Chapter 8
Ginger dressed with care, trying to sleek his naturally tousled hair. Critically he examined his image in the mirror. He looked passable, he thought.
Jeanette and her mother were sitting on the terrace when he arrived. He joined them and asked if they knew that they would be flying to England the following day.
Madame Ducoste nodded. "The milord told me," she informed Ginger. "I think 'e was very pleased."
"Yes, I think Bertie will be glad to get back," agreed Ginger, wondering why Bertie was so keen to leave Algiers for an English winter. Perhaps he had someone waiting for him, he surmised. Ginger looked at Jeanette and smiled. He had someone here and someone to take back with him, he thought. Not for the first time he told himself what a lucky man he was.
Jeanette smiled back and it seemed natural to take her hand. They talked about nothing in particular until the dinner gong sounded. Ginger escorted them towards the dining room where they met up with the others.
As Ginger took Jeanette into dinner, he found it hard to believe that this would be their last evening together in Africa. Tomorrow they would be flying back to the rain and fog of a late English autumn.
As they sat down, Ginger warned Jeanette that she must be prepared for it to be cold in England. "I should see if you can persuade Mrs Jameson to give you the coat you borrowed for Mass if you can," he advised.
"Madame Jameson 'as said I may keep it," replied Jeanette, "and maman also may keep her coat." She giggled. "We shall be warmer than you," she observed with a glance at his bare knees.
"I've got another uniform at home," Ginger reassured her. "One that isn't tropical kit; it's blue and a heavier weight, like Biggles'. It's only the flight and the time until I can get home to change that might turn out to be a bit chilly."
"You will not wear this uniform in England?" queried Jeanette.
"Good heavens, no!" exclaimed Ginger. "I'd be far too cold! Besides," he added with a grin, "short trousers are for schoolboys."
"But you are not a schoolboy," protested Jeanette. "Why do you wear short trousers? I thought it was your uniform."
"It is," confirmed Ginger. "Shorts are included in uniform for hot climates. They'll be completely out of place back in England in November."
"I understand," murmured Jeanette, thinking he would look good in a blue uniform. The colour would suit him. She stole another glance at his knees. She liked to see him in shorts, she acknowledged, but she expected he would look just as handsome in long trousers. She was looking forward to going to England and being with him in his own country, glad that he was as keen to keep in touch with her as she was to remain in contact with him.
Dinner seemed to be quickly over that evening and the decanter was passed swiftly after the ladies had retired. Ginger was not sorry that the men did not linger too long over their cigars and port. He wanted to spend as much time with Jeanette in the warmth of the North African night as he could. He was all too well aware that when they got home, opportunities to be together and relatively private would be few and far between, particularly as it was likely to be cold outdoors. There was always the cinema, of course, but he really did not want to sit on the back row with Jeanette, pleasant though he had found the experience with Fiona. He was conscious that Jeanette had an altogether more powerful effect on him and the cinema did not strike him as an appropriate place to court her. He wondered about taking her to a dance; the thought of holding her in his arms as they waltzed around the floor was very appealing. He made a mental note to ask Algy to teach him how to dance properly when they got home.
As soon as Jameson rose to rejoin his wife, Ginger hastened to find Jeanette. She was waiting for him near the entrance to the terrace. Their hands found each others' in the darkness and by mutual consent they moved quietly under the shadows of the tree. The deck chairs they had used for their first French lesson were still there and unoccupied. They pulled them together and lay down to chat in a mixture of English and French and make plans for the rest of Ginger's leave in London.
"I've still got a few days due to me," pointed out Ginger, "and I intend to take them. I expect Biggles will assume that I'll go straight back to the squadron, but I'm entitled to take my leave. I'll let you know where we can meet as soon as I know."
Jeanette squeezed his hand. "I am looking forward to seeing London with you," she told him eagerly.
"I'm looking forward to showing you, too," averred Ginger with enthusiasm. "There's so much to see, even though London is not looking at her best with bomb damage and sandbags everywhere. The area around St Paul's has been devastated by incendiaries, but the cathedral is still there, fortunately. The raids are nowhere near as bad now, thank goodness."
He felt Jeanette shudder. "I was afraid when the Germans bombed the harbour here," she confessed.
