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"What's this?" Algy said, picking up a thick envelope that had been delivered to the front door along with all the rest of the mail and weighting it in his hand, before turning it over. His brows jumped high. "Oh, it's from the Lowenhardts."
Biggles, who had been distractedly leafing through some official documents next to the fireplace, lowered the manila folder to his lap as he looked over with interest. Ginger and Bertie also glanced over from the far side of the room, where they'd been engaged in discussion next to an Earth globe on the corner shelf.
"It's addressed to all of us," Algy said, slicing the side with a letter opener, and pulling out a thick stack of photos. "Ah, just as I thought. Fritz' wedding pictures! Pull up your chairs."
The stack was indeed of some twenty photographs and a short letter in Fritz' neat handwriting, also signed by his wedded wife, Therese.
"Dear friends," Algy read out loud to the room. "We were so pleased to have you attend our wedding and reception. Your immeasurable kindness towards our family will always live on in our hearts. Thank you for your thoughtful wedding gifts. Please find some photos from the wedding attached. Yours truly, Fritz and Therese Lowenhardt." He set the letter out on the table for the others, and Biggles picked it up, smiling whimsically as he scanned the words for himself.
Meanwhile, Algy glanced over the photos from the May wedding, before starting to look at each in turn and passing them around the room. "The first two of the newlyweds are in colour, done by the wedding photographer next to the church, and it looks like the rest are black and white from the reception."
"I'm glad it went off without a hitch—" Bertie said, picking up one of the photographs where Fritz stood proudly, the hand of his petite blonde bride curled around his elbow, both radiating happiness. "Or as it happens with exactly one hitch!"
"Give it here," Biggles asked for the photo to be passed to him, so Bertie handed it off to Ginger, who handed it over to Biggles after taking a quick, smiling look at the newlywed couple.
"They look good together," Biggles said. "Married by nineteen..." He shook his head and set the photo on the nearby coffee table. "We should have that one up in a frame on the shelves."
"It's a good photo," Algy agreed, passing around the next set of pictures as he finished looking at them. They turned out to be from the first dance.
Algy laughed at the next photo in the stack. "I hope Fritz sent this set to von Stalhein as well," was all he said before passing the picture around. By the time it made its way into Biggles' hand, Bertie and Ginger looked amused as well, and Biggles could well see why when he took a look. The photo was of von Stalhein, having his cheek kissed by the bride. She was in profile, pure white wedding dress trailing behind her on the stone steps, and he, in a dapper tuxedo with a black tie, was slightly bent over under the pull of her arm on his, tugging him to her level. In the photo, Erich wore a slightly bemused face, but softer than his customary austere expression.
Erich had been quietly thrilled to be able to attend the wedding of his nephew. When the invitation had first come, Erich had worried that travelling to West Germany could be problematic not only for the British authorities, especially after the Czechoslovakia affair that nearly left Scotland Yard short a decorated agent, but also from the perspective of the potential enemies who might take a chance to settle scores at the wedding if they knew he was there. Biggles and his pilots all received invitations as well, on account of the risks they'd once undertaken, but of course Fritz was most eager for his beloved Uncle to attend.
Biggles and von Stalhein had discussed the danger of attending over several dinners, coming to the conclusion that if Erich was going to go, then so was Biggles, and if Biggles was going to go, it made sense to bring the whole team, so that they could assure security at the wedding. After that, it was only a matter of informing Raymond and figuring out the official story.
They made an overnight trip, and Erich got to spend some time with his only living relatives, including his sister, who turned out to be a lovely, if frail, woman. Biggles had intended to idle on the periphery providing any support as needed, but Fritz had quickly put an end to that thought, introducing him to the small party of friends and family — mostly from the bride's side as they had lived in West Germany all their lives. It had been a lovely wedding. Other than Fritz' mother, von Stalhein was the only relative from the groom's side in attendance.
Fritz had taken after his father, blonde and pale, but with an exuberance that hadn't gone away; Therese had a matching slight build, a heart-shaped face, and a complimentary chipper personality. Erich stood out solemn and quiet in comparison. Despite the trials he had undergone, he had come back to health after a rest in England, and the years had been more than kind to his looks. The black-and-white photos only accentuated this fact.
Biggles realised he had lingered over the photo of the kiss on the cheek, and smiled, setting aside the beautiful photograph to pick up the rest that Ginger was already holding out to him. Multiple photos from the dinner table from a variety of angles culminated in one of their whole team. Each person was saying something — Ginger's head thrown back, Bertie with a mischievous look, and Algy between them, arms thrown around both of their shoulders. Everyone was dressed to the nines, in formal suits and ties that they almost never wore otherwise. Casting his mind back, Biggles remembered: that had been the toast and the call for the newlyweds to kiss.
His own face was in profile, and the photo only captured the back of von Stalhein's head, sitting next to him. He had been saying something to Biggles, explaining the German customs. The others on the team had only the most rudimentary knowledge of German, but Biggles had been able to converse in the native tongue of the couple, and took the opportunity to find out more about their lives. Fritz did write to them, but due to the precarious security situation, von Stalhein only had this one opportunity to visit since their parting in London. The reunion was well worth the risk, in Biggles' mind. Immediately after the reception they had all said their goodbyes and flew back home, rather than tempting fate.
