The Bench

by Nigel Jones

  “Me too, I can‘t bear it, Jacques.” She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him.

  Jacques closed his eyes and held her hands against his chest. He knew there was more she wanted to say, so waited as his heart raced.

  “I will marry Simon when he comes back, just as soon as we have made the arrangements. I don’t love him, but I believe I will grow to. He is a good man and the way he has dealt with what has happened to him is inspiring. The hospital and the poor members of the Guinea Pig Club are incredible. Being there with them has opened my eyes to what people are capable of enduring with humour and camaraderie. When Simon comes home he will need me. I don’t see his scars anymore. All I see is a remarkable man. But others will see a mutilated and scarred monster and he will not have the support of his friends in the hospital. I know it bothers him, though he would never say anything.”

  Jacques always knew that is what Honeysuckle would do and he screwed his eyes together forcing back the tears.

  “There is something though, my darling Jacques.” She hesitated.

  “Go on.” Jacques was almost whispering.

  “I love you and always will.” Still searching for the right words, she continued, “I always thought we would be together one day, even when I found out about Yvette, but now I believe we probably have different destinies. I cannot give myself to you, but I can give you something I have kept for you. Something that is yours, and has always been yours.”

  Jacques turned around and saw the look on her face, the look he had first seen in their pool the day she had kissed him like a siren.

  “I am a virgin, Jacques. If you take my virginity you will always have the part of me I want you to have. Now, come.”

  Without saying another word or waiting for his reaction she took his hand and led him up the narrow staircase to her bedroom. The room where as a child she had shared everything with her hero, and as a young woman had shared her secrets.

  When she turned and faced him by the side of the bed, Jacques thought no woman had ever looked so beautiful.

  They made love, clumsily at first but slowly growing accustomed to each other’s needs. Though an accomplished lover, Yvette had seen to that, Jacques treated her like a porcelain doll. Honeysuckle, though scared and naive in the art of lovemaking gave herself to him with total abandon.

  They both knew it was not perfect, but it did not matter. Their lovemaking was almost spiritual. It was the natural and necessary culmination of all that their lives had been until that day. They were one, each part of the other and always would be, regardless of other partners.

  Unbeknown to them Audrey, Honeysuckle’s mother, came in when they were making love. She did not stay, aware of what was happening she went to see Jacques’s parents where she remained for several hours to allow them time together. All of them were aware of the significance of the moment and were happy for their children. It would probably be the only time they knew physical love with each other, and they would not deny them that communion.

  Eight days later Simon stepped off the ferry to be greeted with open arms by Honeysuckle and with a kiss on his cheek. She always kissed the side that had suffered the worst of the burns. It was her way of letting him know that she didn’t find his disfigurement abhorrent.

  Audrey was also there, supporting her daughter, and greeted Simon in the same way she always had.

  Jacques watched from inside the tearooms in the High Street. He felt like an interloper with no part to play in the drama that was about to unfold. He found himself thinking in exactly those dramatic terms. Was it to be an uplifting tale of one man’s fight against adversity, or a tragedy? From his vantage point he found it hard to think of it as anything other than the latter.

  They didn’t see him as they walked past the tearooms heading towards Honeysuckle’s cottage, but Jacques saw them. It was impossible to see any expression on Simon’s discoloured, contorted face, but he could see concern on Honeysuckle’s as she noticed everyone staring at Simon.

  Jacques deliberately made no attempt to see either of them for a few days. Not because he was feeling any antagonism towards Simon, but because he thought Simon needed some time to adjust to his new world, and for Honeysuckle to adjust to his being there.

  Simon’s parents were both dead. He had said that it was a blessing that they should not see their new mutant son. So he stayed for a week with Honeysuckle and Audrey whist making plans to return to Farringford House and arranging for some new staff to attend to him there. During the War it had become run down, particularly since his father’s passing, and even more so during the months that he had spent in hospital receiving numerous agonising skin grafts.