Ginger reached out to reassure her. "There's no need to be ashamed of that," he murmured soothingly. "But nothing happened. You mustn't let it worry you."
"My number was not up," she said with a smile in her voice, remembering what he had said during the raid.
"That's right," he agreed, only half jocular. "There's a war on; we never know whether we're coming back from a mission. We just hope our number isn't up." He caressed her shoulder. "So far, we've been lucky."
She put her hand on his neck and gently stroked the short hair at the nape. "I 'ope you will always be lucky, Ginger," she breathed fervently.
"I'm sure I shall be," he assured her, thrilled by the tender gesture. "Especially since I met you," he thought, but did not voice his conviction for fear of tempting fate.
They were called back to the present by Madame Ducoste calling her daughter. Jeanette got up and answered. Ginger, too, stood up and was at Jeanette's side when Madame Ducoste came over to announce that she was going to bed.
Ginger accompanied them to their room as had become the custom. Jeanette lingered in the corridor with him after her mother had gone in, loth to let Ginger go.
"Are you worried about the flight tomorrow?" asked Ginger perspicaciously.
"A little," she confessed. "I 'ad never flown before and I was afraid when we landed in the sea."
"The trip home shouldn't be as bad," he said, hoping that the weather in the Bay of Biscay would not be rough and that they would not encounter any German fighters on the look-out for trouble.
"You will sit with me?" asked Jeanette tentatively.
"If I can," promised Ginger. "I don't know how the seats will be allocated." He hesitated before confessing, "I don't particularly like being flown by somebody I don't know."
"I understand," breathed Jeanette. She hoped that whoever arranged the seating would leave Ginger free to hold her hand during the long journey. Perhaps he would even put his arm around her if there was an opportunity.
"I'll see you in the morning," said Ginger softly. "Sleep well." He bent and kissed her cheek. Before he could draw away, Jeanette returned his kiss. He smiled delightedly. "Until tomorrow," he murmured, unwilling to tear himself away.
"A demain," echoed Jeanette, slowly heading for the door to her room.
Ginger waited until she had disappeared before making for his own room with a broad grin on his face. He felt as though he was walking on air.
Biggles did not arrive until long after Ginger had fallen asleep. He took care not to wake the lad as he washed and undressed. When Biggles saw Ginger snuggled up to his pillow his lips twitched. Ginger and Jeanette were the lightest members of the party, he thought. Perhaps he would have a word with the load master to make sure they sat together for the journey home. He got into bed and was asleep almost instantly to dream of Marie and wake in the middle of the night with a terrible sense of loss and longing.
Unable to go back to sleep, Biggles got up quietly, took his cigarette case from his pocket and opened the shutters. He leaned out, looking over the town and the moonlit harbour and smoked a cigarette reflectively. It was a long time since he had dreamed of Marie. He had kept even his subconscious under close control, he realised. It must be seeing Ginger and Jeanette so happy together that had opened the floodgates, he reasoned.
He glanced at Ginger's bed. The lad's dreams were pleasant enough, judging by the smile on his face, thought Biggles. He knew how Ginger felt. He could still remember the heady days of being in love and of being loved in return. The memory was as clear as if it had been yesterday.
Biggles shook himself. He had to stop thinking about Marie. That chapter of his life was finished. He would never see her again. To wonder where she was, what she was doing, how she was faring in wartime would only lead to madness, he told himself brutally. He could not do anything to help her. She may not even be still alive. The thought was bitter and he thrust it away. He sighed and lit another cigarette as he struggled to get his thoughts under control.
How long he stood at the window brooding he was unsure, but the first flush of dawn was showing in the east when he finally turned away, closed the shutters and got back into bed to sleep fitfully until Ginger woke him as he went to the bathroom to wash.
Ginger came back into the room, his towel slung over his shoulder. "Sorry I woke you up," he said contritely when he saw Biggles was awake.
Biggles shook his head. "It wasn't your fault; I didn't sleep very well. Too much on my mind." He swung his legs out of bed and headed for the bathroom.
Ginger went down to breakfast without waiting for his CO to return. He expected Jeanette would be there early as it was their last day in the Consulate and he was not mistaken. Jeanette was there with her mother. Ginger greeted Jeanette joyfully and Madame Ducoste respectfully. He helped himself from the sideboard and sat next to Jeanette to eat his breakfast. He did not feel particularly hungry, but he felt he should eat something as it would be a long day.
