The days crept by in the run up to Christmas; the frustrating wet and often windy weather meant uneventful patrols or dreary spells of hanging around waiting for conditions to improve before the order to take off was given. The pilots nonetheless had very little free time. Ginger spent a long time agonising over what he could buy Jeanette for Christmas. There was precious little choice as luxuries were in short supply. By chance he discovered some scented soap had arrived in the NAAFI and was lucky enough to get hold of a bar before the precious goods had all disappeared. He ought to give her mother a gift, too, he realised, which left him with another difficult decision. His dilemma was resolved by Fiona, who had knitted a pair of gloves for her own mother. When he overheard her bemoaning the fact that they had turned out too small, he offered to buy them. Faced with the prospect of having to unravel the wool and recast the garments on larger needles, Fiona accepted gratefully.
His gift problems solved, Ginger was glad when Christmas Eve finally arrived. He was waiting with Henri to greet Jeanette and her mother when the coach deposited them at the main gate. His heart was thumping as he looked eagerly at the alighting passengers. When he spotted Jeanette, he felt his spirits lift. To his delight, Jeanette looked his way and smiled warmly at him.
Ginger hung back as Henri embraced his family, but Jeanette quickly came up to him after she had kissed her brother and embraced him too. Madame also kissed him on both cheeks. Ginger held Jeanette's hand as he and Henri escorted the women into the base.
"Have you settled in at the pub?" Ginger asked Jeanette as they walked to the NAAFI following Henri and his mother.
She nodded. "It is very pleasant. Very old," she told him. "So English." As if by association, she slipped her arm through his and hugged him close. "I am looking forward to the dance," she admitted shyly.
"Me, too," averred Ginger. "They've done a good job with the NAAFI considering it's impossible to get decorations these days. They've even managed to scrounge a tree from somewhere and found some holly. They've whitewashed it so it looks very festive." He pushed the door open and ushered Jeanette in.
She looked around the room. In one corner a small fir tree had been erected and there was a variety of homemade decorations hanging from its boughs. The walls, as Ginger had mentioned, were decorated with branches of holly and some faded pre-war bunting was strung across the ceiling, criss-crossing among the paper chains. Merry Christmas had been chalked on a blackboard near the tree.
Henri and Ginger found a table for Madame Ducoste and Jeanette, fetched drinks and sat down. The room started to fill up as the members of Treble Six and the Hurricane squadron as well as operations and Admin staff drifted in, many of them accompanied by companions in civilian dress.
Biggles came across to talk to the Ducostes, but did not stay long. Algy, too, had a brief word, but Ginger noticed that Bertie kept his distance. Perhaps it was just as well, he thought, given Bertie's attitude towards his friendship with Jeanette. He did not want anything to spoil the evening.
The music struck up and couples took to the floor. Ginger sat and watched, holding Jeanette's hand. When the band leader invited them to take their partners for a waltz, he took a deep breath, plucked up his courage and asked Jeanette to dance. As he took her hand and led her onto the floor his heart was beating fast, but he was unsure whether it was because of his nervousness or Jeanette's nearness.
Biggles watched incredulously as his protégé took Jeanette in his arms. "He's not going to dance, is he?" he exclaimed to Algy.
"It looks like it," opined Algy, hiding a smile.
Biggles shot a glance at his cousin. "Does he know how?" he asked suspiciously.
"We'll soon find out," answered Algy enigmatically. "If he doesn't, he'll cause chaos with so many on the floor."
Biggles stared fascinated as Ginger negotiated the crowded dance floor, displaying a skill that his mentor had no idea he possessed. At his side, Algy watched Ginger's performance with a glow of satisfaction; he felt very proud of his pupil. Ginger had remembered everything and looked, thought Algy, very accomplished. Indeed, he and Jeanette made a lovely couple. When the music came to an end, Ginger acknowledged his partner and led her back to her table. Jeanette was laughing and seemed to have enjoyed the dance as much as her companion.