  After the first few days had passed, Jacques decided it was time to go and face them. Tea and scones were served by the fire in the living room of the house where just a couple of weeks previously Jacques had experienced the most momentous experience of his life. But now, to his surprise all that tension had gone. The object of his desire was still there and just as desirable as ever, but it was sadness not jealousy that he was feeling.

  “Simon has a plan, Jacques,” Honeysuckle said excitedly.

  “Go on then, tell me,” he said it as if he was her older brother once again, and he noticed it in his tone. Was that to be his new role? He dismissed the thought and decided to revisit it later.

  “A hotel. He wants to make Farringford into a hotel and we shall run it.” Honeysuckle was still excited.

  “Return the old girl to some of its former glory, poets and posh-totty on the lawns. What do you think?” Simon’s voice had not changed one iota. The mask had contorted into a strange shape that in time Jacques would come to recognise as a smile.

  “It sounds a fantastic idea.“ Jacques was finding it difficult not to stare at Simon’s face.

  “Right, first rule, old boy. If we are to be friends you have to get used to this porridge of a face. So have a good look now, crack your jokes and we can get on.” The face contorted once again into a ‘smile.’

  Simon’s words took Jacques completely by surprise. “Was I…?”

  “Yes. I don’t care, getting used to it. Best meet it head on though, and get it over with. Mind you, I only want good jokes. Ones I can use myself.” The smile appeared again.

  “Do that smile again.”

  Honeysuckle was watching the interaction intently.

  “What, this one?” One side of his face sagged.

  “Yes.” To Honeysuckle’s surprise, Jacques managed to mirror the exact movement. Simon roared with laughter, which moved the face into another impossible contortion, which Jacques tried to mimic, but with less success.

  Audrey watched aghast as the two of them sat gurning at each other like two four-year-olds. Honeysuckle just giggled.

  Eventually they managed to gain control of their laughter and their faces. Simon sighed and took a sip of tea, which heralded another bout of hilarity as Jacques copied him yet again.

  “Come on you two, calm down. It’s like having small children again.” It was Audrey.

  “Sorry, Audrey.” Jacques winked at Simon who tried to wink back; the result being tea spluttered everywhere as Jacques tried to fight back another laugh.

  The bond was formed. Jacques and Simon were to become good friends, especially when they were alone together without Honeysuckle. When she was with them there was a strained atmosphere between the two of them that hopefully Simon never picked up on. To each other it was obvious that they felt the same sadness at the loss of what might have been, and it was hard to move beyond it.

  Jacques watched Honeysuckle’s relationship with Simon develop, often from afar as he did not seek out their company, and it became obvious that they were becoming closer. It was also obvious that Honeysuckle genuinely did not find Simon’s deformities repellent. Jacques became convinced she did not even see them, as was the case with all in West Wight who saw him on a regular basis. Simon dealt with his disfigurement with such good humour he rapidly bec
ame loved by everyone.

  It was when Jacques was alone with Honeysuckle that the problems arose, which happened rarely. Jacques made sure of that. He was not jealous of Simon, as his relationship with Honeysuckle did not seem to fit any of the accepted norms. Given Honeysuckle’s caring nature and Simon’s incredible strength of character it seemed to work quite naturally and Jacques accepted it. Although in accepting it he discovered it did not alter the way he felt about her.

  Five months after Simon’s return he married Honeysuckle in the Church in the middle of Yarmouth. It was an extraordinary affair. The Guinea Pig Club turned out in force, along with the majority of the town.

  On the Thursday before the wedding Jacques met the Club members in the George Hotel, where they were staying for Simon’s stag night. It was the funniest night of his life. His sides hurt from laughing from the humorous way they described their tragic exploits. All of them were heroes who showed humility in the face of suffering and amongst them Simon was a star. No, Jacques was not jealous nor did he begrudge Simon a prize. If only that prize could have been someone else.