"Are you all prepared?" he asked.
Jeanette smiled. "There is not very much to prepare," she told him. "I 'ave only two dresses and some lingerie given by Madame Jameson to take with me."
Ginger blushed. He should have realised, he told himself. After all, he only had the uniform he stood up in.
Algy and Bertie arrived in the dining room, followed by Biggles. They helped themselves and sat at the table.
"What's the plan, Biggles?" asked Algy as he poured himself some coffee.
"Jameson has organised some transport to take us out to Maison Blanche," replied Biggles. "There's a Dakota flying back to England with enough spare seats to take us all. Take off is at 10.30." He looked at his watch. "That gives us plenty of time. It shouldn't take us long to get there, it's only about ten miles. We'll meet in the foyer at 09.45."
Ginger surreptitiously looked at his watch, calculating how much time he would be able to spend alone with Jeanette before they had to board the transport, which he suspected would be a truck like the one that had brought them to the Consulate. Still, that had been very pleasant, he reflected, and he and Jeanette knew each other much better now, so it could be quite a cosy journey. Jeanette met his eyes and he smiled and winked. She blushed faintly.
When Madame Ducoste rose and said she would get her affairs together, the officers also stood. Ginger took Jeanette's hand and murmured that he would escort her to her room.
Bertie bit back a snide remark and consoled himself by polishing his eyeglass furiously.
Ginger ascended the stairs with Jeanette and her mother. He hung back when he reached their room, but Jeanette kept hold of his hand and drew him in. "Regarde," she said, pointing to the small bundle of clothes neatly folded on her bed. "I am prepared."
Madame Ducoste, too, had only a few items neatly parcelled. Ginger felt angry that the war had deprived them of everything. It seemed so unfair. He wanted to make it up to Jeanette somehow, but he had no idea how to go about it.
As if sensing his mood, Jeanette slipped her arm through his. "I 'ave lost my 'ome and my clothes," she said, "but that does not matter; I 'ave maman and Henri …" she hesitated before adding shyly, "… and you."
He put his hand on hers, feeling delighted by his inclusion with her family. "We'll try to make it up to you both in London," he promised.
Madame Ducoste suggested that he spend his remaining time on the terrace with Jeanette, enjoying the sunshine. She would bring down their meagre belongings when it was time to go.
Ginger thanked her and ushered Jeanette out of the room. They descended the stairs and went out onto the terrace for the last time. Hand in hand they surveyed the sweep of the bay and the jumble of houses that lined the anchorage, as if to impress the sight on their memory. They talked only desultorily; words were unnecessary. It was enough to be together and to hold each other. Both of them were thinking about what would happen when they reached England. Jeanette felt some trepidation about settling down in a strange land, but she was sure that Ginger would do all he could to help her. If he was there, she told herself, nothing else mattered; everything would be alright. Ginger was wondering how he could manage to see Jeanette as often as possible. He had enjoyed her company so much he was loth to be parted from her. He put his arm around her waist and squeezed gently. She reciprocated, smiling happily.
"Everything is going to be alright, you know," he said reassuringly, recognising what a traumatic upheaval it must be for her to leave everything and become a refugee in a foreign land.
She nodded. "I am sure," she breathed. "You will look after me, non?"
"I will look after you, oui," vowed Ginger.
She leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder contentedly.
"You make me feel safe, Ginger," she told him.
Ginger swallowed hard. He wanted desperately to hug her to him and kiss her passionately. That would not be very safe, he told himself, the way he was feeling. Instead he contented himself with stroking her hair.
All too soon it was time to join the others in the foyer to embark on the Bedford lorry which Jameson had provided. The Consulate staff turned out to see off their unexpected guests. Ginger helped Jeanette into the back of the lorry and sat beside her. Algy was last to arrive, wiping his mouth with his handkerchief. Ginger looked at him curiously and received a wink in reply.