Biggles turned to his cousin. "I see your hand in this," he remarked dryly.
Algy grinned. "Ginger did mention he'd like to learn to dance so he could ask Jeanette," he admitted. "I only had chance to teach him to waltz, so he's going to spend a lot of time sitting out, but I don't suppose he'll mind."
Algy's supposition was correct. Ginger was elated after dancing with Jeanette. He eagerly awaited the next waltz, but was delighted to be able to sit with her and hold her hand as they chatted. The room began to heat up and the atmosphere became stuffy. At the end of their next dance, Jeanette leaned unsteadily against him.
"What's the matter?" asked Ginger anxiously, oblivious of everyone around him as Jeanette rested her head against his shoulder.
"I feel …" Jeanette hesitated and put her hand to her head.
"Unwell? Dizzy? Faint?" supplied Ginger solicitously.
"Faint, yes," agreed Jeanette.
Ginger put his arm around her to support her. "It is very hot in here," he observed. "Perhaps we should go outside. A breath of fresh air will do you good." He led her to the door.
Outside it was much cooler. Ragged clouds obscured the moon, not allowing much light to pass through the thick veil. Ginger suggested they walk a little until her head cleared, glad of the excuse to keep his arm around her. He guided her along the path that led past the hangars towards dispersal. As they walked past a pile of sandbags he heard a low murmur of voices and a girl giggled. He quickened his pace and turned the corner, but they had barely gone a few paces when Bertie's voice stopped him in his tracks.
"Hardly conduct becoming, is it, old boy?"
Ginger turned but could see nothing. He stepped back round the sandbags and glimpsed Bertie standing on the path. At that moment the moon came out from behind the clouds and he could see that Bertie was talking to one of the Hurricane pilots whom Ginger recognised as Fiona's fiancé. Behind him stood Fiona, fumbling with her blouse as she tried to do up the buttons.
"Give us a break, sir!" pleaded the Pilot Officer. "It's Christmas!"
Bertie, disconcerted that he had mistaken the identity of the courting couple, turned on his heel and strode away. "Spoilsport!" exclaimed the pilot angrily to his retreating back. Catching sight of Ginger with his arm around Jeanette, he gave him a man-to-man grin. "Just when things were getting interesting as well!" he confided.
Ginger felt himself go red. Biggles had been right about Fiona encouraging him to take liberties if she thought he was serious, he conceded. "Er, yes," he agreed weakly, at a loss to know what to say. "Merry Christmas!" He led Jeanette away swiftly so as not to intrude on their privacy any longer.
"I'm sorry about that," apologised Ginger as they walked on. Jeanette ought to be protected from such things, he felt.
"Bertie thought it was you?" she suggested. "That is why 'e speak with them?"
Ginger nodded. "Yes, I think so." He frowned. "Though why he wanted to follow us I have no idea," he continued. "It's not as though we are going to be doing anything we shouldn't," he assured her innocently.
Jeanette smiled and snuggled against him. "I know I am safe with you," she murmured.
"Yes, I promise I'll keep you safe, Jeanette," vowed Ginger earnestly, enfolding her in his arms, hugging her close and stroking her hair. "Are you feeling better now?"
She rested her head against his shoulder and nestled against his chest, feeling secure and loved. "Yes, I feel much better now," she told him, but could not suppress a shiver in the cool night air. A few drops of rain fell, light at first then more heavily.
Ginger hurried Jeanette towards the dispersal hut. "Quick," he said, "let's go in here and shelter or we're going to get soaked." He pushed open the door and Jeanette followed.
He went across to a line of lockers that occupied one wall of the entrance and opened one, taking out a sheepskin flying jacket.
"Here," he said, offering it to her. "Put this round your shoulders. I don't want you to catch cold."
"It is your coat?" Jeanette wanted to know.
