Chapter 6
It was almost time to rejoin the ladies when the howl of air raid sirens preceded the crump of anti-aircraft fire. The airmen exchanged glances as the lights went out. Jameson immediately rose and they all rushed out onto the terrace to find Elaine and Mrs Jameson ushering the princess, Jeanette and her mother indoors. All the lights in the town had been extinguished, but a flare lit the sky over the harbour and the ack-ack batteries that ringed the port added their pyrotechnics to the glare.
Ginger put his arm around Jeanette protectively. "It'll be alright," he told her reassuringly as the party made its way down to the cellars by the light of matches and cigarette lighters. "It looks like a lone reconnaissance plane taking photos. They wouldn't drop just one parachute flare if they were going to bomb the port; they'd drop markers and we'd hear more engines." He did not add that once the aerial reconnaissance photographs had been examined, bombers were likely to follow to pound the shipping that would be revealed.
Jeanette huddled against him, grateful for the comfort, making the most of having an excuse to be in his arms. Gently Ginger patted her shoulder and stroked her hair, not caring what the others thought. As far as he was concerned, the evening was just perfect.
In the event, his assessment of the situation proved right. No whistle of bombs or explosions followed the incursion and the all-clear soon sounded. The party emerged onto the terrace to see the street lights being switched on again after the German plane had departed. Ginger kept his arm around Jeanette's shoulders. It had been a sharp reminder that the war was not as far away as he had been imagining and their holiday was almost over. He resolved to make the most of it while he could.
Algy and the cipher clerk slipped away into the shadows under the trees while Biggles and the rest of the party disposed themselves at the tables dotting the terrace. When the coffee failed to materialise, Mrs Jameson went to the kitchens to discover that the native servants had fled. She made the coffee herself and enlisted the aid of Mario to serve it.
Ginger assisted Jeanette with her chair. The air was becoming cooler and she shivered. He draped her jacket over her shoulders then drew up his own chair close to hers so that he could resume his embrace under the pretext of imparting warmth. Jeanette seemed nothing loath that he should continue his cosy gesture. She was beginning to realise just how much she enjoyed cuddling up to him; having his arm around her made her feel secure and his touch was very pleasant. More than pleasant, she admitted to herself; she had experienced intense joy when he put his arm round her. He had not taken advantage when she had impulsively kissed him after he bought the mantillas, she thought. Although she sensed that he had been delighted by the gesture, he had been content to accept it and had not tried to follow it up. She decided that perhaps it was time to encourage him that he might.
The evening passed all too quickly for Ginger. It seemed no time at all before the party broke up to seek their beds. As had become his custom, he accompanied Madame Ducoste and Jeanette to their room. Madame went in immediately, but Jeanette lingered as he hoped she would, holding his hand.
"I'll meet you on the terrace after I've had breakfast," he arranged, aware that she and her mother would fast before they went to Mass.
Jeanette agreed, wondering how she could let him know that she wanted him to kiss her on the cheek rather than on her forehead without seeming brazen.
She whispered, "t'es si gentil." He smiled and bent to kiss her goodnight.
By dint of standing on tiptoes and angling her head at the requisite moment, she managed to get Ginger's lips to brush her cheek. He drew back, surprised, wondering if it had been a mistake. Jeanette blushed and smiled bashfully, hoping he would take the hint.
Ginger drew in a deep breath and gently kissed her again, this time deliberately on the cheek, murmuring, "goodnight, sweet dreams."
"Goodnight, Ginger," breathed Jeanette happily, her heart pounding so loudly she thought he must be able to hear it. Reluctantly, she let go of his hand and entered her bedroom.
Ginger stood in the corridor for a moment hardly able to believe what had happened. Then his face split into a huge grin and he almost skipped down the stairs, unaware that in her bedroom, Jeanette was extolling his virtues under her mother's questioning.
Ginger felt his relationship with Jeanette had suddenly taken a huge leap forward and he could hardly wait for the morrow so that he could see her again. He was radiating such joy that Biggles could not fail to notice the change in Ginger's demeanour when the young man entered the room, but he forbore making any comment as he drew his own conclusions about the reason for his protégé's exultation. Instead he contented himself with confirming Ginger's plans for the following day.
Biggles waited amused as Ginger took great care over his evening ablutions. He thought back to when Ginger had come into his life as a filthy waif and smiled. It had taken a while to accustom the boy to soap and water when he first arrived, reflected Biggles. Now, with Jeanette on his mind, Ginger could hardly be prised out of the bathroom.
