Chapter Text
Biggles was taking a stroll in the beautiful Plaza San Martin in Lima, dominated by the towering statue of José de San Martín, the first Liberator of Peru. With an appreciative glance he took in its granite paving, water fountains, and the stately modern façade of the newly constructed Gran Hotel Bolivar, an impressive landmark. What was even more impressive was that he and Algy could afford to be guests there when just a short while ago they had been living hand to mouth in the jungle.
His companion, hands casually in pockets, was obviously thinking along similar lines. “Methinks our lizard-eating days are over,” he grinned.
They were fortunate to have found temporary employment with Mr Hollinger, the managing director of the Oil Investment Company of British Guiana, who had chartered their services for the spate of meetings he had to attend in the next few weeks. He had installed them in the city in readiness for a trip he had planned in ten days’ time, the amphibious Vandal having been moved from Barranco to the basic airstrip at St Beatriz for easier access from the city, leaving them for the time being to their own devices in what essentially appeared to be a paid holiday. Smyth had opted to take more humble accomodation next to the airstrip to be able to keep an eye on the machine, not because Mr Hollinger’s generosity was lacking, but because it worried him to be too far away from the Vandal.
“Psst!” hissed Biggles, as the daughter of their employer came into view. “It’s Isobel! She’s heading towards us at a great pace.”
“Oh?” said Algy, turning round in interest. He whistled. “What a stunner. We haven’t seen her for a week, not since we ran Daddy Hollinger down to Barranco on business. I wondered when she’d show up.”
Isobel Hollinger was radiant, looking striking in a cloche hat and a modern straight dress which flattered her boyish figure.
“But… alas, spoken for,” added Algy quickly in a mutter, as he noted that she was squired by a young man - tall, thin, with a fashionable straw hat in the Ecuadorean style, and a sunburnt face. Dueñas were just then going out of fashion but they caught sight of Isobel’s dueña – a long-suffering lady called Lucía who had been employed by Mr. Hollinger since Isobel was a young girl, whom they’d met on their first encounter with the Hollingers - following the pair at a discreet distance. Biggles elbowed Algy in the ribs to keep him from saying any more.
Isobel waved. “Yoo hoo! Glad to see you boys again!”
“You boys,” muttered Algy. “That’s her fiancé, I’ll bet.” “Shh,” hushed Biggles firmly.
“I’ve been looking for you. I wanted you to meet someone. This is John, my… fiancé.” She said the last phrase shyly but with a touch of defiance, almost blushing.
Biggles noticed her shift in tone, although he was distracted by a loud I-knew-it sigh in his ear which he pointedly ignored. He held out his hand. “James Bigglesworth, but everyone calls me Biggles.”
Algy was well-trained and managed a smile that was almost friendly. “Algernon Lacey, call me Algy.”
The lucky man whose left elbow Isobel was clutching raised his hat with his free right hand. “John Morrison, botanist from the University of Illinois.”
“Botanist?” Biggles directed an inquiring eye at him.
“Collecting and researching plants,” Morrison supplied. “South America is a very rich field for our learning.”
“I brought John to see you today because Daddy told me you were staying at the Hotel Bolivar and I was hoping to catch you here,” said Isobel, a little red-faced and her words in a rush.
“Does... er… Mr Hollinger know that you… I mean, about you and John?” inquired Biggles, putting his head slightly to one side.
His hunch was right. John gave a slight shrug. “Guessed it in one, there’s the problem. To spare you a long story, Isobel and I are childhood friends. Her father travelled a lot for business and moved the family - we had not seen each other since we were ten. A year ago, I came down here on business from Ecuador, where I work in the field, on a plant collecting project for the university. I remembered she was in these parts, we started writing letters and renewed our acquaintance, and… we fell in love. We got engaged last week. I met Isobel’s father at an embassy dinner and tried to tell him. I got the idea he wasn’t happy with his daughter stepping out with an academician. He cut me dead before I could break the news of our engagement. He won’t hear of it.”
Isobel explained, “Daddy made his money in business. He thinks that book-learning won’t pay the bills and he wasn’t happy when I told him about John, who doesn’t have tenure yet at the university. He refuses to speak to him. That’s the reason we’re here to see you, actually.”
“Whoa, hold on,” blurted Algy. Biggles raised an eyebrow. “He’s right. We’d love to help but before you say more, it’s only fair to mention that your father is paying us, so we do have some duties towards him and it might be wise not to let us know more than we need to.”
Isobel nodded. “I considered that.”
Morrison continued, “We have a proposition. I trust in your discretion to hear us and consider our offer.””