"Yes," confirmed Ginger as he draped the heavy garment over her shoulders and pulled the edges together to close the opening. "My flying jacket. I know it's too big for you, but it will keep you from catching a chill. I should have thought on," he reprimanded himself, unconsciously falling back into the dialect of his childhood. "Fancy taking you outside without a coat!" He fumbled in the pocket and drew out his pigskin gloves. "Put these on, too," he advised. "Your hands are frozen."
Jeanette slipped them on. They were soft and she was surprised that they fitted reasonably well. She had not realised how small his hands were.
A flurry of rain spattered noisily against the window, driven by the freshening wind. Jeanette hugged the sheepskin round her, grateful for the warmth. The fleece of the collar tickled her cheek.
"We might as well sit down," suggested Ginger as the raindrops intensified their assault on the windowpanes. "There's no point trying to get back to the NAAFI while it's raining like this. We'd be wet through. We'll just have to wait until it stops." He led the way into the room and drew out an armchair for Jeanette before he sat down on one of the upright chairs.
To his surprise and delight, Jeanette sat on his lap and put her arms around his neck. She snuggled against him as heavy rain lashed the windows and the wind howled round the eaves.
"I am so 'appy to be away from the storm," she murmured into his ear.
Ginger put his arms around her, his heart beating fast. He spared a thought for Fiona and her fiancé and hoped that they had decided to go indoors once Bertie had interrupted their courtship. The weather would certainly put a dampener on their activities, he thought sympathetically, although it appeared to have worked to his own advantage.
"This is very cosy," Ginger murmured contentedly as he hugged Jeanette to him, delighting in the feel of her body against his. The squalls beat against the glass and the frames shook under the onslaught. The violence of the elements encouraged them to huddle closer together.
It seemed so natural that their lips should meet and they kissed and cuddled happily until the rain stopped.
"We'd better make a dash for it before it starts up again," said Ginger reluctantly as the storm blew itself out. Jeanette stood up and he joined her. She put his gloves back in his pocket and gave him his jacket back to put in his locker, assuring him she would be warm enough to go back to the NAAFI. They splashed through the puddles and re-entered the canteen breathlessly.
"Where on earth have you been?" demanded Biggles with asperity when he saw him. "Henri has been looking for Jeanette."
"Jeanette felt a bit faint so I took her out for a breath of air," explained Ginger. "Then we got caught in the rain and had to shelter."
"You'd better go and find him and put his mind at rest," ordered Biggles.
Ginger spotted Henri sitting talking to his mother. Jeanette accompanied him as he made his way across. Henri looked up and saw them. He stood up abruptly.
"What 'ave you done with my sister?" he demanded angrily.
Ginger looked puzzled. "I haven't done anything with her," he responded, glancing at Jeanette. "Here she is."
"Calme-toi, Pépé," cajoled Jeanette, blushing, fearful that her brother was going to cause a scene. "Ne t'inquiète pas. Rien ne s'est passé," she assured him. "Ginger est sans reproche; il n'a rien fait. C'est un gentilhomme. N'oublie pas," she added inconsequentially, "qu'il est anglais."
"Je le sais, Jeanette," her mother reassured her, patting her arm. "Je l'ai dit à ton frère mais il ne m'écoute point."
The penny dropped for Ginger. Henri had meant to ask him either what had he been doing with Jeanette or what had he done to her, but had confused the two constructions.
"I can assure you, Henri," avowed Ginger, embarrassed by the implication he had been up to no good, "I respect Jeanette. My intentions are entirely honourable. We took shelter from the rain, that was all. Otherwise we would have been back as soon as Jeanette felt better."
Henri looked mollified and asked his sister what was the matter. Jeanette found it easier to explain in French that the heat and stuffiness had made her feel faint. The cool air had revived her, she told Henri as Ginger listened entranced, but before they could return they had been caught in the rainstorm and had been forced to wait for it to stop.
