Chapter 7

That evening, much to Ginger's chagrin, the port circulated more times than usual as the news from the front was discussed. Despite American reverses it seemed that Montgomery's Eighth Army was making advances from the east, fighting all the way in his attempt to link up with the Americans. Much time was spent discussing the politics of dealing with the Vichy government's North African representatives and the problems of negotiating with Admiral Darlan, which went completely over Ginger's head. He got the impression that neither the Americans nor the English were very impressed by the Frenchman's posturing. He sighed.

"Cheer up," urged Algy as he leaned back and blew a smoke ring. "It won't be long before you're reunited."

Ginger blushed. "Is it that obvious?" he asked sheepishly.

"It's written all over your face," Algy told him, smiling. "The moment Jeanette walked out the door, it was if a light had been switched off."

Ginger's blush deepened. "I didn't realise," he mumbled.

"It's only natural," Algy told him reassuringly. "Don't be embarrassed by it."

Ginger said nothing. "Are you finding it all a bit confusing?" asked Algy.

Ginger nodded. "I can't stop thinking about her. When we're together, it's as though …" he paused, unsure how to put his feelings into words. "I feel so happy, it almost hurts," he confessed at length.

Algy nodded encouragingly.

"I find it hard to keep my hands off her," admitted Ginger, his face scarlet. "And at night, when I'm asleep …" he broke off and swallowed.

"You don't have to tell me," interposed Algy quickly. "I can imagine."

Ginger passed a hand over his brow. Just thinking about it made him feel hot.

Algy looked at him sympathetically. Ginger was clearly smitten. Algy found women pleasant company and fun to be with, but he had never fallen deeply in love. First Biggles and now Ginger, he thought. He hoped that it would turn out better for Ginger than it had when Biggles had fallen for Marie. Algy leaned back and happened to catch a glimpse of Bertie's face as the Flight Commander looked away to avoid being caught watching their discussion. Algy was puzzled by the look he saw. Bertie's eyes were miserable, he thought, whatever the rest of his features expressed. Algy wondered if Ginger's love affair might be awakening unwelcome memories from Bertie's past as well as Biggles'. Algy had noticed a faraway look in Biggles' eyes on more than one occasion when Jeanette had spoken or Biggles had watched the young couple together and Algy had no doubt what had caused it. Perhaps Bertie had also had an unhappy love affair and it was all being raked up again by the pair's obvious happiness and delight in each other. They knew so little about Bertie's history before he joined the squadron, it was entirely possible, Algy told himself. If so, that would explain a lot of what had been going on and why Bertie was so bitter about seeing Ginger and Jeanette together.

At length Jameson rose to rejoin his wife and Ginger's ordeal was over. Jeanette was waiting for him at the door to the terrace and they disappeared hand in hand into the shadows to sit together on the deckchairs under the branches of the tree. Algy laughed softly as he saw them steal away.

"What's so funny?" asked Biggles quietly as he joined his cousin.

"Ginger," responded Algy. "I think he's finally coming to terms with the fact his feelings for Jeanette are no longer platonic."

Biggles laughed shortly. "I don't think they ever were," he opined, tapping a cigarette on his cigarette case before lighting up. "He was just trying to kid himself," he smiled as he flicked the spent match into an ash tray. "If you ask me," he murmured, sitting down with the princess and Madame Ducoste, "I'd say Ginger fell in love with Jeanette the moment he set eyes on her."

Madame Ducoste looked at him shrewdly. "I am sure you are right," she agreed. "I feel it when they are together. Jeanette, she also loves Ginger since they meet. I speak with 'er last night and she 'as said it."

Madame Ducoste took the coffee jug and filled the cups before passing them round.

Algy lifted his cup of coffee and gestured with it. "Here's a toast to the happy couple," he proposed. "Only they haven't realised it yet," he added with a grin.

Unaware of the discussion between their respective guardian and parent, Ginger and Jeanette lay facing each other in the shadows of the tall palm tree and talked quietly, their deckchairs drawn up so close as to make one. The configuration enabled Ginger to put his arm on Jeanette's waist and she had immediately responded by doing the same with him.