Biggles sighed inaudibly, feeling the loss of Marie keenly. Seeing Ginger and Jeanette idyllically happy together brought it all back so vividly. He opened the window, lit a cigarette and leaned out, looking across the town to the moonlit harbour, trying not to think of his doomed romance and what might have become of his truelove.
"Are you alright?" asked Ginger, thinking he had never seen his chief so pensive.
Biggles turned and stubbed out his cigarette. "Yes," he replied sombrely. "I've just got a lot on my mind."
Ginger nodded, unaware of his contribution to Biggles' thoughts, and got into bed.
Biggles shut the window and followed Ginger's example. He lay awake for a while, listening to Ginger's even breathing before tiredness took over and he slept uneasily.
The next morning dawned grey and dull in contrast with the fine days they had enjoyed since their arrival in Algeria. A squall of rain swept across the city, leaving the streets shiny with moisture.
Ginger woke and stretched. The quality of light alerted him to the change in the weather. He flung back the bedclothes and swung his legs out of bed. The chilly morning air hit his naked body and he hastened into the bathroom to wash and dress.
When he returned Biggles was awake and sitting up in bed. "Just as well you're not going swimming today," he observed as he got up.
Ginger nodded. "I did say I'd meet Jeanette on the terrace, though," he mused. "I think I ought to make other arrangements. It's no sort of weather to be hanging around in the open."
Biggles smiled. "I'll see you at breakfast," he commented with a twinkle in his eye.
Ginger climbed the stairs to the next floor and tapped on Jeanette's door. For a moment nothing happened, then he heard movement. The door opened a crack and Jeanette's face appeared. She broke into a warm smile when she saw him.
Jeanette opened the door wider and Ginger caught a glimpse of bare flesh swiftly covered as Jeanette pulled the silk kimono she was wearing tighter at her neck. He felt himself go red.
"I – I," he stammered, "I didn't mean to catch you unprepared," he finally got out. "I just wanted to change the arrangements for meeting up with you. I'm sorry, I didn't think." He turned to go.
Jeanette blushed faintly. "It does not matter, Ginger, I am glad to see you," she told him, anxious to reassure him. Hesitantly Ginger turned back, his eyes steadfastly on her face.
"It's too wet to meet on the terrace," he blurted out. "I thought we should meet in the salon. I didn't want you getting soaked, but I didn't want to miss you, either," he admitted frankly.
Jeanette smiled. "C'est gentil," she told him gently, putting her hand on his arm. "I, too, do not want to miss you."
Ginger smiled, relieved that his impetuosity had not annoyed her. Madame Ducoste called out, asking who it was.
"I'd better go," murmured Ginger as Jeanette disclosed his identity. "I'll see you after breakfast."
She wished him "bon appétit" as he turned away. He glanced back as he turned the corner to see her still watching him. He waved and felt a warm glow as Jeanette acknowledged the gesture. Smiling happily, he clattered down the stairs to join the others for breakfast.
Biggles and Algy greeted him casually when he arrived, but Bertie merely mumbled something unintelligible without looking up from his plate. Even without looking, Bertie sensed the young man's happiness and it sharpened his jealousy. He did not trust himself to speak, acutely aware of Biggles' warning. Ginger helped himself from the sideboard and sat next to his CO.
Conversation was desultory and mostly concerned the weather. Biggles expressed the opinion that it would not delay their return, once transport was available. It was not what Ginger wanted to hear, but he knew that the holiday was drawing to an end and he was resigned. He expected any day now to hear that there would be space available on a homeward-bound aircraft and determined he would make the most of every minute.
Ginger swallowed his last piece of toast and pushed his plate away. "If you'll forgive me," he murmured politely, "I'll be off to Mass."
Bertie spluttered over his coffee and caught his eyeglass deftly. "You're off to church!" he exclaimed in disbelief.
Ginger nodded.
"I'm surprised you've had breakfast, in that case," remarked Bertie, looking at the young man curiously. "Surely one doesn't eat before communion."
"I'm only escorting Jeanette and her mother," explained Ginger.
"Ah, I might have known," sighed Bertie sadly.
Ginger looked at him sharply.
"Off you go, then, laddie," urged Biggles before the situation could worsen. "You don't want to be late."