  The wedding took place on a perfect summer day. The congregation was a mixture of salty fishermen and an alien species, which formed a moving Guard of Honour as Simon walked out of the Church with Honeysuckle on his arm. Jacques’s father, who she had asked to give her away, escorted Honeysuckle up the aisle. His son stood at the back of the Church agonising at the irony of the gesture.

  The reception took place on the lawn by the water’s edge at The George. Fuelled by the spirit of the Guinea Pig Club members, it was a lively affair and the most joyous wedding Jacques ever attended, and Honeysuckle, what of Honeysuckle? She glowed radiantly as the centrepiece to it all. Jacques constantly found himself staring at her, wondering at her beauty and what might have been.

  Did Jacques enjoy it? No, but nobody would have known and he could have coped with it, had it not been for one unexpected moment.

  It was late, and he was alone with Honeysuckle in the garden. Jacques had asked her to go for a stroll. His intention was to wish her happiness in her marriage and, begrudgingly yet in a magnanimous way, relinquish his claim on her. A gesture he knew to be both childish and churlish.

  “It’s done then, Honeysuckle.” He stood staring across the Solent.

  “Yes, it’s done, Jacques.”

  He turned towards her to deliver his carefully prepared speech, but before he could start she put her arms around his neck and kissed him. A proper kiss, a lover’s kiss, pressing her whole body against his.

  She pulled away and said, “I still love you, Jacques. Don’t ever underestimate me or doubt my ability to love you.” She turned and walked back to her husband.

  Jacques stood watching her as she walked towards the hotel. He was in total shock. Whiter than white in her wedding dress, the perfect and angelic Honeysuckle had fragrantly accosted him. Was it the alcohol she had consumed, or had she meant what her tongue and body had said to him?

  It was the last time they talked to each other that evening and it was two weeks until they saw each other again. Honeysuckle and Simon had taken a honeymoon in London and visited the theatre and museums. They stayed at the Ritz and attended the ballet and the opera, they went to some of the finest restaurants and danced in the hotel. Later Honeysuckle told him that it had, in part, been an assault on society to see how it would accept Simon, as well as being their honeymoon.

  Jacques did not ask, nor did Honeysuckle proffer how their honeymoon had been, but she told him the assault on society was a success and no longer held any fears for them. Neither did she make any attempt to kiss him again, even though every fibre of his body wanted her to.

  The refurbishment of Farringford was gaining pace, and Honeysuckle immersed herself in its organisation. The money was available to develop the hotel, but for Farringford to survive as a country house the project had to be a success.

  After their return from London Simon and Honeysuckle moved into Farringford. They had their own rooms on the ground floor, but the rest of the building was converted into an hotel. Jacques visited several times and worked with Simon in the grounds creating paths and plantings. The stuck-up child that Jacques remembered no longer existed. Simon was not afraid to get his hands dirty, and worked tirelessly to create what had now become Honeysuckle’s dream as well as his own.

  During all of this Jacques never spent more than a few moments alone with her and she never referred to the kiss on her wedding day. Jacques wondered if she even remembered.

  Farringford was progressing ahead of schedule and its opening had been planned for the following spring. But by Christmas enough refurbishment had been completed that Honeysuckle decided to open the hotel to the public for two weeks as a trial, and to get the name known in the correct circles.

  The erstwhile home of Alfred Lord Tennyson was advertised in The Times and the finest periodicals. Within days the bookings began, within a week their limited rooms were full. From the 23rd December to the 2nd January, Honeysuckle played hostess to twenty romantics, all of whom were enthralled by their hostess and her welcome.

  Jacques played no part in any of this and at first neither did Simon. “Best keep me hidden,” were his words, “I’m not really front of house material.” But in fact he was, the ultimate romantic in an age that needed romance and its heroes.

  On New Year’s Eve they hosted a ball for their guests and a number of invited local residents. Well over a hundred attended, it was a triumph and it had all been orchestrated by Honeysuckle.

  Jacques exchanged his fisherman’s overalls for a dress suit and black tie and then, along with his parents and Audrey, attended the first of Farringford’s New Year Balls.

