The Bench

by Nigel Jones

  Yvette begrudgingly agreed and stayed with a number of their comrades from the Resistance. Sophie was included in the group, so they decided to pamper themselves for an evening at a nearby hotel.

  Jacques left the girls, and with a heavy heart set off to the Isle of Wight to see the real reason he had not wanted Yvette to accompany him.

  As he stood on the deck of the ferry, he wasn’t sure what to expect when he got home or what he would say to Honeysuckle when he saw her. He strained once again to see if she was waiting. One hand waved from the pier, as he got closer. It was a hand he was very pleased to see and the owner of the hand was smiling affectionately at him, but it was his mother. By her side, Big Jacques stood expressionless as he stared at his son. “Oh dear,” Jacques muttered to himself, “this is not going to be easy.”

  As he stepped from the boat his mother embraced him. “It’s so good to see you again, Jacques. You must tell us all about what you’ve been up to.” There was no censure in her voice.

  “Maman, Papa, I have missed you.” He was looking at his father as he said it.

  Big Jacques’s eyes chastised his son, but he couldn’t maintain the cool reception, it was not the French way. He grabbed his boy and wrapped his arms around him in a bear hug that squeezed the breath from Jacques. “Mon fils, comment as-tu? He asked, crushing him some more.

  “I’m fine, Papa, but thirsty. I need some English tea.”

  “Bien, and then a bottle of red wine I have been saving.” He slapped his brave son on the back. As violent a manoeuvre as Jacques had encountered since leaving for France.

  Over tea he painted a picture of his work in France, using only broad strokes without any detail. His mother was alarmed at the dangerous nature of the Resistance, but would have been far more alarmed if he had told her the full story. His father listened intently to all he said, his pride growing with each story told.

  One glass into the red wine, Jacques asked almost defensively, “How is Honeysuckle?”

  There was a short silence as his father looked at his mother, who then said, “She is well, but very unhappy.” She paused. “You have broken her heart, Jacques.”

  It was like an arrow through his heart. “I know, Maman. I am so sorry. I’ve been dreading this, but I must tell you why I wrote to her.” His parents waited expectantly.

  “The girl I mentioned in the letter, she is pregnant.” He waited for their reaction. They just stared at him. “Her name is Yvette and she is French. She is beautiful and brave and fights for the Resistance because her entire family were taken by the Gestapo and sent to one of their concentration camps.” He added this in an attempt to justify his actions.

  His mother raised her hands over her mouth as if in prayer, as her eyes grew large with shock. Big Jacques’s moustache twitched just like Pierre‘s.

  “Mon Dieu, Jacques, you don’t do things by halves.”

  “Non, Papa.”

  Still looking shocked, his mother said, “Do you love her, Jacques?” As she waited for his answer her shock turned to compassion for the girl and her son.

  Jacques wanted to be truthful with his parents, but there was an involuntary hesitation before he answered, “Yes, Maman, I do love a lot about her. She is the bravest person I have ever met and she is very beautiful, but she is vulnerable and what happened to her family has affected her deeply. You will like her, I promise you.” He did not know what to say next.

  “Does she want the baby?” his mother asked, not judging.

  “Yes, she does. It is as if she needs a baby to replace the family she is convinced are dead. But she was shocked when she found out she was pregnant and we have discussed abortion. Especially given all that is happening in our world.” He was trying to defend her now. “It was an option, but we decided together that we want to have the baby. She will end her active involvement in the War a few months before the baby is born.”

  Big Jacques had said nothing, but was processing all he had heard. “French and beautiful, you say? And a good lover?”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  “Bon, it is the French way. She will be welcome in our family.” He hugged his son once again, whilst Jacques watched his mother, waiting for her approval.

  She suspected it was a disaster in the making, but one she had no control over. He would need their support over the coming months and years and he was a fine human being who probably did not deserve to have to make such choices at such a young age. But these were strange times and he had become a man too quickly, she would give him all the support he needed. “Yes, she will, Jacques. I can’t wait to meet her.” Then as an afterthought she added. “I will write a letter to Yvette and you can take it to her. I’m sure she is lovely.”