Their happiness was shattered by the wail of air raid sirens.

"Quick!" exclaimed Ginger, leaping to his feet as the port's gun batteries opened up. "It's the raid following the reconnaissance yesterday."

Jeanette stood up quickly and he grabbed her hand, guiding her towards the doors leading to the cellars where they had sheltered on the previous occasion. All the lights had gone out, but his night vision was excellent and the moonlight provided ample illumination.

He saw that the terrace was empty. Biggles and the others must have gone ahead, he realised, since they were nearer the exit. Naturally, Biggles would expect him to be able to take care of himself. His arm around Jeanette, he ushered her down the steps into the cellar.

"Is that you, Ginger?" came Biggles' voice from the gloom.

"Yes, we're both here," answered Ginger reassuringly.

"Everybody's accounted for, then," stated Biggles with relief.

The room shook as the percussion of a bomb that had missed the harbour rocked the foundations. Plaster fell from the walls and clouds of dust filled the air. Sounds of consternation mixed with the reverberations.

Ginger coughed. He hugged Jeanette close to his side and she clasped him round the waist, snuggling against his hip, with her head on his shoulder. He could feel her trembling and hastened to reassure her, stroking her hair and murmuring comforting words. If he couldn't be in the air, taking on the bombers, he thought, there were worse ways of sitting out an attack.

At length the bombardment ceased and the lights came back on. Faintly the all clear could be heard. The party looked ghastly in the dim light, covered with plaster dust. Elaine had used the opportunity afforded by the raid to seek solace in Algy's arms, Ginger noticed, although they parted almost at once when the lighting was restored.

Biggles shook the dirt from his clothes.

Bertie was muttering as he did the same. "I say," he complained. "I've lost my bally eyeglass."

"It's in your face," Biggles told him shortly. "Let's go up top - I never did like underground adventures."

"Absolutely, old boy," agreed Bertie as he followed Biggles up the stairs. "I never fancied being a troglodyte."

"What is a … troglodyte?" Jeanette asked Ginger as they climbed the stairs together.

"An unpleasant little person who lives underground in caves," he explained. "We saw some once when we were doing some charter work before the war." He told her about the little horse that had turned green from being tethered beneath a deposit dripping from the roof of a cave. "The troglodytes turned nasty, but they ran away when they heard the sound of my harmonica," he smiled. "Obviously they were music lovers," he grinned.

Jeanette laughed.

They emerged onto the terrace to be sobered by the sight of fires blazing in the harbour. A ship had been hit and was listing as men and materiel were hastily transferred to the shore.

"It looks as though Hitler isn't giving up yet," observed Biggles morosely as he surveyed the scene.

"No, by Jove!" agreed Bertie, leaning on the parapet beside him. "It's still going to be a long haul." He glanced back casually to where Ginger was helping to right some of the furniture that had been overturned by the blast and covertly watched appreciatively as the young man bent to pick up a chair. War did have its compensations, he thought, as long as one was careful. If only Ginger hadn't lost his head to that woman, he mused sadly as he turned to look over the harbour once more. Not that there would ever have been any hope of requitement in that direction, he knew that, but still that would have been better than having Ginger's love for another constantly paraded before his eyes. It rubbed salt into the wound.

Unaware of Bertie's thoughts, Ginger put the last of the chairs on its legs and sat down beside Jeanette. "No real damage done here," he observed. "Just a few broken coffee cups."

"We 'ave been lucky," ventured Jeanette.

Ginger nodded. "Our numbers weren't up this time," he smiled.

Jeanette looked mystified and Ginger had to explain the saying. "I see," she murmured, looking at him tenderly. "You think we cannot change fate."

"I suppose I do," he admitted slowly. "I'd never really thought about it before," he confessed, "but I've had some close shaves and escaped. I suppose I do think my number wasn't up on those occasions."

Jeanette shivered. "I 'ope your number is never up, Ginger," she prayed fervently.

He took her hand. "You mustn't worry about me," he told her earnestly.

"I care for you," said Jeanette softly, echoing his words on the beach. "I worry because you will fight when you will go back."

