Number Six Rue Marinière

The door crashed open. Silhouetted against the dim light entering from the narrow street, a young man swayed drunkenly. Jeanette clutched her throat, her heart pounding in terror.

"Pepé," he gasped, clearly at the end of his tether. "Pepé …" His eyes met hers briefly before he collapsed in a heap at her feet and she felt her heart give a lurch, all fear banished.

She knelt beside him and felt his pulse. It was weak and racing. His flesh was cold and clammy, but the contact thrilled her. Strands of soft, red-gold hair escaped from under the beret he was wearing and spilled over his face. With a gasp, she realised that blood was seeping through a rough bandage round his thigh.

"Maman!" she cried urgently. "Maman! Viens vite(1)!"

"Qu'est-ce qu'il y a, Jeanette(2)?" demanded Madame Ducoste as she hurried out of the kitchen.

He eyes fell on the unconscious stranger and she drew in her breath sharply. "Mon Dieu!(3)" she exclaimed. "Qui est-ce(4)?" she asked her daughter, bewildered.

"Je ne sais pas, maman(5)," replied Jeanette. "Quand j'ai ouvert la porte, il n'a dit que 'Pepé' puis il s'est évanouillé(6)."

Madame Ducoste knelt beside the young man. "Il est blessé," she observed. Making up her mind, she manoeuvred the door closed. "Alors," she asserted. "C'est un ami d'Henri. Il faut que nous l'aidions. Prends-lui les jambes," she instructed her daughter, taking the young man's shoulders. "On le montera à la chambre d'Henri(7)."

Together they manhandled the young man's inert body up the narrow staircase to the bedroom that had belonged to Henri. Once they had put him on the bed, Madame Ducoste began to unwrap the strips of material that bound his wound. The blood had congealed and the young man moaned softly as she disturbed the injury.

"Va chercher de l'eau chaude," instructed Madame. "Il faudra nettoyer la blessure(8)."

Jeanette paused at the door before she left to do her mother's bidding, looking back anxiously at their unexpected guest. His face was deathly pale, the freckles scattered across his cheeks and nose standing out starkly against the pallor, his ginger hair, freed from the confines of the beret, spilled across the pillow. He looked so young and vulnerable that Jeanette felt her heart turn over. Turning swiftly to hide the turmoil of her emotions, she clattered downstairs to the kitchen.

Madame Ducoste concentrated on removing the young man's clothing so that she could clean the wound. She was surprised to find him naked under the rough material and glanced round hastily, but Jeanette had left on her errand. Quickly, she covered him with the bedclothes, leaving his wound exposed.

Jeanette came back with a bowl of steaming water, a bottle of brandy and some linen napkins. "Bien," approved her mother as she gave instructions how to help clean the injury.

The bullet, for it was clearly a gunshot wound, had passed straight through, fortunately without touching the bone or any major vessels, but it was clear he had lost a lot of blood.

Jeanette supported the young man's knee as her mother washed off the dried blood and cleaned the damaged area, using the brandy as an antiseptic. The young man stirred and moaned softly as the spirit stung his maltreated flesh, but did not recover consciousness.

Jeanette felt a frisson of emotion as she touched his leg. His skin was pale, the veins showing blue through the translucent flesh. The hairs on his thigh were fine, sparse and very blond, thickening and darkening towards his groin. Jeanette felt her cheeks burning and dropped her eyes. If her mother noticed, she gave no sign.

At last Madame Ducoste declared herself satisfied and they wrapped clean linen bandages around the injury.

Jeanette gathered up the bowl of blood-stained water and soiled dressings while her mother twitched the bedclothes over the young man. Jeanette caught a brief glimpse of his slim body before the sheets settled and was deeply disturbed by the emotions it provoked. She turned away, uneasy at the feelings she had for this young man. She knew nothing about him, not even his name, but already her heart was captured.

"Il se guérira mieux en dormant(9)," observed Madame Ducoste as she tucked the bedclothes around her patient.

"J'attendrai à côté de lui," offered Jeanette. "S'il se réveille tout seul, il sera peut-être confus(10)," she explained.

Madame Ducoste nodded wisely, observing her daughter closely. "D'accord," she agreed, taking the bowl. "Je serai juste à côté. Appelle-moi si tu as besoin de moi(11)."

Jeanette sat down beside the bed, to keep vigil. She slipped her hand into his, watching as the young man moved from unconsciousness to deep sleep.

At last, he stirred and his eyelids fluttered. Jeanette withdrew her hand. The slight movement woke him.

He opened his eyes and looked into hers. The smile he gave her made her heart leap in her breast.

"Hello," he said in English. "You must be Jeanette."

She gasped. Despite his colouring, she had not expected him to be English. The shock paralysed her brain for a moment so she hesitated before whispering in the same language, "you know me, Monsieur?"