The truck set off with a lurch, following the curve of the bay before branching out into the interior and heading for Maison Carrée. Once out of the town, the Bedford sent up clouds of dust as it bounced over the rutted roads. The journey was not a long one, as Biggles had predicted, and before long the lorry arrived at the airfield. It drew up in front of the largest of the three hangars and disembarked the passengers. Ginger helped Jeanette descend and looked at his surroundings with curiosity. There was a square control tower at the far end of the line of hangars and an oddly shaped structure, like a round tank on top of a concrete tower behind the large hangar. The runway appeared to be grass, stabilised and reinforced by metal mesh. A Douglas DC3, the workhorse of the transport corps, was parked on the hard standing and in the distance Ginger could see some fighters dispersed. Biggles went off to find the load master leaving Algy in charge of the party.
There was a small squad of soldiers standing near the tail of the aircraft. They looked uneasy and out of their element, thought Ginger. The pilot or co-pilot was standing on the wing, dipping the tanks. Ginger approved; at least he was taking no chances of the gauges giving a wrong reading.
Biggles returned and gathered his party together. "We can embark now," he told them. "We'll be seated at the back of the aeroplane. You can choose your own seats."
They made their way to the open door and assisted the ladies to climb in. Jeanette was the last to embark. Ginger climbed the ladder after her before anyone else could intervene. Biggles and Algy grinned, but Bertie did not seem to find it particularly funny.
"We're in luck!" exclaimed Algy when he saw that they had airline seats arranged in pairs either side of the aisle. "I wasn't looking forward to a long flight on bucket seats."
He claimed the seat next to Madame Ducoste across the aisle from Ginger and Jeanette in the last row at the tail of the aeroplane. Bertie and Biggles sat in front of him, with the Princess and Mario on the other side. They had barely got settled when the waiting troops appeared at the door and jostled each other for position as they noisily filled up the remaining seats.
Ginger helped Jeanette to fasten her seat belt as the propellers swished and the engines coughed into life.
The Pratt and Whitney Wasps were run up as the aeroplane strained against the chocks, then sank to a murmur again. Once more the engines growled and the Dakota began to move to the end of the runway. It lined up and the pilot opened the throttles. The brakes released, the transport began to roll. Ginger's heart beat faster; this was always a slightly nervous, if exhilarating, time, made more anxious on this occasion by his complete inability to influence events if anything were to go wrong. He reached out and held Jeanette's hand as the wings took more of the load and the aircraft became light and ready to transfer to her true element. Jeanette was grateful for his comforting touch. He smiled at her reassuringly, feeling the rumble of the wheels cease and knowing they were airborne.
"England, here we come!" he exclaimed. Jeanette looked anxious as the wheels clunked home in their housing and he squeezed her hand comfortingly.
"It's only the undercarriage being retracted," he told her.
The cabin was noisy and to make himself heard clearly Ginger had to put his lips near to Jeanette's ear. Her hair tickled his cheek and he gently brushed it aside.
The gesture made Jeanette smile. "I did not 'ear it before," she ventured.
Ginger laughed, "That's because it was a flying boat; it didn't have any wheels."
Jeanette looked embarrassed. "I am stupid," she said.
Ginger shook his head, smiling tenderly. "No, you aren't," he reassured her. "You're just not used to flying."
The Dakota climbed for height before turning north on its journey back to Britain. As the aeroplane neared the Bay of Biscay, the weather started to turn stormy. The pilot climbed into the clouds, hiding in the grey blanket. Thin wisps veiled the wings and windows as the aircraft lurched in the turbulence.
Ginger felt Jeanette tense as the aircraft dropped. "It's only rough air," he told her. "Nothing to worry about." He lifted the arm rest between their seats and moved closer to put his arm comfortingly around her shoulder. "Everything will be alright," he said confidently, "it's normal weather conditions for this time of year."
Jeanette put her arms around his waist and leaned against his chest. Ginger smiled and encouraged her to snuggle up to him. It brought back memories of Fiona in the cinema, but this was infinitely more pleasant.
Bertie glanced across and the sight twisted the knife of envy in his heart. He swiftly turned away and focussed his attention on the cabin ahead of him. As was his wont in times of distress, he began mechanically polishing his eyeglass.