Henri apologised to Ginger. "I could not find Jeanette and Bertie tell me you 'ave taken 'er off with you to be alone," he explained. "When you do not come back, I imagine …"
"Yes, I can guess," Ginger broke in hastily. He was blushing furiously, much to his annoyance. He wondered briefly if Bertie had deliberately put doubts about his conduct into Henri's head, then dismissed the thought as unworthy.
Henri clapped Ginger on the shoulder, his good humour restored. "All is well that finishes well, n'est-ce pas?" he exclaimed.
Ginger smiled at Jeanette. "Something like that," he acknowledged.
She returned his smile and Ginger felt his heart lurch. Since he had met Jeanette, he felt complete for the first time in his life. Their hands met and clasped. Henri saw the gesture and thought that his sister had never looked so radiant. He looked at the young pilot afresh. Ginger, too, seemed blissfully contented and only had eyes for Jeanette. They made a fine couple, mused the Monégasque, speculating on how long it would be before they got engaged. When Ginger decided to ask for Jeanette's hand, thought Henri, he would make no objection.
The music struck up for a waltz; by mutual consent, Ginger and Jeanette stepped onto the dance floor. Happy in each other's arms, they moved as one to the rhythm of the music.
Bertie, brooding at the bar, felt the knife turn in his heart as he watched the happy couple circumnavigate the dance floor. He knew he could never be more than a friend to Ginger, but he felt that situation was only bearable as long as no one else could have him. To see the two of them together and so obviously in love was too much. He turned away and swigged the last of his beer before ordering another.
Tug came up beside him and ordered a refill as Bertie was signing the chit. "Ginger seems to have forgotten there's a war on," remarked the East-ender sourly.
"Carpe Diem, old boy," remarked Bertie lightly, to hide his feelings.
Tug looked at him askance. "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded truculently.
"Seize the day," translated Bertie. "Latin, don't ye know? It means you have to make hay while the sun shines."
Tug leaned against the bar and took a gulp of his drink as he watched the pair dancing. "You mean Ginger is hoping he'll get into her knickers before he gets the chop?" he queried crudely.
Bertie was shocked. "I say!" he exclaimed. "No, I didn't mean that at all," he protested, aware that the fear was at least partly true. He was afraid that Jeanette would rob Ginger of his innocence. "I merely meant we don't know what tomorrow will bring and we ought to be happy while we can." As he said it, Bertie was aware that both he and Tug had good reason to act on that premise. Tug had lost his parents when the East End had been devastated and he, well he had lost someone he loved on two occasions, once literally and once metaphorically.
Tug grunted and took a long swig of the lemonade shandy he now drank. "That's true enough," he acknowledged. "Here today, gone for a Burton tomorrow."
"I hope not," chipped in Ferocity, who had just come to the bar for another pint. "Tomorrow's Christmas."
Tug wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Christmas doesn't mean anything to Nazis, the murdering swine," he observed bitterly.
Ferocity looked at him askance. Tug's natural aggression always became more pronounced when he had been drinking, he reflected, even if the beer was diluted.
"Only good German is a dead German," spat Tug vehemently.
"Quite right," murmured Bertie soothingly.
Tug looked at him belligerently. "Are you making fun of me?" he queried, bristling like an angry terrier.
"Perish the thought, old boy," Bertie told him urbanely. "We need more Hun-getters like you."
"Yeah, that's right," Tug nodded vigorously.
The music came to an end and the couples left the floor. Bertie watched as Ginger proprietarily put his arm around Jeanette to direct her to their table. His eyes narrowed in distress as the longing and loss hit home. He turned away, unable to bear it.
Ginger was just pushing Jeanette's chair beneath her when Taffy rolled up at their table clutching a sprig of mistletoe.
"Not going to keep the best-looking girl in the room all to yourself, are you, boyo?" he enquired cheerily. "I claim my Christmas kiss."
Jeanette looked at him anxiously and Ginger hastened to explain that it was an old English custom to snatch a kiss under the mistletoe.