Ginger stood up. "Borrow an umbrella from the stand," advised Algy with a smile. "Not only will it keep you dry, it'll give you a good excuse to get closer to Jeanette as you shelter her."
Ginger coloured and looked sheepish, but he had to admit that the idea was a good one. He thanked Algy for the suggestion and departed.
Broodingly, Bertie watched him leave. He finished his coffee in silence. Suddenly the bitter liquid tasted like wormwood in his mouth.
Ginger passed through the hall and selected a large black umbrella that would offer ample protection from the rain for all three of them, Algy was a sly dog, he thought with a grin; the opportunity would never have occurred to him, but Algy didn't miss a trick where the fair sex was concerned. He was looking forward to the walk to the cathedral, sure that Jeanette would be as pleased to huddle under his umbrella as he was to have the chance to offer her cover.
Jeanette and her mother were waiting in the withdrawing room. They were wearing the mantillas he had presented and both had borrowed coats against the cooler, wet weather.
"You will be cold!" exclaimed Jeanette in a concerned voice when she saw he was still wearing his tropical kit.
"I don't have anything else to change into," he remarked ruefully. "I'm lucky to have this uniform." He held out the umbrella; "at least we won't get wet," he smiled.
"C'est très pratique," approved Jeanette. Her mother agreed.
Ginger escorted them out of the Consulate and opened the brolly. As he had hoped, Jeanette snuggled against him and he put his arm around her, hugging her to him cosily. Madame Ducoste held onto his other arm.
The church bells of the town rang out as they joined the crowds, many of whom were also on their way to worship.
The trams were just as over-crowded as during the week, although Ginger offered Madame Ducoste the opportunity to board one if she felt so inclined. To her daughter's and Ginger's delight, Madame declined.
At the top of the cathedral steps, having seen Jeanette and her mother under the cover of the portico, Ginger shut the umbrella and shook off the raindrops. Hastily he removed his cap and followed the women into the interior, now ablaze with candles. They found a seat and knelt before the Mass began.
Ginger felt somewhat guilty that he was enjoying himself so much, sitting beside Jeanette in the semi-darkness. He examined his conscience and asked himself if it wasn't rather sinful to be attending a religious service just so he could be near the girl he felt so attracted to. A bit like being there under false pretences. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
Jeanette looked at him and smiled. He smiled back and stifled his misgivings. Just then, the organ swelled; the procession made its way towards the east and began sprinkling the altar and the congregation with holy water before the solemn rite began.
Ginger was struck by the beauty of the ceremony. To his embarrassment the topic for the homily after the Gospel was love, but he found the message encouraging. If he had been looking for a sign that his presence at Jeanette's side was not frowned upon, he thought, he could not have had a clearer indication in the priest's extolment of the injunction to love one another. He watched Jeanette as she walked up to take the sacrament with her mother and felt an overwhelming tenderness for her. She met his eyes when she returned to her seat and smiled before kneeling and bowing her head.
Ginger sighed. Jeanette sat up when she had finished praying and asked him if he was alright. He nodded wistfully. The last communicant had returned to his seat and the priest, having finished the purification and recited the Communion antiphon, faced the people.
"Dominus vobiscum," he intoned.
The response echoed through the cathedral. The priest read the Postcommunion and repeated his blessing after the murmur of Amen from the congregation. Again the answer "Et cum spiritu tuo" filled the air.
"Ite, missa est," the last words were pronounced and with a last Deo gratias the Mass was over.
Ginger and his party sat a while and let the cathedral empty before they rose and made their way to the exit.
The priest noticed his RAF uniform and made a point of telling him in halting English how grateful they all were for liberation from the Boches. "And for the orgue," he added. "If an English officier did not restored it, we will not have a such beautiful music at our rite."
"It was a lovely ceremony, mon père," murmured Ginger, who knew nothing about the restoration of the organ by the Royal Artillery officer, Noel Mander; "very moving." He shook hands, replaced his cap and left with Jeanette on one arm and her mother on the other. The rain, he was half disappointed to notice, had stopped, although the sky was still overcast.
"You must be starving," observed Ginger when they had descended onto the square, "would you like to go for something to eat?"
The others agreed and they found a café on the Boulevard de la République where Jeanette and her mother enjoyed a light snack before making their way back slowly to the Consulate. Ginger ordered a coffee which turned out to be thick and sweet like Turkish coffee.