Ginger nodded, secretly pleased by her admission, but thinking her fears for his safety were unfounded. "Everybody's on the front line now, as you've just seen," he pointed out. "I'll be no worse off than anybody else; London is being bombed. We just have to hold out and do the best we can to win. They say that Africa is the start of the tide being turned. I hope so."

"Me, also. I 'ope the war will soon be finished," she murmured. She wanted him to hold her and reassure her as he had in the cellar, but he just reached out and gently stroked her cheek.

"It'll be alright, you'll see," he tried to persuade her, wishing they were alone so he could put his arms around her and hold her close. He did not think it would be seemly with everyone able to watch.

She smiled bravely. His touch was so comforting. She wanted to make some gesture that showed how she was feeling about him. Remembering what he had done on the beach, she took his hand from her cheek and gently kissed his palm, folding his fingers around it.

Ginger smiled delightedly and took his palm to his mouth to receive the kiss. Even at second hand, he thought, the touch of her lips was thrilling. How he longed to crush her to him and kiss her lips directly. He hastily stifled the desire before it could have any effect on him. He was only too aware of what his thoughts did to him when he was alone in his bed. He did not want to embarrass himself or worse, upset Jeanette.

They held hands and talked sporadically. They did not really need words. It was enough just to be together.

At length, Jeanette's mother intimated to her daughter that she was ready to retire to bed.

"I'll see you to your room," offered Ginger as usual, loth to be parted from Jeanette until the last possible minute.

Jeanette thanked him, slipping her arm through his and snuggling against his side as they mounted the stairs to her bedroom following Madame Ducoste.

When her mother had entered their bedroom, Jeanette lingered in the corridor, holding his hands. "I 'ave 'ad a very 'appy day, Ginger," she told him breathlessly. "I 'ave very much enjoyed it."

"Me, too," he responded with heartfelt conviction. "It's been absolutely wonderful."

"I 'ope the weather will be good tomorrow," murmured Jeanette after a slight pause. "I will look forward to swimming with you."

"Me, too," repeated Ginger. "Fingers crossed." He did not know how to prolong their conversation, but he knew he desperately did not want it to end.

"I, too, will cross my fingers," Jeanette promised. "For luck, non?"

"Yes, for good luck," confirmed Ginger. "For fine weather and no rain." He half expected Madame Ducoste to call Jeanette as they had been standing outside the door for several minutes, but no summons came.

"I'll see you at breakfast, nice and early, like last time," suggested Ginger, "so we can let our meal settle before we swim. We don't want to get cramp."

"D'accord," agreed Jeanette. "C'est pratique. We will be able to walk to the same beach, n'est-ce pas?"

"Yes, that was fun, wasn't it?"

Jeanette nodded. "I 'ave liked it very much," she averred. "I want very much to swim with you again." She blushed as the memory of him in his swimming trunks came to mind. He was so handsome. She thought he looked very smart in his uniform, but she wanted to see him without it again, she acknowledged.

Ginger coloured, remembering his pleasure when he saw Jeanette in her swimming costume. He very much wanted to have the opportunity of repeating that experience, he thought guiltily.

"Yes, I'm looking forward to being able to swim with you, too," he declared with rather more enthusiasm than he had intended.

Jeanette giggled. "I 'ave to go," she murmured regretfully. "Maman is waiting."

Ginger nodded. He bent to kiss her cheek lingeringly. "Sweet dreams," he whispered tenderly before forcing himself to let go of her. "See you first thing tomorrow."

"Good night, Ginger. I 'ope your dreams will also be sweet."

They certainly will, thought Ginger as he watched her disappear into her bedroom before heading for his room with a spring in his step.

Biggles had already retired, so Ginger took care not to wake him as he completed his ablutions, thinking all the time of Jeanette. He slipped into bed and was instantly asleep. His dreams were very pleasant indeed, but he awoke early, eager not to waste any time before they could be reunited. He was relieved to see sunlight streaming through the shutters and leapt out of bed in anticipation of a very pleasant day on the beach.

He washed and ran a hand over his chin speculatively. Was that a faint hint of stubble, he wondered. Should he shave anyway, just in case? He remembered Jeanette's reaction to his buying the mantilla and decided that he would. Better to be safe than sorry, he told himself. He wanted to look and feel his best for Jeanette.