"Who said anything about English customs?" asked Taffy indignant. "It was the Druidic Bards taught you English heathens about the mistletoe, look you."
"An old custom, then," replied Ginger soothingly, although he could have cheerfully throttled Taffy for introducing the subject and bothering Jeanette.
Taffy held the sprig over Jeanette's head. She turned her cheek away, embarrassed, as Taffy leaned forward so his lips barely brushed her chin. He would have tried again, but Ginger took the plant from him.
"Only one kiss per damsel," he said firmly, disarming the Welshman. "Try somebody else now."
Taffy would have argued, but the look in Ginger's eye warned him not to press the issue. Muttering in Welsh under his breath he went off in search of other prey.
Jeanette looked uncomfortable and Ginger apologised for the incident. "I should have warned you," he murmured, "but I didn't think anybody would have got hold of some."
Jeanette took the sprig from his hand. "Du gui," she observed.
Ginger nodded. "Mistletoe," he confirmed.
She placed the sprig back in his hand. "It is the custom to kiss a girl in public under this?" she asked him.
He nodded. "A man can kiss a strange girl if he's got some mistletoe. A girl he doesn't know very well, I mean," he amended. "It gives him a sort of licence."
She looked at him and blushed. "Is it allowed to kiss a girl that is known?"
Ginger grinned. "Oh yes!" he responded enthusiastically.
Jeanette returned his smile. "It is an old English custom," she murmured shyly. "I must accustom myself to English habits."
Ginger looked round. Nobody was watching them. He held up the mistletoe and kissed her. Jeanette did not turn away from him and they both savoured a lingering kiss.
When they broke apart Ginger became aware that almost all the rest of his squadron had gathered round his table. He went scarlet with embarrassment as they broke into spontaneous applause and cheering.
Jeanette put her hands to her flaming cheeks.
"Can I have my mistletoe back now, boyo?" asked Taffy. "One kiss per damsel, you said, isn't it?"
Sheepishly, Ginger handed it over.
Taffy bore the trophy aloft and followed by the rest of the pilots went in search of some WAAFs to kiss.
When they were alone, Ginger started to apologise, but Jeanette put her finger on his lips. "They tease you, no?" she asked.
"They tease me, yes," affirmed Ginger. "Because I'm so shy, I suppose."
Jeanette giggled. "You are English," she commented, "but I like it that you are so English," she confessed. "It is charming."
Ginger smiled ruefully, wishing he were more confident in his wooing. The music struck up another waltz. At least he could hold Jeanette in his arms while they danced, he thought as he invited her to take the floor and led her from the table. He bitterly regretted he had not asked Algy to teach him more dances.
The evening flew by all too quickly. It seemed no time at all before the last waltz ended and the dance was over. Ginger escorted Jeanette to the bus stop with Henri and Mme Ducoste. Casually he hung back a little with Jeanette to let the others go on so they could be alone.
"You know that the commandant has invited me to spend the day with Henri's squadron tomorrow, don't you?" murmured Ginger as they made their way through the blackout arm in arm.
Jeanette nodded. "Henri 'as told me. I am very glad," she told him, squeezing him tenderly.
Ginger smiled. "So am I," he admitted. "I'm really looking forward to it."
"It will be good to 'ave all my family with me at Christmas," smiled Jeanette.
"It will be nice for me to be with your family, too," said Ginger ingenuously. "I don't have any family of my own."
Jeanette caressed his cheek lovingly. "When I think of you, I imagine that you are in my family," she told him quietly.
Ginger felt a warm glow at her words and admitted to himself that it would be the best Christmas he had had for a long time. He glanced ahead. Henri and his mother had reached the bus stop and were standing talking, waiting for them to catch up, but not looking their way. Ginger stopped and turned to Jeanette.
Without any prompting she moved closer to him and into his arms. Their lips met and Ginger savoured the kiss. Reluctantly he drew back. "We'd better catch up," he breathed. "They'll be wondering what we've been getting up to."