The weather was improving all the time, so much so that when they had reached the consular building the sun was trying to peep out from behind the clouds.
"Would you like to go to the Jardin d'Essai after lunch?" Ginger asked Jeanette. "It looks as though the weather is going to brighten up, so it would be a shame to stay indoors. We may not have much longer before we have to go home."
Jeanette looked at her mother, who smiled and nodded before observing that she, however, would stay at the Consulate and rest. The young ones, she insisted, should nonetheless make the most of their time together.
"Merci, madame," breathed Ginger gratefully. He returned the umbrella as they passed through the foyer on their way up to the second floor where Jeanette and her mother removed their coats before luncheon.
He would have waited politely outside, but Jeanette took his hand and led him into the bedroom. Trying not to appear to take too great an interest in the surroundings, Ginger surveyed the room. He felt, vaguely, that if he could imagine where Jeanette was when he wasn't with her, he would not miss her so much. He wondered if Jeanette had invited him in because she didn't want to be parted from him either. She had said that she didn't want to miss him when he had re-arranged their meeting place; was there a double entendre in her remark, he pondered.
Jeanette took her mother's coat and hung it with her own in the wardrobe before coming back to Ginger's side. Sunlight was beginning to stream through the clouds and blaze in the window.
"It looks as though we're going to be dry, at least, for our trip to the experimental garden," remarked Ginger as Jeanette slipped her hand into his. He squeezed it gently, pleased to resume contact with her. He ought not to feel so diffident about holding her, he told himself. She seemed happy enough to touch him and confident now that he would not take advantage.
"We are fortunate," she observed. "We can also sit out on the terrace for a little while before lunch, now there is sun. It will soon be warm."
And so it proved. Ginger escorted them to the terrace where the rapidly warming air had dried off the seating. A thin miasma rose over the town as the heat evaporated the rain.
They sat and chatted, enabling Ginger to practise his French. Not long afterwards Algy and Elaine came and joined them.
"Feeling virtuous now?" Algy asked Ginger teasingly.
Ginger grinned.
Jeanette looked puzzled. "Ginger is virtuous, Algy," she told him innocently. "He is an officer and a gentleman."
Algy laughed. "I know that, Jeanette," he explained. "That's why I'm pulling his leg."
Jeanette looked at Ginger's legs, thinking English was a strange language. Algy could not possibly reach Ginger's leg from where he was sitting. Ginger' knees were beginning to look tanned, she noticed.
"It means he's teasing me – il me taquine," explained Ginger, seeing the direction of her gaze.
Jeanette blushed. "I need to improve my English," she murmured.
"Practice makes perfect," smiled Ginger.
"And Ginger will make sure you get plenty of practice," added Algy with a wink that made the young man blush.
Elaine eyed the lad curiously. "Did you manage to get your wound dressed?" she asked him.
Ginger's blush deepened at the memory of the encounter. "Yes, thank you," he replied.
"Maman tended him," divulged Jeanette.
Elaine looked from one to the other and smiled knowingly.
"Madame looked after me when I was first wounded," explained Ginger. "She saved my life. And Jeanette, of course," he added, smiling at her gratefully.
Elaine nodded understandingly. "I see," she breathed. He had fallen in love with his nurse. It happened. Her brother had done the same; he had been killed only a few weeks after he got married, having rejoined his unit following a day's honeymoon. She glanced at Algy. War was an abomination, she thought; we should enjoy ourselves while we've got the chance and Algy was certainly fun to be with. There was no future in any relationship with him of course, he would go back to England as soon as transport became available and she had no illusions that he would keep in touch, but having a good time while it lasted was what it was all about.
Algy stood up. "My stomach tells me it's lunchtime," he announced.
Ginger looked at his watch. "You're pretty accurate, as usual," he commented. "I make it just coming up to one o'clock."
"Then let's get cracking; I bet Biggles is already in the dining room and he'll complain we're keeping everybody waiting."
"No takers," smiled Ginger as he offered Jeanette one arm and her mother the other. "It's a racing certainty."
Algy's prediction was almost fulfilled. Biggles was indeed in the dining room, but it was Bertie who complained that they were late.
"You should have taken that wager," said Algy laughingly. "You'd have collected half the odds."
"I don't bet," returned Ginger. "My money's hard enough earned as it is."