  “Thank you, Maman. She would like that.” He smiled at his mother. He knew she was trying to help and appreciated it. “Honeysuckle, Maman. Does she hate me?”

  “No, Jacques. She will always love you, but your letter turned her from being the happiest girl I’d ever seen to the saddest one. None of us could understand why you wrote it, but now we do. You must go to her and explain. I don’t know if it will help her or make matters worse. If it were just a girl she may have thought she could get you back, but a baby is another thing. Be kind to her, her childish dreams of you easily transcended to womanhood, and those dreams are currently shattered. She is a year older than when you last saw her, but she has grown up, in part, thanks to your letter.”

  “Will she be at home?” asked Jacques.

  “No, she is working in the Officers’ Mess over at the George Hotel. The military has requisitioned it. If you ask me, they have turned it into a recreation facility. But they say they are doing important war work there. They love Honeysuckle though, she works in the bar and restaurant. It has been good for her. All the male attention has helped her deal with your letter, and there has been a great deal of attention!” His mother raised her eyebrows.

  “Do you think she would mind if I go over and see her?”

  Big Jacques looked at him. “Of course she will mind. You broke her heart,” he did not mean it to sound as harsh as it did, and when he saw the look on his son’s face he added, “but she is a woman, she will want you to see how attractive she is to other men.”

  “Jacques, don’t be so unkind, Honeysuckle is not like that.” His mother suddenly smiled. “Well, maybe she is a little, all girls are. Be prepared, Jacques, a year ago she was pretty, now she is quite beautiful.”

  Jacques walked the two hundred yards to the George Hotel, which was situated next to the pier, with its gardens running down to the water’s edge. At the door a sergeant stopped him and said, “Civilians are not allowed inside without written permission.”

  Jacques had forgotten he was no longer in uniform and realised he must have cut a rather bizarre figure in his casual French clothes, with his hair flopping over his eyes, several inches too long, for the Services.

  “I’m sorry, I should have thought.” He patted each of his pockets in turn to find the identification papers he always carried when he was in Britain. Eventually he produced the much-needed ID, just as the sergeant’s face was beginning to scowl at the sloppy youth who stood before him.

  The look on the sergeant’s face changed as he read his papers. Flight Lieutenant, Royal Air Force, seconded to the Special Operations Executive. He had heard a great deal about the S.O.E. and their bravery, but he had never met any of them before. He saluted the officer. “Sir, thank you, Sir. Please come in.”

  Jacques had forgotten all about saluting and without thinking slapped the Sergeant on the back and said, “Thanks,” before walking past him.

  The sergeant watched a little dumbfounded at the enigma that had just walked in. Shaking his head he muttered to himself, “Bloody hell, what chance have we got of winning this war?”

  Jacques knew his way around the George, so walked straight to the bar where he assumed they would have set up the Mess.

  It was only six o’clock in the evening but
it was already busy, in fact busier than he had ever seen it before. His appearance did not go unnoticed as several of the officers looked disapprovingly at the stranger who had walked into their bar. He scanned the room for Honeysuckle. He should have known where she would be. A large group of men were huddled around the bar and a gap suddenly appeared, there behind them stood Honeysuckle.

  She had not seen him and she was smiling at the men who were quite obviously smitten by her. She threw back her head and laughed at something that had been said to her then smiled at her admirers whose eyes never left her face.

  ‘Quite beautiful,’ his mother had said. An understatement, a year had seen Honeysuckle blossom into the loveliest girl imaginable, and her smile had become even more entrancing. He stood by the door about thirty feet away from where she captivated her audience. His heart was pounding and all he wanted was to walk over and take her in his arms.

  Suddenly she noticed him and the smile faded from her face. She did not scowl or even look angry, but for the first time in her life the smile left her face when she looked at Jacques.