Jeanette blushed. "Maman knows that you are an officer and a gentleman," she teased him.
Ginger laughed softly. "Well, I'm an officer, anyway," he acknowledged with a smile as he tucked her arm through his and they began walking towards the bus stop.
The bus arrived just as they joined Henri and his mother. As Madame Ducoste and her son mounted the steps, Ginger snatched a quick kiss from Jeanette and murmured, "good night, sleep well."
Jeanette was reluctant to leave his embrace. "À demain, Ginger," she whispered as she turned slowly away and climbed into the bus. Ginger stood and watched as she took her seat. He stayed there until the bus disappeared into the distance. With a sigh, he turned and walked slowly back to the base.
Alone in his room he savoured the memory of the evening. Dancing with Jeanette had been wonderfully exciting and he could hardly wait to do it again. He was so buoyed up by the experience he found it hard to sleep.
He was awake early the next morning. For a moment, he stared at the ceiling and then realisation came flooding in; it was Christmas Day. He leaped out of bed, washed thoroughly and dressed with care. Critically, he examined his reflection in the mirror, wondering if Jeanette would approve. It mattered terribly that she should like him and feel attracted to him, he admitted to himself finally. The inchoate longing he had been feeling found concrete form and he was ready at last to acknowledge that he wanted much, much more than a mere platonic friendship. He watched his image blush at the realisation before he turned on his heel and headed to the Mess for breakfast.
"Hello," Algy greeted him. "Have you been practising your French in anticipation?" he asked teasingly.
Ginger blushed. Bertie, just finishing his coffee, looked at Algy enquiringly. "Are we expecting visitors from across the water, old boy?" He hoped that French minx had not been invited to the Mess.
Before Algy could reply, Ginger told Bertie bluntly, "I've been invited to spend the day with the Free French. With Henri," he added emphatically.
Bertie contemplated the young man impassively, unable to ask what he wanted, but feared, to know.
"I see," he breathed. "With Henri …?" He added with peculiar emphasis. The words hung in the air, but Ginger ignored the unspoken question, sat down and started to eat his breakfast.
Algy, sensing the tension in the atmosphere, engaged Bertie in conversation while Ginger steadfastly ate his meal in silence. From time to time he looked at the lad quizzically, but Ginger rarely lifted his eyes from his plate. Algy was puzzled by Bertie's attitude to Ginger's romance. He remembered how Ginger had almost come to blows over Bertie's needling in Castillon and idly wondered why Bertie was so antagonistic. Having failed to come to any conclusions, he dismissed it from his mind and concentrated on the day ahead. It was Christmas, but the likelihood was it would be a day like any other. He half envied Ginger's invitation to another Mess.
Algy watched as Ginger finished his breakfast, stood up and muttered a farewell. Algy waved him off with a cheery 'enjoy yourself!'. Ginger murmured "thanks" and left the Mess without a backward glance.
Outside, Ginger breathed a sigh of relief at having left the strained atmosphere behind. Bertie's attitude to Jeanette made him feel uncomfortable and he was looking forward to spending the day with her away from the unpleasant undercurrents. He made his way to his Spitfire. Biggles had already given him permission to undertake a test flight, with the tacit understanding that he would call in on the French squadron and spend the day there before returning to base.
Alone in the sky, Ginger felt his spirits soar. He loved flying and he was going to spend the day with Jeanette. What could be better? For sheer joie de vivre, he looped the loop and did a couple of rolls. When he reached the airfield where the Free French squadron was based, he treated them to a display of aerobatics to uphold the honour of his squadron before coming in to a three point landing.
As he taxied up to the hard-standing he spotted Henri in the crowd of waiting officers and waved. Henri acknowledged the gesture and came to greet him as Ginger switched off his engine and prepared to jump down.
"Merry Christmas!" exclaimed Ginger as he reached the ground.
