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"It's an instant film camera," Algy said, holding up the box-shaped object, the lens extending on a bellows. "Newest thing, apparently."
Ginger was instantly on his feet to examine it. Biggles said, "Looks like the ones we used to use for aerial photography in the war. I thought the whole point of cameras nowadays was that they were small enough to put in a pocket."
"Yes, but these can develop their own film. Let's not break it, now," Algy said as he handed it over to a fascinated Ginger. "The film's in here, it comes in a roll with the negative and the paper together. There's an instruction sheet."
They soon had it spread out on the table and were arguing over how to load it. A curious Towser bounced around their feet and then hopped up on a chair.
"No, other way round, that's not going to --"
"Isn't it supposed to be in the dark?"
"Not for this kind. Bertie, keep Towser away from that, it doesn't need dog hairs in it --"
Beside Biggles on the sofa, sitting without quite touching him but close enough that Biggles could feel the warmth of his body heat, Erich gave the softest laugh, audible only because Biggles was so near to him. He had a book open in his hands, a volume on historical weaponry that he had found on the crowded shelves, and appeared to be fully focused on it. But his slight smile betrayed that his attention was more on the horseplay in the room than on the book. At any rate, there was nothing obvious about the blade craftsmanship of the Ottoman Empire -- based on the plates the book was open to -- that would make him smile.
Meanwhile, Algy and Ginger had managed to get the film loaded, with Bertie alternately heckling and offering helpful suggestions. At Bertie's behest, Algy tried taking a picture of Towser. Then there was some struggling to pull it through the camera, complaining and offering of unwanted advice. Finally Algy peeled the picture from its backing.
This was followed by all three of them squinting and turning it and holding it up to the light.
"That's either a dog or part of the rug," Ginger said.
"He was moving," Algy said defensively.
"Sure you didn't do it wrong?"
"I don't think it's fully developed yet."
"Or you did it wrong. Give it here, let me try."
Ginger appropriated the camera and took a photo of Algy. A brand new altercation over the proper way to remove the film ensued, and while the results were developing, the camera was turned in Biggles's direction.
"No," Biggles said mildly. He held up the copy of Popular Flight that he was paging through, trying to block Algy's efforts to dodge it and get a photo of his face anyway. "I refuse." But he was grinning in spite of himself, which was his undoing. Algy snapped a photo; the ritual with struggling to slide the paper through the camera and tear it off followed. When it was peeled off its backing, Algy held it out, but not towards Biggles. Instead he dropped the gently curving, slightly damp-looking piece of paper onto Erich's book.
"Bit out of focus," Erich said, turning it over curiously to display blobs of shadow and blank paper.
"You've developed film, haven't you? It's not immediate. Don't expose it to bright light unless you want it to -- Ginger!"
Ginger hastily lowered his photo, which he had been waving it around the light bulb above the table.
Meanwhile Algy swung the camera to point full into Erich's face. "No," Erich said sharply. "What's your intent, to photograph every item in this flat?"
"You're an item now? You flatter yourself. Oh, there's a much nicer model than your face, this Tiger Moth you have here, Biggles." Algy moved over to take a snap of the model standing on a shelf behind Biggles's head.
Biggles ceased craning to see the photo lying face-up on Erich's book and tried to look at what Algy was doing. Algy passed the latest damp paper square to Biggles. Then he raised the camera and took a photo of Erich, who had turned his head to the side, moved the photo to one side of the page, and was trying to focus on his book.
"Stop that," Erich said, although he didn't sound too annoyed.
Algy grinned without shame. He was getting much faster at removing the paper squares, and he handed the new photo to Biggles as well. "I thought you both might want something more recent than that dismal photo from the first world war," he said. Biggles froze, and felt Erich going just as still beside him. "Oh, don't bother with that look, Biggles, I knew perfectly well what I was looking at the day you brought that thing home in a pile of other musty old junk from the Air Police archives."
Biggles started to retort, but then he looked down at the photo in his lap. It had begun to develop, and what he saw was a portrait in sepia and white, swimming up from the murky finish of the film, that took his breath away.
Algy had caught Erich with his long hand resting under his chin, his face half turned away, capturing his aristocratic profile in the lamplight and the shadow of his lashes cast down at the book in his lap, the singular intensity of his study. It was him to the life. It was beautiful; it captured every line of his grace and his elegance.