The journey passed all too quickly for Ginger who was delighted to have Jeanette in his arms, even when she complained of feeling unwell because of the turbulence. It gave him an excuse to be solicitous. The aircraft quickly climbed above the bad weather and although the air was thin and very cold, the buffeting stopped and Jeanette felt better. Ginger was glad of the warmth her nearness brought; he considered that the flight could have been much worse. The Bay of Biscay was notorious not only for its appalling weather, but also for the marauding Ju88s which patrolled the area to protect the U-boats from Coastal Command. He was only too well aware that the Dakota was unarmed and unescorted, but he kept his thoughts to himself.
All too soon he felt the aircraft descend and saw the Channel below as they exited the clouds.
"It won't be long now," he told Jeanette. "We're nearly there." He pointed at the window. "You can see the south coast."
Jeanette sat up and looked out of the window at the land that was to be her home. The light was dull and grey through the rain that streaked the glass, but the patchwork of small fields was appealing. Used to the hot reds and browns of the Mediterranean, she had not expected that any landscape could be so rich in variations of green. "It is beautiful," she said in surprise.
"Yes," breathed Ginger. "It's what we're fighting for."
She sensed his emotion and snuggled up against him again. "I understand," she said quietly. "You love your country. I, too."
Ginger hugged her comfortingly, realising she must feel sad at having to leave her home and live in exile in a strange land, even though that land was England. "Perhaps one day you will be able to go back," he murmured soothingly. "When we've defeated Hitler."
She shook her head. "My life is 'ere now," she said presciently. "England will be my 'ome. I will learn to love 'er as you do."
Ginger felt a warm glow of anticipation. He was beginning to see his and Jeanette's futures more and more closely entwined. Such an assertion was music to his ears.
"I'll be delighted to teach you," he smiled. "We can start as soon as you've got settled in."
With the Dakota lined up on finals, the wheels slowly descended from their housings and locked into position with a clunk that no longer made Jeanette jump. Ginger restored the armrest to its original position and made sure she was strapped in. He pulled his own seatbelt tight and settled back. He looked across at Jeanette and smiled reassuringly. She took his hand and he squeezed it gently.
The wheels kissed the damp surface of the bomber airfield runway and sent up a cloud of spray as the DC3 rumbled to the end of the landing strip and turned off onto the taxiway. Ginger felt mixed emotions. He was glad to be home, but he was not looking forward to the prospect of being parted from Jeanette once his leave was over.
Still, he told himself practically, that was a few days in the future and he would deal with that situation when it arose.
The Dakota pulled up on the hard-standing in front of the hangar and the propellers swished to a stop.
Ginger released his seatbelt and helped Jeanette with hers. His comrades were already standing, ready to disembark. As soon as the door was opened, Biggles led the way.
Algy helped Madame Ducoste descend. "Welcome to England, madame," he said gallantly as she set foot on the tarmac. "I'm sorry the weather hasn't decided to be as hospitable."
Madame Ducoste shrugged. "We are all safe," she averred philosophically, "and we shall all be together when Henri will be 'ere."
Biggles watched impatiently as Ginger assisted Jeanette down the steps onto the tarmac, the last of their party to leave the transport.
"Let's get a move on," he urged. "I'm getting wet." He led the way across to the station administration building to report their arrival. The others followed. By the time they got there, Ginger was shivering. As the only member of the party without outer clothing he had no protection against the elements. His tropical kit was soaked by the sudden squall that had swept the airfield as they walked across the open space and the bitter wind cut through his body as if he was naked. He was relieved to be inside, and sheltered from the icy blasts. He stood by the small coke stove that barely took the chill off the adjutant's outer office with Jeanette at his side.
Biggles took one look at Ginger and requested the requisition of a greatcoat from stores. If the clerk's first instinct had been to refuse, the look in Biggles' eye told him co-operation would be a safer option.
"Yes, sir," acquiesced the sergeant. "If the Flying Officer would like to go to stores, I'm sure that can be arranged."
Biggles looked at the man sternly. "Send an airman to fetch the coat," he ordered. "I don't want my party split up again and I'm concerned for my officer's welfare; we've just got back from North Africa where it's considerably warmer than here and he's wet through. I'll take responsibility," he added acidly, "and I'll ensure your paperwork is tidy and in order. I'm sure there will be forms in triplicate to complete. We mustn't let a war get in the way of administration, must we?" he observed sarcastically.
The clerk coloured but reached for the intercom. An airman came in and saluted. The sergeant reached for his pen and asked Ginger if he had his clothing coupon book with him. The young man laughed mirthlessly.