Ginger dressed with care. Biggles was still fast asleep when he was ready, so he took his rolled-up towel and let himself out quietly. Freed of the need for silence, he whistled cheerfully as he made his way jauntily down the corridor towards the stairs and clattered happily into the foyer.

He was not surprised to find he was alone in the dining room and took his time investigating the selection of hot dishes on the sideboard. By the time he had made his choice and carried his plate to the table, Jeanette had arrived.

Ginger smiled a welcome and helped her with her chair before fussing over serving her with her breakfast. He sat down beside her and they talked in low voices about their plans for the day.

They had just finished and were about to leave when Algy strolled in, bleary-eyed and yawning.

"You're up early!" observed Ginger in surprise.

Algy eyed him coldly. "It's not easy to sleep when somebody skips past my bedroom door whistling like a boiling kettle," he complained, half seriously.

Ginger looked abashed. "Sorry," he apologised. "I wasn't thinking."

Algy laughed. "Yes, you were," he countered, "but you weren't thinking about me."

Ginger blushed, acknowledging Algy had a point.

"Off you go, Romeo," urged Algy. "At least let me eat my breakfast in peace and quiet."

Ginger chuckled and took Jeanette's hand. They passed Bertie on his way to breakfast as they went out.

Bertie turned and watched them go. Ginger leaned toward Jeanette and murmured something into her ear. Jeanette laughed then put her arm around his waist. Bertie's eyes fleetingly narrowed in pain before the mask dropped in place once more and he joined Algy for breakfast.

Ginger hugged Jeanette to him as they descended the steps onto the busy street. Although it was early the sun was beginning to warm the pavements and there were plenty of Algerians astir.

They followed a similar path to their last journey to the beach and were soon descending onto the strand. This time there was less awkwardness between them as they had more confidence in seeing each other scantily dressed for swimming.

While Jeanette disappeared to remove her dress and emerge in her bathing costume, Ginger quickly slipped out of his uniform and neatly folded it on his towel as he had done before. He lay on his stomach, his head resting on his hands, waiting until Jeanette knelt beside him and lay down on her towel.

She touched his arm where a thin, narrow scar showed up as the light caught it. "Each time, I see you 'ave another scar," she remarked wonderingly.

Ginger glanced at the mark. "That happened in Spain," he said. "During the Civil War."

"You 'ave fought in Spain also?" asked Jeanette in surprise.

"I didn't intend to!" exclaimed Ginger feelingly, turning to face her. "I just sort of got caught up in it." He sat up, hugging his knees, and went on to explain how he had been shipwrecked with his companions, thus unwittingly becoming involved in getting vital information out of the war-torn country.

Jeanette listened to him in wonder. He had been so brave and resourceful, she thought. She longed to hold him in her arms and caress him, but stifled the impulse.

"I was really glad to get home from Spain," concluded Ginger.

"Will you be glad to get 'ome from North Africa?" asked Jeanette.

Ginger blushed. "No," he confessed. "I'd be quite happy if there wasn't any transport until after Christmas." He admitted and smiled sheepishly. "I'm having much too good a time being here with you."

Jeanette smiled happily. "I, too, am 'aving a good time," she told him contentedly. "I shall be 'appy in England," she murmured, "but it will be strange. I do not know 'ow I will live or what I will do."

Ginger took her hand reassuringly. "Don't worry," he murmured soothingly. "We'll find you and your mother somewhere to live and we'll make sure you're alright."

Jeanette gazed into his eyes. He was so kind and considerate, she felt her heart lurch. She reached out and stroked his cheek gently with her other hand. "I am so lucky," she repeated, "that I 'ave met you."

Ginger took a deep breath. His heart was racing. "If it weren't for you and your mother," he pointed out, "I would probably be dead in a fascist prison by now. I'd say I was pretty lucky to meet you!" He smiled at her, thinking how adorable she looked. He longed to put his arms around her and kiss her, but instead he contented himself with squeezing her hand.