"Joyeux Noël, Ginger," responded Henri, grasping Ginger's hand. "I present you to my Commandant."
Henri led Ginger to the group of officers and introduced him to his C O, a dapper, dark-haired man in his early thirties.
"Enchanté," murmured Ginger, which clearly pleased his host, who commented on Ginger's willingness to speak French. "But then, you are affianced to the sister of Henri, n'est-ce pas?" he added.
Ginger blushed. He and Jeanette did not even have an understanding, although he would have liked to have been able to answer yes. Henri came to his rescue.
"Pas encore, mon Commandant," he said with a smile, "mais bientôt, je crois."
The Frenchman nodded and advised Ginger not to wait too long. His officers had all been enchanted by Ducoste's sister, he added teasingly. The young Englishman would have lots of rivals and if he was not careful, he would lose out.
Ginger felt himself go pale at the prospect. Henri smiled. He had noted the way Jeanette had looked so adoringly at Ginger the previous evening and had no doubts at all that his sister would not find any of his brother officers anything like as fascinating as the red-haired Englishman.
"Don't worry, Ginger," he reassured the young man. "Jeanette is not inconstante. She 'as been very impatient for your arrival." He introduced Ginger to the rest of the officers who had come out to watch their guest's arrival before he steered the young pilot in the direction of the Mess.
Jeanette confirmed the truth of Henri's assertion by the alacrity with which she left her escort to come to Ginger's side when he entered the ante room. Envious eyes followed her as she kissed him on both cheeks and put her arm through his, wishing him a Happy Christmas.
Ginger returned her greeting, feeling his heart race, and accompanied her over to where Madame Ducoste was sitting. Madame, too, greeted him with a kiss on each cheek.
Ginger fumbled in his pocket and presented his gifts. Madame and Jeanette opened them eagerly.
"Du savon!" exclaimed Jeanette, clapping her hands in delight. "Thank you, chéri! C'est magnifique!" She kissed him spontaneously in gratitude.
Madame tried on the gloves. Ginger was relieved that they fitted well. She thanked him and told him he was very kind.
Ginger blushed. "Not at all, madame," he murmured.
The formalities over, Jeanette wanted to know about his flying. She had watched his performance before he landed with her heart in her mouth.
Ginger tried to reassure her that it was not as dangerous as it might have looked. "The Spitfire is a lovely aeroplane," he enthused. "A real lady. She doesn't have any vices at all. You just have to think what you want to do and she does it."
Jeanette pouted. "You are in love with 'er!" she accused him, only half in jest. The pang of jealousy she had experienced when he spoke of his aircraft like another woman came as a shock to her.
Ginger grinned. "In a way," he admitted. "I have to trust her with my life and I'm sure she won't let me down. If we get time after lunch, I'll introduce her to you."
Jeanette smiled. "I would like that," she confessed, diffidently. "I want to understand all that you do when I am not with you."
"A lot of what I do is pretty boring," stated Ginger deprecatingly. "You're not missing much."
Jeanette put her hand affectionately on his arm. "I am missing you," she told him softly.
"I miss you, too," he conceded, trying unsuccessfully not to blush.
"But you 'ave your Spitfire," she teased him. "She makes you very 'appy."
"I do love flying," Ginger admitted, "and my Spitfire is a real joy to handle," he added innocently. "She has such wonderful lines and she's so responsive."
Before he could blot his copybook any further, a mess servant offered him a tray supporting glasses of kir and a variety of canapés. Dimly aware that Jeanette did not seem to be sharing his passion for his beloved Spitfire, Ginger accepted one of the proffered glasses gratefully and selected a small piece of toast with what appeared to be cream cheese on it.
Henri explained that normally the Réveillon would take place after midnight Mass, but because they were in England, the squadron had decided to hold it at lunchtime in deference to the customs of their country of exile. Everything else was as traditional as they could make it despite the rationing, he added.