"Henri spoke of you fondly," he explained, shaking his head slightly. His smile became teasing as he continued, "he called you his little sister, but you must have grown a bit since then."

"It is three year since I see Henri," she explained to him. Hope brightened her eyes. "You 'ave seen Henri?" she questioned him breathlessly.

When he nodded and started to explain, she placed her finger on his lips to stop him. "Attendez!" she cried, breaking into French in her excitement. "Restez là(12)!"

She jumped up and raced across to the door, calling for her mother. Madame Ducoste entered the room immediately, wanting to know what was wrong.

"Il a des nouvelles d'Henri(13)!" exclaimed Jeanette.

Madame Ducoste looked at the young man incredulously. "C'est vrai(14)?" she asked, scarcely able to believe it.

Jeanette interrupted. "Il est anglais, maman(15)," she explained.

"You 'ave news of my son?" queried Madame Ducoste.

The young man nodded. "I'd better introduce myself," he continued. "My name's Hebblethwaite – Ginger for short," he added with a wry smile. "I met Henri about three weeks ago, in England. He's safe and well. He's flying as a pilot for the Free French Air Force."

Before he could say more, Madame Ducoste seized his hand. "Thank you, thank you, Monsieur," she told him, overwhelmed with emotion. "I did not know if 'e lived still," she explained with tears in her eyes.

Jeanette's eyes, too, were moist. "I cannot speak," she murmured softly. "I 'ave not 'eard of my brother since 'e left."

Ginger was moved. He had never thought about the anguish of the families left behind before. Seeing Jeanette and her mother's reactions to his news affected him deeply.

"When Henri knew I was coming to Monaco," he explained, "he gave me your address and asked if I could get a message to you to let you know he was alright." His eyes met Jeanette's as he added, "he asked me to give you his love." He bent his leg and winced. "I didn't expect to pass the message on in these circumstances," he informed them ruefully.

Madame Ducoste hastened to reassure him that he was welcome in their house as long as he needed to stay. "You 'ave lost much blood," she informed him, "but your wound will 'eal fast if you rest."

The young man relaxed against the pillows. His face was almost as white as the counterpane. "Thank you, Madame," he sighed gratefully. "I do feel pretty weak." He paused before continuing hesitantly, "there is one thing that would help me …"

"Of course, Monsieur," Madame assured him. "What is it?"

"I came to Monaco to look for a friend who is missing. There are three of us altogether and I'd really like to get in touch with the others. One went to Nice, so I can't contact him, but if you could get a message to the one who is in Monte Carlo I'd be very grateful."

"I will go," offered Jeanette immediately, "Si tu permets, maman(16)," she added hastily.

Madame Ducoste smiled and gave her permission with a twinkle in her eye.

Ginger described Bertie briefly. "We arranged to meet on the Quai de Plaisance," he added. "You can't miss him, he'll be carrying a guitar."

Jeanette smiled at him shyly. "I will bring your friend for you," she promised as she left the room.

Madame Ducoste observed the look in the young man's eye as he watched her daughter depart.

"I will bring you some milk," she offered. "We must wait. Jeanette will 'ave to walk to le Quai."

Ginger thanked her. He realised he was feeling hungry and thirsty. He must have dozed during her absence, because Madame Ducoste woke him when she returned with the drink.

He sipped it gratefully. Madame sat by his bed and asked him about England. Without being obtrusive, she encouraged him to talk about his early life and his meeting with Biggles. It was obvious from the way he spoke, she thought, that this friend whom he had come so far to find had had a profound influence on him. As the young man spoke, Madame grew to like and admire him. She decided that should his insipient relationship with her daughter develop and flourish, she would put no obstacles in his way.

"I will let you rest now," she told him, satisfied. "When Jeanette will return, she will bring your friend with the guitar to your room."

Gratefully, Ginger lay back and closed his eyes. It scarcely seemed a moment before the sound of footsteps on the stairs woke him and he heard Jeanette's sweet voice murmur, "enter Monsieur, a friend awaits you."


(1) Come quickly!

(2) What's the matter?

(3) Good grief!

(4) Who is it?

(5) I don't know, mum.

(6) When I opened the door he just said 'Pepé and fainted.

(7) He's wounded. Anyway, it's a friend of Henri. We'll have to help him. Take his legs, we'll take him up to Henri's room.

(8) Go and fetch some hot water. We'll have to clean the wound.

(9) He'll recover better asleep.

(10) I'll wait beside him. If he wakes up and there's nobody here, he could be confused.

(11) Very well. I shall be just next door. Call me if you need me.

(12) Wait.! Stay there!

(13) He has news of Henri!

(14) Is that true?

(15) He's English, mum.

(16) If you'll allow me, mum.