Algy turned to Jeanette with a twinkle in his eye. "He's sober, thrifty and conscientious, as well as virtuous," he told her only half jokingly. "Don't you think he'll make a good catch?" Elaine dug him in the ribs.
Ginger turned scarlet and Jeanette blushed.
Bertie went white. "Oh I say!" he exclaimed.
"That's enough teasing," intervened Biggles before the situation got out of hand. "Let the pair of them eat their lunch in peace."
Algy chuckled. "Fair enough," he acknowledged. "What is everybody going to do this afternoon?" he asked to change the subject.
When the others had announced their plans, Bertie expressed the opinion that he should go to see Henri, as he was the only one who had not yet paid a visit, never having got past the garden.
"Good idea," agreed Biggles. "We don't want Henri to feel he's been abandoned."
"Exactly, old boy," affirmed Bertie. He turned to Madame Ducoste. "I'd be delighted if you would care to accompany me to see your son, madame," he added politely.
Madame Ducoste thanked him for his kindness. "C'est gentil, monsieur," she told him. "I 'ad intended to stay 'ere to rest," she admitted, "but I would like very much to see Henri."
"Then that's settled then," concluded Biggles, who had received some signals from England and was intending to spend his time drafting responses and preparing the requisite replies to be sent as soon as the cipher office opened for business after the weekend.
The party broke up after lunch to go its separate ways. Elaine and Algy disappeared into town to see a matinee performance of Carmen at the Opera House. A car had been sent to collect the princess who had been invited to AFHQ at the Hotel St Georges. She insisted that the driver detour via the hospital to take Madame Ducoste and Bertie so they did not have to walk.
Ginger and Jeanette declined the offer of a lift; they were delighted to be on foot, which gave them more time to be together with their arms round each other. They strolled down the rue Sidi Carnot, among the palm trees, watching the overcrowded trams clank past. At length, they reached the ornate railings that flanked the gates of the Jardin d'Essai, Algiers' botanical garden. They entered and crossed the wide open space before descending the steps to reach the broad alley that stretched between exotic shrubs. Yuccas and bamboos lined the paths while a tunnel of arching trees provided welcome shade from the heat of the sun and tall palms rose high above the intersections like giant signposts.
They spent their afternoon happily wandering along the alleyways and paths, idling along the edge of the lake, oblivious of everyone but each other. Jeanette was overcome with a fit of giggles when they tried to identify the exotic plants. Ginger had to admit his botanical knowledge was limited, despite his adventures in far off lands. He spent a lot of time recounting his journeys with his comrades, while Jeanette listened with rapt attention. The hours sped past and only the lengthening shadows alerted them to the need to return.
As they left the entrance, a tram headed for the centre of town clanked to a halt at the stop opposite the gates. Ginger asked Jeanette if she would like to take it to save time.
Tired, but contented after the afternoon spent walking with Ginger, Jeanette agreed, so they quickly crossed the street and hopped on before it had a chance to pull away. Ginger helped Jeanette up the steep steps and assisted her to find a seat. The vehicle was full but not as overcrowded as some they had seen earlier in the day. There were no passengers clinging to the outside at least, he was relieved to note. It was not possible for them both to obtain a seat, but Ginger stood resolutely next to the place he found for Jeanette in case she attracted any unwelcome attention. He guessed that Arab women were not veiled from head to foot for no reason and he had already had occasion to distrust predatory naval officers.
In the event, there were no problems and they alighted at the junction of the Boulevard Baudin and the rue d'Isly from where it was a short walk to the Consulate. Ginger helped Jeanette down and steadied her as she leapt from the last step onto the pavement.
They walked up the street slowly, arm in arm, both feeling tired but elated after their excursion. The call of the Muezzin mingled with the sound of church bells, emphasising the strange mix of east and west that characterised Algiers.
At last they reached the Consulate and made their way wearily into the foyer.
"I expect we're late," said Ginger guiltily. He looked at his watch just as the gong rang out to announce dinner.
"Not late," smiled Jeanette, "just in time, n'est-ce pas?"
"I'm sorry I didn't leave you time to freshen up or change," he apologised.
"It will not matter," Jeanette reassured him. "I 'ave 'ad a good time in the jardin," she told him. "I 'ave enjoyed it very much."
Ginger beamed. "I'm glad," he said enthusiastically. "So have I."
He offered her his arm to take her into dinner. There was a flurry of footsteps behind them as Algy and Elaine rushed toward the dining room.
