Green, said Andrew. A few of the pilots on both sides, German as well as British, desired the opposite effect.

With them it was a matter of pride that their paintwork should be bright enough to advertise their presence to the enemy, a direct challenge. Green, Andrew repeated.

Bright green to match my scarf, and don't forget the flying haggis on the nose. Yellow, please, Mac, Michael decided.

Now what made me think you would choose yellow, Mr Michael? Mac grinned.

Oh, Mac, while you are about it, take that awful little windshield off her and tighten up the rigging wires, won't you? The old hands all believed that by screwing up the rigging wires and increasing the dihedral angle of the wings, they could put a few knots on their speed.

I'll see to it, Mac promised.

Trim her to fly hands off, Michael added. The aces were all fusspots, everybody knew that. If the SESa flew straight and level with hands off the controls, the pilot could use both hands for the guns.

Hands off it is, sir! Mac grinned indulgently.

Oh, and Mac, train the guns for fifty yards- Anything else, sir? That will do for now, Mac, Michael answered his grin, but I'll work on it.

I'm sure you will, sir. Mac shook his head with resignation. She'll be ready by dawn. There's a bottle of rum for you if she is, Michael promised.

And now, my boy, Andrew threw his arm around Michael's shoulders, how about a drink? I thought you would never offer, Michael said.

The mess was full of excited young men all eagerly and loudly discussing the new machines.

Corporal! Lord Killigerran called over their heads to the mess servant. All drinks tonight will be on my book, please, and his pilots cheered him delightedly before turning back to the bar to make the most of the offer.

An hour later when all eyes were glittering feverishly and the laughter had reached that raucous pitch which Andrew judged to be appropriate, he hammered on the bar for their attention and announced solemnly, As Grand Bok-Bok Champion of Aberdeen and greater Scotland, not to mention the outer Hebrides, it behaves me to challenge all corners to a bout of that ancient and honourable sport. Behaves, forsooth! Michael cocked a mocking eye at him. Kindly pick your team, sir. Michael lost the toss and his team was required to form the rugger scrum against the far wall of the mess, while the mess servants swiftly stowed away all breakables.

Then one at a time Andrew's lads took a run across the mess and landed with all possible force upon the scrum, endeavouring to collapse it for an outright win. If, however, any part of their anatomy touched the ground in the process, it would have meant an immediate disqualification of their team.

Michael's scrum withstood the weight and violence of the onslaught, and finally all eight of Andrew's men, making sure that not a toe or finger touched the ground, were perched like a troop of monkeys on top of Michael's pyramid.

From the top of the pile Andrew asked the crucial question which would decide glorious victory or ignoble defeat. Bok-Bok, how many fingers do I hold up? His voice, muffled by the weight of bodies above him, Michael guessed. Three. Two! Andrew claimed victory and with a dismal groan the scrum deliberately collapsed itself, and in the ensuing chaos Michael found Andrew's ear within inches of his mouth.

I say, do you think I might borrow the motor-cycle tonight? he asked.

Pinned as he was, Andrew could not move his head, but he rolled his eyes towards Michael.

Going out for a breath of air, my boy, once again? and then when Michael looked sheepish and could find no clever reply, he went on, All I have is yours, go with my blessing and give the lucky lady my deepest respects, won't you?

Michael parked the motor-cycle in the woods behind the barn, and carrying the bundle of army blankets sloshed through the mud to the entrance. As he stepped in there was a flash of light as Centaine lifted the shutter of the lantern and shone it in his face.

Bonsoir, monsieur.

She was sitting up on top of the bales of straw with her legs tucked under her and she grinned impishly down at him. What a surprise to meet you here.

He scrambled up to her and seized her.

You are early, he accused.

Papa went to bed early- she got no further, for his I mouth covered hers. I I I saw the new airplanes, she gasped when they broke apart to breathe, but I didn't know which was you. They are all the same. It troubled me not to know which was you.

Tomorrow mine will be yellow again. Mac is re-doping it for me. i We must arrange signals she told him, as she took the blankets from him and began to build their nest in between the bales of straw.

If I lift my hand over my head like this, that will mean that I will meet you in the barn. tonight, he suggested.

That is the signal I will look for hardest. She smiled up at him and then patted the blankets. Come here, she ordered, and her voice had gone husky and purring.

A long time later as she lay with her ear against his naked chest and listened to his heart pumping, he stirred slightly and then whispered, Centaine, it's no good! You cannot travel to Africa with me. She sat up quickly and stared at him, her mouth hardening, and her eyes, dark as gunmetal, gleamed dangerously.

I mean, what would people say? Think of my reputation, travelling with a woman who was not my wife. She went on staring at him, but her mouth softened into the beginning of a smile.

There must be a solution, though. He pretended to puzzle over it. I have it! He snapped his fingers. What if I were to marry you! She put her cheek back against his chest.

Only to save your reputation, she whispered. You have not yet said "yes"."Oh, yes.

Yes! A million times yes! And then, characteristically, her next question was pragmatic. When, Michel? Soon, as soon as possible. I have met your family, but tomorrow I will take you to meet mine. Your family? She held him at arm's length. Your family is in Africa. Not all of it, he assured her. Most of it is here. When

1 say most I don't mean numbers, I mean the most important single part of it. don't understand. You will, ma cheri, you will! he assured her.

Michael had explained to Andrew what he had in mind.

If you get caught I will disclaim any knowledge of the whole nefarious scheme. I will, furthermore, preside with great enjoyment at your court martial, and will personally command the firing-squad, Andrew warned him.

Michael had paced out the firm ground at the edge of North Field on the side of the de Thiry estate furthest from the squadron base. He had to slide-slip the bright yellow SE5a down behind the line of oaks that guarded the field, and then as he skimmed over the seven-foot stone wall, he shut the throttle and let her drop to the soft earth. He pulled up quickly, and left the engine idling as he clambered out on the wing.

Centaine was running out from the corner of the wall where she had been waiting. He saw she had followed his instructions and was warmly dressed: fur-lined boots under her yellow woollen skirt, and a yellow silk scarf at her throat. Over it all she wore a lustrous cape of silver fox fur, and the hood dangled down her back as she ran.

She carried a soft leather bag on a strap over one shoulder.

Michael jumped down and swung her in his arms. Look! I am wearing yellow, your favourite. Clever girl. He sat her down. Here! He pulled the borrowed flying helmet from the pocket of his greatcoat and showed her how to fit it over her thick dark curls and buckle the strap under the chin.

Do I look gallant and romantic? she asked, posing for him.

You look marvelous And it was true. Her cheeks were rouged with excitement, and her eyes sparkled.

Come on. Michael climbed back on to the wing and then lowered himself into the tiny cockpit.