding with Bertie who had arrived at their landing from the foyer.
"You look like the cat that got the cream," observed Bertie sourly, knowing it was unwise, but unable to help himself. "Has that woman been leading you on? Getting you to take liberties?" he asked bitterly.
Ginger bristled. "What do you mean?" he asked angrily. "Don't refer to Jeanette as 'that woman'. How dare you suggest I'd take liberties with her!" The memory of Biggles' talk was all too fresh; he coloured and was furious with himself for blushing, which did nothing to ease the tension.
The sound of Ginger's raised voice made Biggles open the door of his room. He took in the body language of his protégé and instantly stepped in to defuse the dissention in the ranks before it could flare up into serious trouble.
"What's going on?" he asked quietly.
Ginger turned to face him, white with fury, but before he could speak, Bertie intervened.
"Ginger seems to have lost his sense of humour as well as his heart," he murmured sardonically. "He doesn't seem to be able to take a ribbing any more."
Ginger bridled at this explanation and was about to launch into his version of events, when Biggles fixed him with a steely gaze and said firmly, "put your hackles down, laddie. That won't help anybody."
Ginger compressed his lips and said nothing.
Biggles looked at Bertie contemplatively. His flight commander was acting strangely and baiting Ginger about Jeanette, as Biggles suspected was the cause of the trouble, was a sure way to initiate bad feeling. The state Ginger was in at the moment, such a course of action could easily lead to a fight.
"Go into my room and wait for me there, Ginger," ordered Biggles. "I'll talk to you later."
Ginger turned on his heel and flung open the door, slamming it behind him. When the lad had disappeared, Biggles shook his head sadly.
"Sometimes, Bertie," he sighed, "I wonder if you weren't hiding behind a gooseberry bush when they handed out common sense."
"Oh, I say!" exclaimed Bertie.
"I don't want arguments and unpleasantness in the squadron, still less do I want my officers brawling," stated Biggles icily. "I shouldn't have thought I needed to spell it out that Ginger is very sensitive on the subject, but I strongly suggest you don't tease him about Jeanette. That was what it was about, wasn't it?" he added perspicaciously.
Bertie had the grace to look ashamed. He nodded, polishing his eye glass mechanically. "I'm sorry, sir. What I said was uncalled for and ungentlemanly," he admitted contritely. "I shouldn't have done it; I really don't know what came over me. I overstepped the mark. Mea culpa and all that."
"See it doesn't happen again and that will be the last we'll hear of it," stated Biggles shortly. "But I'm not going to tolerate any situation that will be prejudicial to good order. Do I make myself clear? If you want to stay with the squadron, you will accept that and act on it."
"Absolutely, old boy," affirmed Bertie with alacrity. He did not want to be parted from Ginger and he knew that Biggles did not make idle threats. "A nod is as good as a wink and all that."
Biggles nodded and went to deal with Ginger. Bertie heaved a sigh of relief. That was a close shave; he would have to watch his tongue as well as his hands, he told himself sternly. Whatever had he been thinking of to let his anguish show, he asked himself. He had seen in the hospital garden how Ginger was prepared to defend Jeanette. He should have known what the result of his ill-judged remarks would be. It must have been something in the atmosphere generated by the mass of soldiery in the town, he thought; all that seething raw frustration of men without women exacerbating his own predicament.
Biggles opened the bedroom door to find Ginger pacing up and down. He watched the lad for a moment unobserved. Then some sixth sense alerted Ginger to his presence.
"Permission to speak, sir?" ground out Ginger through lips that quivered with fury.
"Not yet," Biggles told him. "I want to have a word first. Sit down, take a few deep breaths and calm down."
While Ginger was putting the order into execution, Biggles drew out a cigarette and lit it. He contemplated his protégé through a haze of smoke.
"Before you say anything," Biggles pre-empted the lad, "You should know that Bertie has acknowledged that he shouldn't have said what he did and he regrets doing so. Moreover, he has promised me that he won't be twisting your tail about Jeanette again. I've told him if he goes back on that, he'll get his marching orders."