"I escaped from enemy territory - in a borrowed foreign uniform, I may add," he told the sergeant scathingly, "I had to get some tropical kit from stores in Algiers, which had only been liberated a day or so before we arrived, or I was likely to be mistaken for an Eyetie prisoner, and you ask me if I've got clothing coupons! All I have is what I stand up in."
The sergeant pulled a form out of a drawer. "If you'll just sign this, sir," he muttered. Ginger took the proffered pen and signed his name. The sergeant passed the form to Biggles. "And you'll just endorse it, sir," he requested.
Impatiently Biggles signed in the space indicated. With the necessary forms completed, the airman was finally despatched to obtain a greatcoat.
Biggles sighed. "Sometimes I wonder how we'll ever win this war," he murmured under his breath, "with such an attitude."
"It does seem a bit unnecessary, old boy," agreed Bertie with a glance at Ginger. The young man's exposed flesh was blue with cold, he noticed and Ginger was dithering. Unable to stand by and watch Ginger suffer, Bertie took off his jacket and handed it to his comrade. "Put this on, old lad," he instructed, "until the greatcoat arrives. You'll catch your death otherwise."
"Thanks, Bertie," acknowledged Ginger gratefully as he wrapped the coat round him. He appreciated the gesture. Gradually his shivering began to abate as the warmth from Bertie's body that still lingered in the material took effect.
The station adjutant came in and apologised for being out on an inspection when the party arrived. The Station Commanding Officer was away in London, he explained.
Biggles asked to be put through to Air Commodore Raymond at the Air Ministry and was ushered into the CO's office to make the call.
The airman who had been sent to stores returned with a greatcoat. Ginger handed back Bertie's coat and donned the heavy British warm. It was too long and slightly too big for him, but it was thick and kept the cold out, so he was not about to complain. He had half expected someone to put him on a charge for being improperly dressed with Bertie's civilian coat round his shoulders over his uniform. He fumbled with the buttons because his hands were so cold and Jeanette helped him do them up.
Bertie accepted the garment from Ginger and put it on. The lining was slightly damp from Ginger's sodden clothing. Bertie welcomed the clamminess because of its contact with Ginger and felt a vicarious thrill at the thought that his jacket had been around the lad's shoulders and wrapped around his body. It was the closest he was ever likely to get, he realised, so he should make the most of it. His expression inscrutable, he watched enviously as Jeanette fastened Ginger's buttons.
Biggles emerged from the office accompanied by the Adjutant to inform everyone that transport was being organised to take them to London where a flat had been arranged for Jeanette and her mother and a hotel suite had been booked for the princess before she departed for New York, as had been arranged with the American high command before they left Algiers.
"After everyone is settled," concluded Biggles, "we'll go on to the Air Ministry to make our final report."
"And then it's back to the squadron, old boy?" queried Bertie.
"I don't see any point in hanging around," opined Biggles. "The job's done."
Ginger kept his own counsel. He would wait until it was all over and he was free to do as he wished before he stated his intention to finish his leave, he thought. No point in going off at half-cock. The expression made him think of Jeanette and her pronunciation of peacock their first night at dinner. He felt suddenly hot and was acutely aware of the blood rushing to his cheeks.
Jeanette saw that he was flushed and put her hand on his forehead. "You 'ave a fever?" she asked anxiously, thinking he had taken ill from his soaking.
"No, I'm fine, thanks," he reassured her, feeling even more flushed at her touch. "I'm just a bit too hot now I've got this heavy coat on indoors. I'm never satisfied," he grinned sheepishly.
"You should take it off," suggested Jeanette, fingering his top button uxoriously.
"I don't want to get cold again," replied Ginger, thinking his wet uniform was clinging a little too closely to his body for him to want to remove his coat and reveal his figure just at that moment. Some things were best kept hidden. He put his hand on hers to prompt her to desist. "Besides," he continued, "we'll be setting off soon."
"Jeanette's right, old boy," insisted Bertie, who had guessed the reason for Ginger's reluctance and was determined to put him on the spot, more in the hope of embarrassing the woman who had wrecked all his hopes of enjoying the lad's celibate company than with the intention of making Ginger squirm. "You won't feel any benefit if you don't take your coat off."
