Biggles Married III Chapter 1.

By Sopwith

Disclaimer: I do not own, or claim to own, any of the Biggles series characters used in this work. This fan fiction was written for entertainment purposes only and should not be considered part of the official storyline.

Warning: Non canon type fan fiction works may contain severe time mix-ups and character deviations. 

The tension in the office of Air Police Headquarters was so thick that Ginger could literally feel it weighing down on him. Involuntarily, he glanced at the corner desk where Algy was half-hidden behind a dangerously tall stack of files. Judging from the amount of paper scattered over and next to his desk, he seemed to be trying to memorize the contents of every single sheet of paper in the world.

The phone rang, jolting Ginger out of his reverie. “Air Police Headquarters,” he said.

“Ginger? It’s me. Is Algy back yet?”

Ginger sighed inwardly. It was Biggles’ third or fourth call in the past hour. Algy had given strict orders that he was “not in to anyone. And I mean, anyone”, and Ginger was tired of lying to Biggles. It left a bad taste in the mouth. He glanced again at the moody figure seated at the corner desk. “I don’t think now’s a good time, chief,” he said to the phone.

“So he’s there?”

Ginger said nothing.

“Ginger—”

“I’ve got to go,” lied Ginger. “The other phone’s ringing; it might be important.” He hung up the phone quickly. He didn’t think he could continue the charade any longer.

Algy did not ask who the caller was, or even look up to see whether Ginger had finished the call.

Ginger glanced at Bertie. “I can’t take much more of this,” he muttered.

Bertie grimaced in silent agreement.

Ginger looked desperately at the clock. It was only half-past eleven, but it was as good an excuse as any, and he leapt on it eagerly. “Let’s go to lunch!” he whispered to Bertie, who nodded vigorously in reply. Ginger donned his jacket and turned to the silent figure behind the corner desk. “Algy!” he called, as if speaking to a deaf person. “We’re going to lunch. Do you want to come?”

No answer.

“Do you want us to bring something back for you?”

Still no answer. Algy gave no indication that he had heard Ginger’s question, or even that he was aware of Ginger standing in front of his desk.

“I suppose that’s a no, then,” said Ginger, to the top of Algy’s bent head. “Well, see you later.”

Together with Bertie, he hurried out of the office and into the street.

“What on earth are we going to do?” blurted Ginger, as soon as they were out of the office. “This is terrible!”

“Absolutely, old boy,” murmured Bertie. “Bally steep, what?”

“If this goes on much longer, Algy’s going to be ill,” declared Ginger. “He hasn’t been eating or sleeping for the past two days. All he does is sit at that desk and shift paper around. And he won’t talk to Biggles, and he won’t talk to us, and he won’t do anything. Goodness knows what we’re to do if Raymond rings up with something important that needs doing.”

“Can’t we make them talk to each other?” suggested Bertie. “Just shove the bally phone in his face, that sort of thing?”

“I don’t think that’ll work. Algy’s liable to just ignore it—and Biggles.”

“Well, they’ll have to see each other eventually, won’t they?” Bertie pointed out. “Biggles will be coming back to work in a week or two. He can’t ignore him forever.”

Ginger bit his lip. “He was muttering something about resigning, when he was still speaking to us two days ago. Didn’t you hear him?”

Bertie looked aghast. “You’re not serious, old boy? He can’t just resign like that! Where’s he going to go, and all that sort of thing? It’s a bit late for him to start a jolly old mid-life crisis, what?”

Ginger ran a distracted hand through his hair and groaned. “This is terrible! Can’t you think of anything?”

Bertie shrugged. “Never was one for pouring jolly oil over troubled waters, old boy. You’ve known them for longer than I have. What do you think we should do?”

“I don’t know, and that’s a fact. I’ve never seen them like this before. They never fight, ever.”

“Well, we’d better do something quickly, what?”

“I know,” said Ginger, groaning again.

&&&

“James, darling, what’s the matter?” asked Jane. “You haven’t heard a single word I’ve been saying for the past fifteen minutes.”

“What?” said Biggles. “Oh. Sorry, Jane. I was just…thinking.”

“Is everything all right?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

Biggles sighed, staring moodily at the telephone.

“James. What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Well, can we talk, then?”

Biggles made an effort to smile. “Of course, dear. What did you want?”

“I wanted to talk about us, James. Our future. Together.”

“Oh,” said Biggles. “Why, exactly?”

“Well, we’re married now, and we’re going to be together for quite a long time. I thought we should talk about what we want to do with our lives. I thought we could go adventuring, see the world, that sort of thing.”

“Jane, you do know I’ve got a job, don’t you?”

“Yes, but James, you’ve got plenty of money. I’ve got plenty of money. We’ve got a house, a car, airplanes. Neither one of us really needs to work for the rest of our lives, do we? Why not enjoy yourself, have a little fun?”

“But what will the others—” Biggles stopped himself, staring at the phone again. “What about the crooks? Someone has to catch them.”

“Someone,” said Jane, “yes. But it doesn’t have to be you, James. There are so many new pilots out there who could do what you do. Come on, James. Live a little. We could go anywhere you like. We don’t have to stay in England if you don’t want to. We could even have children.”

For the first time since the conversation had started, Biggles turned and really looked at his wife. “Children?” he echoed.

Go to Chapter 2.

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