When he entered the dining room with Jeanette, Ginger saw that Henri was right; the table was looking very festive and there was an impressive display of glasses beside each table setting. The meal was a happy occasion, although tinged with the inevitable nostalgia brought on by being away from their own land. It made Ginger acutely aware of just what Jeanette and her mother had given up when they escaped and came to England.
After the meal's conclusion, Ginger suggested that Jeanette join him for a breath of fresh air.
"You English," exclaimed one of the pilots who had overheard him. "Always you want the fresh air. Your climate is abominable, your rooms are cold and you leave your windows open! Incroyable!"
Ginger smiled. "It's what's made us a hardy race," he countered.
Jeanette slipped her arm through his. "I like it that you are hardi," she told him. "You will show me your Spitfire, n'est-ce pas?"
He nodded and escorted her to the hard standing where he had parked his machine.
"Would you like to sit in her?" he offered.
"Oh yes!" exclaimed Jeanette. "You will explain to me all about flying?"
"It will have to be a crash course," he smiled. "We don't have much time to do more."
"Crash? Non, I do not want you to crash," declared Jeanette.
Ginger laughed. "It just means a very quick introduction," he explained.
Jeanette sighed, relieved. "You 'ave so many idiomes that do not mean what they say," she observed. "I do not understand."
"Don't worry," he hastened to reassure her. "I think you're wonderful the way you are; I wouldn't change a thing."
Glowing with pleasure, Jeanette let him assist her to climb on to the wing and instruct her how to enter the cockpit. She was surprised how small it was. Although Ginger was slim, some of his squadron comrades were much heavier and taller. She wondered how they managed.
Ginger swung himself up onto the wing with practised ease and leaned into the cockpit, pointing out the dials and levers and explaining what each one did. Jeanette did not understand much of what he said, but she was delighted to listen to him, to have him to herself and so close. Sitting in his war machine made her feel she shared a little of his life when he was on operations.
"What is this?" she asked, laying her hand on the control column. He had not mentioned it in his litany of instruments.
"The joystick," replied Ginger without thinking. "I mean," he amended, going bright red, "the control column." The tantalising glimpse of Jeanette's thighs that the stick had afforded him when it caught her dress as she had sat down had sent his pulses racing. To cover his confusion, he explained, "it's what enables me to manoeuvre the aeroplane. Don't press the tit!" he exclaimed as Jeanette grasped the circular head of the column "I mean the button," he corrected himself quickly, thinking he ought not to be teaching Jeanette such slang words, "it fires the guns."
Jeanette took her hand away quickly. It was, she thought, a salutary reminder that his job was killing before he was killed. She looked at him tenderly. He snatched a quick glance around and, seeing that no one was about, leaned over to kiss her.
The cockpit was cramped, but she managed to put her arms around his neck. When they separated, he gasped, "I'll never feel the same about this machine ever again!"
Jeanette giggled. "You will not be 'appy with 'er?"
"On the contrary," countered Ginger. "I'll be happier than ever! Whenever I fly now, I'll be able to take you with me because you've been sitting in her cockpit."
Jeanette felt her jealousy abate. In some way, she had managed to get his aeroplane on her side and that made her feel very happy.
Ginger looked at his watch. "Blimey!" he ejaculated. "Look at the time! I'll have to take you back to the Mess and say goodbye. The light will soon be gone and I've got to fly back to Rawlham."
Reluctantly, Jeanette accepted his hand and let him assist her to descend to the hard standing. She jumped down into his waiting arms and felt safe and secure in his embrace. Before he delivered her to her mother and brother he snatched one brief goodbye kiss. Then he thanked his hosts, bade farewell to the French squadron and took off to return to his base. Jeanette watched him leave with mixed feelings. The memory of sitting in the seat of his aeroplane, his kiss and his nearness was some comfort to offset the sense of loss she felt now that he had gone. She was sure that this had been the best Christmas she had ever celebrated and she looked forward to the New Year if it meant that she would see him again.