"Shall we have a dip in the sea?" suggested Ginger, getting to his knees. When Jeanette agreed, he stood up and helped her stand. Together they strolled down to the water, hand in hand and waded into the surf.

They swam and played, splashing happily, for a while before heading back up the sand to lie in the sun side by side and dry off. Warm and relaxed, Ginger fell asleep. Jeanette lay listening to his even breathing and watching him fondly. She sat up and turned so that she was sitting facing him before she reached across and stroked his hair tenderly. Ginger smiled, opened his eyes and blinked before realising where he was. Jeanette slipped her hand into his and gave it a gentle squeeze. Ginger responded to the slight pressure and sleepily apologised for dropping off. He stifled a yawn.

"You'll think I'm bored with your company," he murmured apologetically.

Jeanette laughed and shook her head. "I think you 'ave not been well," she told him understandingly. "You 'ave lost much blood and you are still weak, you 'ave need of rest."

"I keep thinking I'm fine," Ginger admitted as he lay back looking at the sky, "and then suddenly as soon as I exert myself, I'll feel tired and drained of energy. It must have taken more out of me than I thought."

Jeanette nodded. "I think you do not like to be ill," she stated perspicaciously. "You will try to carry on despite your wound."

Ginger nodded ruefully and agreed. "I've always enjoyed good health," he said. "I find it hard to cope with not being a hundred per cent."

She shifted her position so she could lie alongside him. "I think you should sleep," she advised, "but first put on your uniform so you do not burn while you rest."

Perceiving it was good advice, Ginger did as Jeanette suggested. He knelt and slipped on his shirt, but he hesitated over putting on his shorts, although his swimming trunks were dry by this time and all he had to do was pull the outer garments over them. Somehow it seemed rather too intimate with Jeanette looking at him.

Jeanette blushed, sat up and turned away. While her back was turned, Ginger hastily slid his shorts over his bathing trunks and buttoned up the fly, quickly tucking in his shirt tails.

"I'm decent, now," he told her with an embarrassed smile.

She turned to look at him and smiled. "You were undecent before? Not decent?" she queried.

Ginger laughed, although he could feel himself going red. "The word is indecent," he informed her. "Not exactly, I was still decent," he admitted. "I'm just more decent now. More covered up," he explained.

"English is a difficult language," opined Jeanette. "It 'as so many … nuances. 'Ow you say that in English?"

"Nuances," supplied Ginger.

"But that is a French word!" exclaimed Jeanette.

Ginger nodded, lying back and putting his hands under his head. "There are lots of French words in English," he said with a smile.

"Zut alors!" exclaimed Jeanette. She threw up her hands and made a moue of frustration.

Ginger thought she looked delightful and grinned. "No, those words aren't in the dictionary," he said teasingly.

"Then what do I say when I am, 'ow you say, exaspérée?"

"Exasperated," Ginger told her.

"Non, non," clarified Jeanette. "If I do not say 'zut alors', what do I say?"

"Ah," breathed Ginger. "That's a tricky one."

"That's a tricky one?" echoed Jeanette. "That is much longer than zut."

Ginger burst out laughing. "No, that's not what I meant," he managed to get out. "I meant it's not easy to give you an answer; there are lots of different possibilities."

Jeanette joined in his laughter when she realised her mistake.

Ginger took one arm from behind his head and patted the sand beside him. "Why don't you lie down and we can improve your English and my French," he suggested.

Jeanette lay down beside him and rested her head on his shoulder, allowing him to put his arm around her. "Are you comfortable?" Ginger asked in trepidation, hoping desperately that she was. He found the arrangement very pleasant indeed. Her hair tickled his cheek and spilled against his neck.

"Oh yes," sighed Jeanette contentedly.

"Oh good!" breathed Ginger happily.

"Now, about what you say instead of zut alors," he murmured and suggested a few phrases. Jeanette tried them out, making Ginger smile at her accent.

The time flew by as they chatted, giggled and learned new phrases. Ginger began to feel hungry. When he looked at his watch, he realised why; it was long past lunchtime.

Reluctantly, he suggested that they make their way back to the Consulate and have something to eat in town.