  The poignancy of the moment was not lost on him. From the very first day that she smiled, whenever she saw him her face exploded into the most joyous of grins. When the smile left her face Jacques’s heart sank, as he realised how uplifted he had always felt when he saw her smile, no matter what age she had been.

  The others in the group had noticed the interchange between the two of them, and the looks they were giving Jacques became even less friendly when they saw the effect he’d had on their Honeysuckle.

  Honeysuckle just stood and looked at him. He had no idea what she was thinking. All he could think of was that his actions and his letter had stolen her smile.

  A member of the group walked over to him and said, “Can I help you?” His tone suggesting the only help he wanted to offer was to eject the longhaired stranger from the premises.

  Jacques gave him a disarming smile, but his eyes never left Honeysuckle. “Hello, my name is Jacques. I’m an old friend of Honeysuckle and I’d like to talk to her.”

  “Should you be in here?” The man was now giving Jacques a disdainful look. “This is a military establishment.”

  Still staring at Honeysuckle, he handed his papers to his protagonist who eagerly took them, anxious to find the evidence that would allow him to evict the stranger.

  “It’s okay, Simon, I will talk to him.” Simon perused the papers, visibly annoyed at their content.

  “Flight Lieutenant, eh?” Then he noticed the secondment to the S.O.E. “I suppose your appearance is down to working with the Frogs!”

  For the first time Jacques actually looked at the man. Smiling he said, “Probably, old boy.”

  Simon was confused. Everything about the way he had been addressed was correct, yet he knew he had just been assessed and charmingly dismissed by a senior officer who was probably capable of killing him with a single move. Then he watched as the girl, he thought he had fallen in love with, walked over to them.

  Jacques was also watching her. Her curves had developed even more since he‘d last seen her, accentuated by a tight skirt and tailored blouse. The girl had gone and Honeysuckle was now a confident and desirable young woman. Her hair was longer too, the mop of curls tied up loosely away from her beautiful face. As she approached, Jacques wondered what on earth he would say to her.

  Honeysuckle spoke first, “Hello, Jacques. This is my boyfriend, Simon.” She flashed Simon the smile that had always been reserved for Jacques.

  For the first time in his life Jacques was jealous. It had always been his smile, and he had lost it to another man. He remembered writing the letter and the feeling of loss he felt as he sealed the envelope, and how writing the letter had finally made him realise his true feelings for her. Now he felt that loss again, but it was magnified tenfold as she stood before him.

  He turned to Simon. He didn’t like Simon. “Hello, Simon, very pleased to meet you.” He offered his hand. Simon accepted it and they shook hands, neither really wanting to.

  “Simon is a Spitfire pilot. You may remember him, Jacques. He lives at Farringford House, near Freshwater.” All of this was designed to turn the knife in Jacques’s heart.

  She knew that ever since the day they’d watched the dogfight on Headon Warren Jacques had wanted to be a Spitfire pilot, and Farringford was one of the most beautiful homes in West Wight. As Jacques looked at Simon, he remembered the boy he’d met a couple of times during the school holidays. He recollected a stuck-up little toad that went to a boarding school on the mainland and came back in the holidays to sneer at the poor island folk. It wasn’t true of course, Simon had actually been okay and friendly enough, but right now he didn’t like Simon.

  “Jacques was, is, my next door neighbour, Simon. I told you about him, he is part of the S.O.E.” She had missed out the part that she was besotted by Jacques, and always had been.

  “What you do must be very dangerous, Jacques.” Simon was making an effort, trying to start their meeting again after its prickly beginning.

  “What we all do is dangerous.” Jacques would have to meet him half way. After all, the fact that Simon was her boyfriend was his own fault. When he told Honeysuckle the full story about Yvette and the baby, he would drive her deeper into Simon’s arms. No, he didn’t like him, but he would try for Honeysuckle.

  “How long are you here, Jacques?” asked Honeysuckle.

  “Just one more day, then we are being dropped back into Normandy.”