Fortunately for Ginger, the driver who had been assigned to take them to London entered the office and put an end to any debate as the members of the party disposed themselves in the staff cars which had been assigned to them.
Ginger, Jeanette and her mother shared one vehicle with Algy while the others took the lead car with the intention of dropping the princess and Mario at one of the central hotels before settling the Ducostes in their apartment. The convoy set off for London through a rural landscape that was bare of leaves. Ginger was sorry that Jeanette was not seeing England at her most glorious. Autumn colours would have cheered up the dullness of the drizzly day. Jeanette did not seem to mind; she watched the scenery roll past the windows with interest, turning to Ginger from time to time to comment on novelties. He watched her delight in all that she saw and felt deliriously happy. There was not a lot of room, but Ginger found it no imposition to be obliged to sit close to Jeanette or to lean against her in order to see what she was indicating.
All too soon the fields and hedgerows gave way to suburbs and then to a more urban landscape, pitted with bomb craters and damaged houses. It was a stark reminder, thought Ginger, of what life on the Home Front was like. Once the princess and Mario were safely installed in a comfortable hotel, the convoy headed to the flat which had been found for Jeanette and her mother, just off Edgware Road.
Biggles and Bertie led the way with Algy escorting Madame Ducoste. Ginger and Jeanette lingered a moment at the rear, looking at their surroundings.
"It's not too far from our flat," Ginger told her. "It will be easy for me to come and see you when I come to London …" he paused fractionally before he concluded, "if you'd like me to, of course."
Jeanette smiled. "Yes, I would like that," she confirmed. "Very much," she added after a moment.
"Good," said Ginger happily. "Because I'd like to carry on seeing you, too." He looked round as Biggles called him and beckoned him to enter the building.
"We'd better go," he suggested. "I hope you like your new home."
"I am sure I shall," responded Jeanette, as they walked arm in arm towards the steps leading to the apartment building. She thought that being near to Ginger made it seem very attractive even before she went inside.
The flat was small and furnished with utility furniture, but it was cosy and had everything they needed. Jeanette took Ginger's hand as she eagerly explored the rooms; he accompanied her gladly, pleased to be able to see where she would be staying when she was not with him. It made the parting easier to bear if he could imagine her sitting by the small gas fire or helping her mother in the kitchen.
He heard Biggles calling him and reluctantly told Jeanette that he had to go. He kissed her lingeringly on the cheek and received a kiss and a hug in return. "Meet me in Green Park, near the Piccadilly entrance, when you've had something to eat," he urged before he left her. "I'll go there after we've been to the Air Ministry and we can spend the rest of the day together. Take the Tube; the Bakerloo Line from Edgware Road and change onto the Victoria at Oxford Circus. I'll take a taxi from Kingsway and be with you as soon as I can." He put his hand in his pocket and drew out a handful of coins. "Here," he said, thrusting them into her hand, "You'll need some change to be able to get there."
Jeanette thanked him and took the money gratefully. The coins were still warm from the contact with his body. "I will be there," she promised as he gave her another brief kiss on the cheek before he hastily left the room.
"I thought you'd got lost," teased Algy as Ginger came into the sitting room where they were waiting for him. Bertie looked at him moodily.
Biggles was less indulgent. "Get a move on," he said shortly. "The driver is waiting."
They all descended and got in the car to be taken to Biggles' flat in Mount Street where Biggles, Algy and Ginger changed into fresh uniforms before continuing to the Air Ministry where Air Commodore Raymond congratulated them on the successful conclusion of their mission.
"Well, that's that," remarked Biggles, after they had completed their reports and went out into Kingsway. I suppose we might as well get back to the squadron."
"I've got a spot of leave to finish, if you don't mind, sir," said Ginger meekly.
Biggles raised his eyebrows. "What do you want leave for?" he asked, although he had a sneaking suspicion that he knew the answer.
"Well, I've got to see my tailors about a new uniform – and one or two other things," explained Ginger in an off-hand way.
Biggles smiled. Algy took his head sadly. Bertie winked, although he felt anything but cheerful.
"Give her my love, and all that sort of rot – if you see what I mean?" he said, mindful of Biggles' warning.
"You run away and polish your eyeglass, troubadour," sneered Ginger, and hailed a passing taxi.