An Awakening Conscience
When Algy came back into the Mess after seeing Ginger safely to his room to attempt to come to terms with the shocking news of Jeanette's death, the first person he met was Bertie.
Aware of Bertie's animosity towards the couple, Algy would have avoided any contact if he could, but Bertie had spotted him and hailed his fellow flight commander.
"What cheer!" he burbled.
Algy acknowledged him briefly and would have passed by, but Bertie signalled him to sit down.
"Like a drink, old boy?" he offered.
Algy was about to refuse, but he realised that he did need a drink after the dreadful news. He nodded, curtly.
Bertie signaled to the waiter and Algy gave his order. There was a brief silence while the drink was brought and the chit signed.
When the Mess waiter had gone, Algy took a gulp of neat spirit. Bertie eyed him in surprise.
"What's wrong, old lad?" he queried. "It's not like you to drink like that."
Algy felt irrationally annoyed. If he wanted to drink to erase the memory of Ginger's haggard white face as the import of the news sank in, it was his own business and nothing to do with Bertie. In fact, the less Bertie had to do with the whole affair, the better, he thought, given his attitude towards Jeanette. Algy grimaced and said nothing.
Bertie looked around. "Where's Ginger?" he asked.
"Gone to his room," replied Algy shortly.
"I see," murmured Bertie with a hint of sarcasm. "Biggles given him a ticking off for his ungentlemanly conduct with his lady love?" he asked archly.
Algy lost his temper. "Don't mention Jeanette to Ginger!" he exploded hotly. "She was a wonderful girl and Ginger was deeply in love with her."
"I say!" exclaimed Bertie, astounded by Algy's outburst. He frowned. "Does this mean the romance is off?" he asked warily, trying to keep the hope out of his voice.
"You could say that," growled Algy, more grief-stricken by events than he had expected.
"Ginger come to his senses at last and had second thoughts?" suggested Bertie brightly. "Bit belated, though, wasn't it?" he added with a knowing look.
Algy looked at him bitterly.
"Bertie," he sighed, "sometimes I think you can't possibly be as stupid as you look or act."
"I say, old boy, steady on!" protested Bertie. "What have I done now? Surely the time for Ginger to have decided he didn't want to marry the girl was before he took her to bed, not after."
"Bertie," said Algy slowly, "Ginger was going to marry Jeanette tomorrow and nothing would have stopped him doing that if the Luftwaffe hadn't dropped a ton of high explosive on her flat."
Bertie blinked as the import of the words sank in. Blood drained from his face. He knew how Ginger must be feeling. "You mean – "
"Jeanette and her mother were killed in a raid tonight," confirmed Algy. "Biggles has just told Ginger. Leave him alone!" he said sharply as Bertie instinctively got up to go and comfort the lad. "I should imagine the last person he'd want to see at the moment is you!"
The words stung. "I don't know what you mean, old boy," Bertie got out, his heart wrung by the thought of Ginger alone in his room with only his grief for company.
"You weren't exactly pleasant about Jeanette," Algy pointed out brutally. "Either in Monaco or Algiers. You didn't exactly give Ginger any encouragement."
Bertie hung his head. "I'm afraid you're right, old boy," he acknowledged shamefaced. "I bitterly regret that now. I only want to comfort Ginger."
"The best comfort you can give him is to keep away from him," retorted Algy baldly.
He downed the last of his scotch abruptly and stood up. "I'm off to tell the rest of the squadron," he announced. "Ginger has taken it very hard. Don't make it any harder for him," he enjoined grimly.
Bertie nodded, unable to trust himself to speak. When Algy had disappeared, he signalled the Mess waiter over and ordered a double scotch. He downed half the drink in one gulp, grimacing as the peaty liquid burned his throat. 'What is it,' he wondered, 'that makes us turn to alcohol to celebrate or drown our sorrows?' In truth he did not know which of the emotions had caused him to order the drink. His rival was dead; he no longer had to endure the agony of seeing Ginger in the arms of another. That was cause for celebration, surely, he told himself, but the thought of Ginger's devastation at his loss, his terrible grief, caused Bertie almost as much pain as Ginger must have been feeling. He knew what it was like to lose a loved one. The heartache was unbearable. Bertie thought wryly that at least Ginger could grieve openly. The anguish of loss was made much worse by circumstances which forced it to be hidden, Bertie acknowledged to himself.
To have to keep away from Ginger at this time when he longed to be offering condolence and consolation, trying to make the lad forget, was a dire punishment, reflected Bertie as he sipped his whisky, but perhaps no more than he deserved. He examined his conscience. He had been very hard on Ginger and tried desperately to get him to renounce that woman, he admitted. Not 'that woman' any more, he told himself; he had tried to get Ginger to give up Jeanette – for the first time Bertie thought of her by name, aware of how much Ginger had hated to hear her referred to as 'that woman'.
He finished his whisky pensively and glanced at his watch, debating whether to order another drink or turn in. There was an early patrol tomorrow, he realised. He put the glass down and stood up, wondering if Ginger had been stood down or whether he would try to carry on as normal. He rather dreaded the latter. They would all have to keep a sharp eye out for the lad, Bertie realised. Ginger would be in no fit state to be flying after no sleep and a night of misery, but he knew that Ginger would probably choose to keep busy, if he was allowed to. The lad would grasp at anything to keep his mind off the tragedy and stop him thinking, Bertie knew from bitter experience.
He sighed and made his way to his quarters. The path to his room took him past Ginger's door. Against his better judgement, Bertie paused. Through the panels he could hear heart-rending sobs. Stifling his instincts, Bertie continued on towards his own room. With a heavy heart, he acknowledged that Algy was right; Ginger would not want to see him. It was hard to leave him in that state, but Bertie knew that he loved Ginger enough not to add to his misery. It was, Bertie acknowledged, not just his conscience that kept him awake that night, thinking of Ginger's distress.