"I thought everyone would be sitting down to eat by the time we got here," puffed Algy, "but I see you've only just beaten us."
"How was the Opera?" asked Ginger curiously.
"Not a bad production," opined Algy. He squeezed Elaine's waist. "The company was superb," he smiled.
"Very entertaining," agreed the cipher clerk with a knowing smile.
Their attitude made Ginger wonder if they had been sitting in the back row, but he said nothing.
"I think Carmen is sad," remarked Jeanette. "The lovers do not live 'appily."
"No, it's very tragic," admitted Algy, "but the music is very stirring. Lots of passion."
Elaine stifled a laugh.
Ginger looked at the pair in surprise. Algy assumed such an innocent air that it immediately made him look as though he'd been up to no good.
"And you've had a good time in the bushes with Jeanette?" asked Algy teasingly.
Ginger laughed. "I'd hardly put it like that," he said, "but there were lots of exotic plants, weren't there?" he asked his companion.
"Some flowers we did not know their names," admitted Jeanette. "In English or French."
They reached the dining room just as the last of the other diners was entering and filed in behind.
"Phew!" quietly whistled Algy in mock relief as they took their seats. "I thought we were going to get a rocket from Biggles for being late on parade."
Ginger grinned as he solicitously helped Jeanette with her chair. Biggles had indeed given them a sharp look as they had entered, but had said nothing. Bertie had positively glowered at Jeanette before dropping his gaze and polishing his eyeglass furiously.
Drinking his soup, Ginger put one hand in his lap as he had been taught. Jeanette leaned towards him and asked curiously why he did it.
"It's good table manners," he explained. "Isn't that what you do in Monaco?"
"Non," Jeanette told him, "for us, we keep our 'ands always on the table, where they are seen." She blushed as she said it.
Ginger also turned pink as he thought he understood the reason. "Ah," he said, at a loss what else to say. "In England, if you're not using them to eat, you put your hands in your lap," he elucidated. He finished his soup, put his spoon neatly in the dish and placed both hands in his lap.
She reached across and slipped her hand into his. "I will learn to eat like the English," she vowed, with a smile.
Ginger took a deep breath and moved his hand across to his hip without letting go of hers. "It does have certain advantages," he admitted, smiling into her eyes.
"I 'ave so much to learn," admitted Jeanette as they tackled their main course. "It is not just 'ow to speak English."
"I think you're delightful as you are," avowed Ginger gallantly but truthfully. "It doesn't matter that you don't quite speak English properly or that you don't have English table manners. You're not English." He paused and blushed before murmuring, "that's what I like about you."
She put her cutlery down for a moment and squeezed his hand appreciatively. "You are so English," she told him admiringly. "That is what I like about you," she added bashfully, blushing as she admitted it.
Out of the corner of his eye, Ginger saw Bertie's jaw tighten when Jeanette held his hand. There was just a momentary pause in the conversation with his neighbour, resumed in an instant, so slight that Ginger wondered if he had imagined it, but Bertie had been acting very strangely since they had met up in the bedroom of number six rue Marinière, he mused. He pushed Bertie from his mind and smiled at Jeanette, delighted with her admission.
"You are thinking?" asked Jeanette when Ginger did not speak for a while.
"Yes, sorry," he murmured. "I am not very good company, am I? I was wondering if the weather is going to be good enough to go swimming tomorrow. And if it isn't, what we can do instead."
"You are very good company," she contradicted him. "I am sure you will think of something," she breathed.
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," he told her.
"Which bridge?" she asked, puzzled.
Ginger smiled. "No bridge in particular; it means I'll make a decision when I have to. If it's fine tomorrow, we'll go swimming. It's only if it rains that I'll have to think of something else to do."
Jeanette looked confused. "English 'as so many strange phrases," she observed. "It does not mean what it says. You cross bridges, but there are no bridges and you pull a leg, but do not touch it."
Ginger laughed quietly. "I suppose it does seem odd," he admitted. "I never gave it a thought."
They had finished their pudding and the dishes were cleared away. Mrs Jameson withdrew, taking the ladies with her, while the men passed the port and smoked.
As usual, Ginger fidgeted with impatience until it was time to leave the table. One glass of port was more than enough for him and the smoke invariably made him cough, even if he hadn't been counting the minutes until he could be with Jeanette again.