  Big Jacques’s moustache twitched with pride at everything his surrogate daughter had achieved. Jacques was equally proud of the woman he loved. She was radiant as she greeted them in reception with Champagne and canapés, a goddess in her heaven effortlessly charming all in attendance.

  Jacques enjoyed himself, and the romantics seemed to enjoy him. Honeysuckle had made sure they knew all about the French Resistance fighter who would be there. Jacques’s natural charm did the rest. One couple had brought their eighteen-year-old daughter with them who at that tender age found Jacques particularly exciting. It provided hours of amusement for both Honeysuckle and Simon as they watched him try to extricate himself from the snares she kept laying for him.

  “You’re encouraging her,” Jacques said a little brusquely to Honeysuckle.

  “I might be, but it has been a long time since you’ve had a kiss, isn’t it?” Honeysuckle looked at him with desire in her eyes. “Perhaps you need one.”

  She was doing it again. All she had to do was look at him that way and he was powerless. Months had passed and he was dealing with the situation as best he could, then she would say something, or say nothing, but with a look that left him defenceless.

  He didn’t have time to reply, she was gone. The rest of the evening was ruined for him; all he wanted was to kiss her. He did not. Instead he kissed the eighteen-year-old who, despite her romantic leanings, had not yet learnt how to kiss.

  What Jacques did not know was that Honeysuckle was as desperate for his kiss as he was for hers and that she had fully intended to rectify the situation that night, had she not witnessed him kissing the said eighteen-year-old.

  A few frosty months followed as Honeysuckle tried to deal with her own self-acknowledged jealousy. As winter thawed, so did the reception Jacques received and by April the hotel was ready to open and Jacques was forgiven.

  A Grand Opening Ball brought eighty socialites from London, and Jacques from Yarmouth. The evening started with poetry readings and ended with fireworks.

  While the fireworks entertained her guests Honeysuckle took Jacques’s hand, and led him away from the house to the stables. Once there she took the kiss she had been agonising about since New Year’s Eve, the kiss he had denied her.

  During the kiss the
ir tongues made love and neither wanted it to end. They stayed longer than they should have done, but it told Jacques that the kiss at her wedding was not driven by alcohol, but by her heart.

  “I love you, Jacques. Please forgive me and try to understand, darling.” Honeysuckle was nearly crying.

  “I do understand and it is one of the reasons why I love you so much,” Jacques replied.

  After that they were able to talk more openly with each other. It seemed that each stolen kiss, however infrequent, was an affirmation of their unspoken vows, the vows that were exchanged the day she had given herself to him.

  Another summer passed and Farringford House Hotel became legendary. The pull of Tennyson brought people in their droves to the idyllic house nestling at the foot of the chalk downs that led to the Needles. Running it was hard work, but rewarding both spiritually and financially.

  It became a huge part of Honeysuckle’s life. In one way she loved Simon, but it was not in the way she loved Jacques and she never wanted it to be. The passion she felt for him ate away at her. She would plan a kiss for months knowing that is all she could physically have of him, and knowing that it would never be enough for them. She thought of him constantly, and it seemed the only time she was not thinking of him was when she was immersed in hotel business. She recognised this and it became the weapon she used to cope with her obsession. Though not in the same way, the hotel became her passion and she devoted herself to it.

  Jacques watched with admiration as she built, and then ruled over her empire, whilst Simon worked tirelessly to help her. What was Jacques’s input? Fish. Jacques and his father supplied them with fish. The best French fish caught in English waters. For Big Jacques it was enough, he was content. Jacques was not.

  A life spent catching fish and a kiss once every six months from the woman he idolised was just not enough for Jacques, after the adrenalin-filled world he’d been a part of for so long.

  It was on the boat one day that his life changed. They had just checked their lobster pots on the way back into port when Big Jacques said, “This life is not for you, son. I see it in your eyes. You don’t love the fish like I do and what you do love, you can’t have.” It was a statement of fact, and exactly right.