Jeanette stretched lazily. "I 'ave enjoyed this morning very much," she murmured, "but I am 'ungry. I think it is a good idea that you 'ave." She sat up, gathered her clothes and shook the sand from her towel before retiring to the refuge in the rocks that she had previously used to change.

Ginger put his shoes and stockings on while he was waiting for her to reappear. He stood up and dusted the sand from his clothes before rolling up his towel and tucking it under his arm. He looked up to see Jeanette heading towards him so he went to meet her. They held hands and ascended to the road that led to the harbour.

It was not long before they had their arms around each other. Ginger smiled happily. He felt more at ease with Jeanette now and he sensed that she, too, had lost some of her shyness around him. He would still have to be careful, he told himself. He did not want to do anything that would upset or frighten her, but their relationship did seem to be progressing satisfactorily, he thought joyfully.

They chose a pleasant café on the Boulevard Front de Mer and selected a mixture of French and Arabic dishes, which they devoured ravenously.

"That's better," sighed Ginger as he pushed his plate away. "My stomach was beginning to think my throat had been cut."

Jeanette looked at him anxiously, but before she could say anything, Ginger hastened to reassure her. "It's just a saying," he explained. "Another strange English expression," he smiled.

"It is not a nice expression," averred Jeanette. "I do not like to 'ear of your throat being cut."

He took her hand. "Then I won't use it when you're listening," he promised.

Jeanette squeezed his hand gratefully. "You are considerate, Ginger," she murmured. "I do not want to think of anything bad 'appening to you."

"I know," he acknowledged. "I appreciate that." He looked at his watch. "We could go to the military hospital from here," he suggested. "It isn't far. Would you like to see if you can visit Henri?"

Jeanette smiled delightedly. "Oh yes, if that is possible," she cried. Ginger paid for the meal. Jeanette stood up and he put his arm round her waist protectively. She leaned against him, hugging his waist appreciatively as they followed the Boulevard until they could turn off along the narrower Boulevard de Champagne that led to the Maillot hospital where Henri was a patient.

Ginger kept a wary eye open for predatory naval officers as he escorted Jeanette to the ward where Henri was lying. There were no nurses in sight, so Jeanette drew Ginger with her into the ward.

Henri was delighted to see them both. He looked from his sister to Ginger and immediately drew his own conclusions about their relationship.

Ginger assisted Jeanette with her chair and found another for himself. Henri looked much improved, he thought, from the last glimpse he had caught of his comrade through the window. Henri confirmed the impression, informing them that he expected to be transferred to England in approximately a week.

"I expect we'll be going back sooner," opined Ginger. "The situation with materiel seems to be easing and I think there will be a transport available any day now."

"You will not be 'appy to go back," stated Henri with a knowing smile.

Ginger shrugged. "We can't stay here for ever," he commented philosophically. "I've enjoyed my holiday, but all good things come to an end. Just because we're going back to England," he added with a glance in Jeanette's direction, "doesn't mean we're going to lose touch."

Henri saw the look and smiled. "I am sure not," he grinned at Jeanette with a twinkle in his eye. His sister blushed.

They chatted for a little while longer before a nurse came in to give Henri some medication and shooed them away.

Jeanette hugged Ginger's waist as they made their way through the grounds to get back to the road. "T'es si gentil," she told him gratefully. "To bring me to see Henri." She reached up and kissed his cheek.

Ginger smiled joyfully and hugged her. "Keep kissing me," he urged teasingly, "it'll be a great incentive to be nice."

Jeanette blushed. "Tu me taquines, n'est-ce pas?1" she murmured.

"Yes, and no," answered Ginger ambivalently. "I don't need an incentive to be nice to you Jeanette," he averred honestly. He paused a moment, then added seriously, "but I would like you to keep kissing me."

Jeanette's blush deepened and she hid her face against his shoulder.

"I didn't mean to embarrass you," murmured Ginger distressed. "I just wanted you to know I find it very pleasant."

Jeanette looked up. "You do not think it was …" she hesitated, trying to find the right word, but did not know how to express it. Eventually she suggested, "effronté2?"

"It didn't affront me at all," Ginger assured her. "Quite the contrary; it was delightful."