Captivated by the image, Biggles was only dimly aware of the click of the camera. Then he looked up sharply. Algy grinned.
"Just thought we needed one of you together to complete the set."
"Give me that," Biggles said, and only then he realized that the photo of Erich in deep study, his face focused with singular intensity, was actually Erich studying that first snap of Biggles as it emerged from the photo paper, looking down at the photo on the pages of his open book. Biggles turned his head to see what Erich had seen -- what had called up that look of absolute intensity.
It was quite unremarkable, really. It was simply Biggles grinning playfully at Algy over the flight magazine, rather unflattering and slightly out of focus. Biggles started to reach out to steal it, but Erich swiped it off the book and it vanished into his pocket.
Then he stood up, which for him was always a considered act. Algy, who had just finished pulling the latest piece of film out, took a swift step back.
"May I see that camera?"
"If you break it, I demand a replacement," Algy said, but in the face of Biggles's curious stare and Erich looming at him, he placed the camera in Erich's hands.
Erich took a swift look over it, identifying the salient features. Then he reached casually down beside him. Biggles was now watching curiously, as was Algy. Erich picked up his empty teacup. Then he tossed it in Algy's direction.
The camera clicked as Algy yelped and flailed and wildly caught and juggled the tumbling teacup.
"Have a care!" Bertie called from the table. "That's Great-Aunt Maisie's tea service you're flinging about."
After studying the camera for a moment more, Erich pulled out the photo paper, tore it along the indicated line, and returned the camera. Algy set the teacup on the piano and took the camera back with a scowl.
"No more photography during the after-dinner hour," Biggles ordered, but his lips were twitching.
***
Later, he laid the beautiful shadow-and-light photo of Erich on his nightstand. Lying on his side, he raised his gaze from the new photo to the one on the wall above it, a very old image of the aerodrome at Zabala that had turned up years ago in declassified files from the old Ministry of Defence archive. The flyers were ranged in the front, looking variously dashing and rakish as best they knew how, and the officers stood in back. Even allowing for the washed-out effect and obscuring shadows of the brilliant desert sun, he would have recognized that slim, erect figure instantly, in any lighting.
The door opened quietly and Erich came in from the bathroom, with a towel around his neck, wearing the dressing gown he had taken to keeping at the flat for nights that he stayed over. He flicked a glance at the photo on the wall, then sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the slightly curled paper on the nightstand. "Ah," he said.
"I won't keep it if you shouldn't like me to," Biggles said. He wondered if the lamplight hid the slight flush that he could feel warming his cheeks.
"I don't mind," Erich said. "If you don't mind me having this one."
He reached into the pocket of his jacket, which he had hung up on a chair back, and took out a small paper square.
It didn't especially improve on a second viewing, in Biggles's opinion: his own face grinning foolishly at Algy over the top of the magazine.
"If you must," he said.
Erich raised an eyebrow and dropped it back into his jacket pocket. "I never had a photo of your smile before," he said quietly. "You don't smile in photos much, that I've seen. Of course, one didn't, in our time."
Biggles looked up at him in genuine shock, caught completely off guard. "I -- it's not very -- professional, is it?" he managed.
"It suits me perfectly well. But I also like this one." He drew out another picture and handed it to Biggles.
This was Algy's photo of the two of them together. Biggles hadn't even noticed Erich swiping it at some point during the banter following the altercation with the camera and teacup. The result of that -- a photo of Algy, very motion blurred, caught in mid-scream as he tried to bat the teacup away from his face -- was currently propped on top of the piano in the sitting room. (Ginger had been making noises about getting it blown up to portrait size and hanging it on the wall.)
This was very different. Algy had caught them both mid-frame. Erich was looking over at Biggles, with a smile quirking one corner of his mouth, while Biggles was to all evidence fixated on his lap, his eyes downcast to the photo of Erich and his face soft and rapt.
"I don't have any of you smiling, either," Biggles said impulsively. He started to give it back, but Erich waved it off.
"It might as well stay here." He took the photo from Biggles's fingers and laid it on the nightstand, then stretched out beside him on the bed. "He takes good photos, doesn't he?"
"Yes, he does." Biggles turned into Erich's arms. "But I suggest for our own sakes that we make sure to never tell him that."