Ginger looked at Biggles wide-eyed. "It's a disciplinary issue," Biggles told him brusquely. "I can't have the pair of you squaring up to each other every time Bertie says something you object to."
Ginger dropped his eyes.
"And you, my lad," continued Biggles sternly, "will have to get used to having your leg pulled."
Ginger looked his CO in the eye. "It wasn't that, Biggles," he said perplexed. "You tease me, and so does Algy and, while I'm embarrassed, I don't mind because it's just … well, it's just chaffing and I know that. This …" he hesitated before plunging on, " … this was different. Bertie insulted Jeanette. He accused me of …" he swallowed and turned bright scarlet before muttering " … taking liberties with her. Worse," he said in anguished tones, "he made out that she had led me on. Jeanette isn't like that – and neither am I," he added passionately. "I paid attention when you had that talk with me."
Biggles frowned. "I know, laddie," he reassured the youngster; "I can see why you were so upset," he murmured soothingly. "That doesn't excuse starting a fight, however," he admonished.
Ginger hung his head. "I know. I'm sorry. I just lost my temper. If you hadn't turned up I would have clocked him one," he admitted.
Biggles smiled grimly. "I know that; and then I would have had to put you on a charge." He looked at his watch. "You'd better have a bath before dinner and cool off," he observed.
Ginger started. "I told Jeanette I'd meet her on the terrace," he blurted out.
"Then get a move on," urged Biggles with a smile. "It's bad form to keep a lady waiting."
Ginger did not need a second telling. He performed his ablutions in record time and dashed down to the terrace. Jeanette and her mother were sitting at a table, talking to the princess.
They all looked up at his precipitous entrance. "Jeanette was wondering what had happened to you," the princess told him with a smile. "She thought you had forsaken her."
Ginger grinned sheepishly. "I was delayed," he muttered, "but I got here as quickly as I could once it was sorted out."
The princess smiled. "I can see that," she observed. "You have not buttoned up your shirt properly!"
Ginger looked down to discover he had missed a button when dressing and his shirt front was open. He fumbled to fasten it and failed.
"Attends," said Jeanette, brushing his hands gently aside. She neatly did up the button for him. "Voilà!" she exclaimed patting the material into place.
"Merci," smiled Ginger, delighted by the uxorial gesture. Jeanette was wearing the third of Mrs Jameson's discarded dresses. This one was a rich, navy blue with short sleeves and beading around the neck. Jeanette had draped the matching jacket with its three-quarter sleeves and more beadwork on the collar and cuffs over the back of her chair. Ginger thought she looked ravishing. If Mrs Jameson had excellent taste, he reflected, Jeanette certainly did justice to it.
The princess watched, smiling knowingly, but remained silent.
Madame Ducoste observed her daughter and the young man, thinking they seemed to have drawn much closer that afternoon; she would have a talk with Jeanette before they went to bed, she decided. She thanked Ginger for the mantilla and expressed her gratitude for his offer to escort them the following day.
"De rien, madame," responded Ginger politely. "I expect most of the Consulate will be going to the Anglican church."
The dinner gong reverberated through the evening air just as Biggles, Bertie and Algy appeared on the terrace.
"Just in time to escort the ladies," exclaimed Algy, smiling. "Perfect."
Jeanette slipped her arm through Ginger's, claiming him as her escort before anyone could intervene. Ginger smiled delightedly and put his hand proprietarily on hers. Algy left an unhappy Bertie to partner Madame Ducoste, murmuring he was going to take Elaine in to dinner and promptly went off in search of the cipher clerk. The rest of the party followed Biggles and the princess through to the dining room where Algy joined them with his tennis partner.
Conversation at dinner was subdued. The news from the Tunisian front had been less than encouraging after initial promise. Biggles expressed the opinion that transport to England would be further delayed as a result.
While Ginger was dismayed to hear that there had been heavy losses among their American allies, the news of the delay in returning home lifted his spirits. The prospect of more time with Jeanette filled him with cheer.