Ginger tapped his arm to get his attention, and silently passed one more photo to him when Biggles looked up from his reminiscence.
The moment captured in the next photo threw him back into the memory, his mouth slackening slightly as a pang went through his chest. Biggles and von Stalhein stood very close together, captured by the camera lens in profile, alone in the shot. Biggles was slightly turned away from the camera, so the only thing that could be seen was a sentimental-looking twist of his lips. He looked to himself as if he was ducking in a smile. Erich's hand was on Biggles' upper arm, the barest of touches as if to usher him somewhere, but the moment was frozen in time without an ending. Erich's face was in turn angled slightly more towards the camera, so his expression was plain for all to see. Slightly lowered dark lashes, his mouth a softer than usual curve — he looked impossibly fond, so much so, he seemed exasperated yet helpless against it. Von Stalhein looked, Biggles thought with a snagging breath, directly at him. By coincidence, the camera had captured a private feeling.
Biggles bit his lower lip and quickly released it, schooling his face. He set the photo on the table with the rest without a comment and took another photograph from Ginger. A happy, if formal, group photo outside in a garden area, with Therese holding red roses, Fritz next to her, and the rest of the wedding party around them. It was the last of the batch, and Biggles put it down mechanically, his mind elsewhere.
"Nice wedding," he murmured, to fill the silence.
"I'm happy we went," Bertie said. "It didn't seem like any trouble came from it."
Biggles waited for a teasing comment, something referencing von Stalhein's look. After all, they had all seen the photo of him and von Stalhein; they all had eyes. A revelation like that didn't pass by without some friendly ribbing.
But after some light conversation about the wedding itself, Ginger and Bertie went back to their expedition planning by the Earth globe on the far side of the room. Life resumed. Algy gathered the photos into a neat little stack, folded up the note from Fritz back into the envelope, and left them on the table. Unperturbed, he went on to open other mail, flyers and bills. Biggles picked up the manila folder in his lap, opening up the dossier.
He saw none of it.
After a short time, he closed the work folder again, and looked at the stack of photos accusingly. He couldn't concentrate until he pushed aside the top photo, and pulled out the one of Erich looking at him.
Did Fritz send a copy to Erich? Was Erich looking at it now, mortified by the revealing openness of his own face? Fritz had clearly seen it for what it was, based on his decision to include the photo in the set at all.
Biggles needed a second opinion.
"What do you think?" he threw to Algy like a gauntlet. Biggles turned the photo around and showed it to Algy when the man looked up. Algy squinted; shrugged.
"The man cleans up well, I'll give him that much," Algy said with a remarkably offhanded manner. "But if you're thinking of putting something on the walls, I think the one with Therese and Erich better suits a display."
"No, I mean—" Biggles said, frustrated, and once more bit his lip. He didn't know how to talk about it. He and Erich hadn't talked about it, because what could you say? They very carefully walked around the matter. But if Fritz was sending pointed photos to them from West Germany, then clearly the private feelings were beginning to spill over into other aspects of their lives; other people were starting to see it.
Algy must have noticed his conflicted silence because he looked between the photo and Biggles' face again. An understanding seemed to dawn on him. He said, to Biggles' surprise, "This isn't new."
Biggles looked askance.
"Dear Erich could be eating kittens for breakfast every day for all I know," Algy said in a resigned manner, "but you're the apple of his eye, and aliens can see it from outer space at this point."
Biggles said, "Don't talk nonsense." The apple of his eye, one cherished above all others? He liked that. His face flushed.
Algy blinked. His brows lifted. "What, are you—" He stopped, incredulous. "You meet up with him every other day for 'dinner'." He made sarcastic quotes. "We've all been playing along, but are you telling me you thought you were pulling one over on us and we wouldn't realise?"
"What did you think Erich and I were doing when we met up?" Biggles asked, very calmly in his opinion.
"Going over to his place," Algy answered with a smirk. At the look on Biggles' face he obviously rethought this. "Are you kidding me?"
Biggles had a distinct impression this conversation had got away from him.
Algy looked like he comprehended everything in one moment. He laughed. He actually laughed! Covering his chuckles with his fist, he looked at Biggles with mirth and shook his head.
"We met up for dinner!" Biggles protested to him in a strangled whisper. At this point he didn't want Bertie or Ginger involved in the conversation taking place on this end of the room.
"The problem with very smart people is they sometimes outsmart themselves," Algy told him philosophically. "You must be the last two people in London who still call what's between you two 'dinner'." He rubbed his forehead, as if this pained him.
Once more, Biggles looked down at the photo in his hand, at von Stalhein's expression turned his way that was unmistakable. Biggles looked for a long time.
"You might as well call him," Algy said with a sigh. He got up and went to make himself a sandwich.
Biggles considered his departing back. With a quiet sort of focus, he transferred his gaze to the phone, lying on a hook on the table. After a long moment, he reached for it and dialled from memory.
When the other end picked up with a familiar baritone, everything inside him went meltingly soft.
Biggles said, "Hello, Erich."