"You do not think I am … légère3?" asked Jeanette, thinking that he did not understand what she was trying to say.

Ginger looked puzzled. "No, I don't think you're light at all," he told her, thinking perhaps that did not translate exactly into English. "You're very serious-minded most of the time," he tried to explain, "although you're very good company and lots of fun to be with," he hastened at reassure her. He was concerned that they were talking at cross purposes.

Jeanette smiled, feeling relieved. She realised that he had not understood completely, but his responses were sufficient to reassure her that he did not think she had been too brazen in kissing him. She wanted to encourage him, but she did not want him to think she was immodest.

Ginger saw her smile and relaxed. Whatever had been troubling Jeanette had been resolved, he thought thankfully. He must have given the right responses, even if he had not really understood the questions. Because of his inexperience, he found it hard enough to understand women at the best of times, he thought, but when he had to cope with a foreign language as well, he really felt out of his depth.

"I haven't upset you, have I?" he asked tentatively. "I mean, I haven't said something I shouldn't?"

Jeanette smiled at him. "Non, non," she reassured him. "You are an officer and a gentleman."

Ginger laughed because it was the third time she had said it about him since she had mastered the phrase. "Biggles would be pleased to hear you say that," he commented. "He worked hard to make me socially acceptable when I was growing up."

"You are very … fond of Beegles?" queried Jeanette as they made their way back to the Consulate, their arms entwined.

"He's been like a father to me," said Ginger, thinking that Biggles had been more of a father to him than his own flesh and blood. "I've lived with him since I was fifteen."

"And Algy?" Jeanette wanted to know. "What of 'im?"

"He's Biggles' cousin," explained Ginger. "They travelled a lot together after the Great War. I lived with Algy for a short while before we all moved in together. Algy's like a big brother," he smiled. "He's lots of fun. Biggles is a bit more …" he paused, searching for a word that would not sound derogatory, before concluding, " .. exacting."

Jeanette nodded. She thought Biggles was secretly very proud of Ginger and fond of his protégé, but he would never make a great show of it.

They reached the Consulate and went inside. Ginger escorted Jeanette to her room so that she could change, arranging to meet up with her on the terrace before dinner.

When Jeanette had gone into her room, Ginger made his way down to the floor below, keen to remove his swimming trunks which had trapped sand against his skin. He opened the door of his room, not expecting to find it occupied. To his surprise Biggles was there, talking to Bertie and Algy.

"I wasn't expecting a conference," said Ginger facetiously as he came in.

"Had a good swim?" asked Algy with a wink.

"Excellent, thank you," replied Ginger politely as Bertie's lips compressed.

"I'm glad you're back," Biggles greeted him. "I was just telling the others there's a Douglas DC3 available to take us back home tomorrow morning. We leave from Maison Blanche at 10.30. Jameson will provide us with transport to the airfield."

Ginger nodded, resigned. He had been expecting as much. "I'll tell Jeanette and her mother when I meet them before dinner," he offered.

"Madame Ducoste already knows," interposed Bertie flatly. "I expect she'll tell her daughter, so you needn't go out of your way."

Ginger ignored him. "We went to see Henri on the way back," he announced. "He's looking a lot better, but he won't be fit to travel with us; he expects it to be at least a week before he'll be able to fly to England."

"It's good to hear he's on the mend," stated Biggles.

"If you'll excuse me," said Ginger, heading for the bathroom, "I'm going to bathe before dinner."

He was glad to escape from Bertie's presence, to be honest, thought Ginger. There was a tension in the air whenever Bertie was there. Ginger sensed the antagonism whenever Jeanette was mentioned. He did not know what was going on, only that it made him uneasy.

Ginger stripped off and ran a bath. It was a relief to be rid of the sand that had insinuated itself between his clothing and his skin. He had been feeling quite uncomfortable by the time he had got back. He let the water lap over his body and wash away the irritating grains. Feeling refreshed and more comfortable, he shook his clothes carefully before he put them on, wishing he had a spare uniform to change into. He was going to feel very cold flying home, he realised, unless he could borrow a flying jacket and some long trousers.

1 You're teasing me, aren't you?

2 bold

3 fast