  “We’ll talk in the morning then, Jacques, just come round. Simon is taking me out this evening.” Jacques had just been dismissed without even the slightest of smiles.

  She turned and went back to her duties at the bar. “Nice to meet you, Jacques. Sorry I was a bit pushy.”

  For the first time Jacques looked at Simon properly. He had grown into a handsome man and he flew Spitfires. If Honeysuckle liked him, he was probably all right. Jacques forced a genuine smile and said, “You’re a lucky man, Simon. My little next door neighbour has grown into a stunning woman.” He shook his hand again and left the bar.

  That night he never stopped thinking about Honeysuckle and what he had lost. With it came guilt that he should desire her so much when he had such a striking girlfriend who was soon to become the mother of his child.

  The next morning after a feast of bacon and eggs that his mother had been saving for his arrival, he went and knocked on Honeysuckle’s front door. Audrey answered. “Come in, Jacques.”

  As always she hugged him, but her eyes did not portray the disappointment in him that he had expected. Had his mother already told her best friend about his predicament? “You look well, Jacques. The long hair suits you. Honeysuckle will be right down. Would you like a cup of tea? Maybe some eggs?”

  “That is very kind, but Mum has already stuffed me full of at least a month’s rations.”

  They made small talk for a while until Honeysuckle appeared wearing slacks and a body-hugging blue sweater, her hair now cascading around her face. Once again his heart pounded and he felt guilty for desiring her so much. Then she smiled, the smile she’d always saved for him.

  “You look great, Honeysuckle.” He stared at the vision in front of him, then not knowing what to say next he added, lying, “I like Simon.“

  “Good, so do I. Shall we go for a walk and you can tell me all about your girlfriend?” It was said very pleasantly, but very pointedly.

  They walked along the short High Street, past the Church and towards the mill. “So what is she like and what is her name?” Honeysuckle was determined to behave in an adult fashion.

  “Yvette, she is French.”

  “Come on, more than that.”

  “She is in the Resistance with me.” Jacques genuinely did not know what to tell her, or how to tell her why he had really written the letter.

  “She must be very brave.” Honeysuckle felt more than a little threatened by Yvette. She was bound to be pretty and now she w
as a romantic figure too, who fought for her country. She was not just a parochial young girl living on a small island. If she were being truthful to herself, she still harboured hopes that Jacques would fall for her when he saw her new curves.

  “She is incredibly brave, Honeysuckle.” Again he was at a loss as to what to say next.

  “Do you love her terribly?” This was the one question Honeysuckle really wanted to ask him. Their entire future, along with all her hopes and dreams depended on his answer.

  They had reached their private pool near the mill. Jacques took her hands and sat her down on the rocks by the water’s edge. She was looking into his eyes almost begging him for the right answer. In her eyes Jacques saw the child again, the child that used to hang on his every word. He saw the young girl who worshipped the very ground he walked on, and he saw the woman that he knew he loved but could not have. He knew what she wanted to hear and he knew what he wanted to say to her, but he could not.

  “It is complicated, Honeysuckle. Yes, I love her, or at least part of her.”

  Honeysuckle watched him, confused. What was he saying?

  “I have to tell you everything that has happened, Honeysuckle, and why I wrote you that beastly letter.”

  Still holding his hands she said, “Please go on.”

  There was no easy way to say it. “Yvette is pregnant.” He saw the look in her eyes. “Please don’t hate me.”

  There it was, all hope gone. Jacques would never abandon a girl he had made pregnant, neither would she want him to. She did not mean it to happen but her eyes filled with tears and silently they rolled down her cheeks. Through the tears she knew without a shadow of a doubt that her Jacques really did love her, but he was too decent a man to let another girl down. All she felt was despair for them both.

  “I’m so sorry, my darling Honeysuckle. It should have been us. I know I have ruined it.”

  Through her own tears she could see his. She reached up and brushed them from his cheeks. She had to be strong for them both, but there was one thing she needed. “Tell me you love me, Jacques. Just once. Tell me you love me as a man loves a woman.”