by Nigel Jones
If Simon ever suspected they were more than surrogate brother and sister he never showed it, not then or at any time during their lives. “Go on you two, she is always much happier after you’ve been chin-wagging about your youth. When she came home yesterday she was like a little girl again.”
“Okay, after lunch, the Warren it is then.”
They spent two hours walking the chalk paths and sitting on various rocks, before settling for a lengthy period on the stone near where the bench now stood. They were two good hours, for once alone and comfortable in each other’s company.
“Are you happy, Honeysuckle?” Jacques tossed a piece of chalk into the nearby gorse.
At first Honeysuckle did not answer, but stared out towards the Needles. Eventually she said, “Yes, I am. I have a beautiful daughter and a good husband. The hotel is a huge success and I have a wonderful life. Yes I am happy and I am lucky.” She turned and looked at him. “With the passing of time I have grown used to not having you by my side, but you are here, always here.” She held a fist to her chest in the form of a heart. “The War took so much from so many, but it spared us our lives and we still have a love that can never be replaced.” Then almost as an afterthought and to gain an affirmation of her words she added, “Don’t we?”
“Yes we do, it can never be replaced.” He smiled at the woman he so obviously adored.
She smiled back at him. “What about you, are you happy, Jacques?”
“I suppose so. As you say, we are luckier than thousands of others and I have friends who bring me a great deal of happiness.
“Would any of these friends be considered a girlfriend by any chance?” She raised her eyebrows. She had often wondered, but he had never talked about girlfriends. She couldn’t believe that there would not be a stream of girls wanting her handsome Jacques.
Jacques was amused at her raised eyebrows. “Yes, I had a girlfriend in Hanoi. She was a singer and very beautiful. She was half-French and half-Vietnamese.”
“Now I’m jealous. I know I shouldn’t be, but she sounds very exotic.” She tried to inject some humour into the words, but was angry with herself for actually feeling a pang of jealousy when he said yes.
He laughed. “You have no need to be. It was fantastic, but it is over. They were good times, though.” He sensed her true feelings and was not going to let her off too lightly.
Honeysuckle sat thinking about an exotic singer and smoke-filled rooms, about her naked body draped over Jacques who was lying in her bed. The picture disturbed her more than she would have liked. She thought about what to say next and decided to take the plunge. She would have to say it, she could not help herself and it hadn’t been said for ages.
“That is the one thing I yearn for, Jacques. The only thing that makes me unhappy.”
“What is it?” Jacques was not sure what she was talking about.
“You, your body, your tongue. Some nights I lie awake remembering, imagining. I’m still young and I want you. I know I’m wanton and I shouldn’t, but….”
“You are not alone, darling. My fingers caress your body every night and I constantly relive the day we made love. Some times with Saphine, that was her name, it was you I was inside.”
Honeysuckle’s eyes were closed as she took his hand and held it to her breast. She took a sharp intake of breath as his hand made contact through her thin blouse. She opened her eyes. The look that haunted him was there once again, the look that said, ‘Take me.’ It was a look that could easily destroy her life and ultimately her very being, because she would not be able to live with herself if she did what her look was asking him to do.
“One kiss, darling. I have waited so long, one kiss that will have to last me a year and maybe a lifetime. Please, Jacques.” She was almost begging him.
It was the most passionate kiss they had ever had. Their hands clawed at each other’s bodies but slowly the realisation of where the kiss was leading dawned on them and they hesitatingly and reluctantly drew apart.
Honeysuckle was trembling, but she managed to say, “Thank you. I’m sorry if you think I tease you. I don’t, these moments are like life’s blood to me. I need them and I’m sorry if I am being selfish.”
“You are not selfish, Honeysuckle. You are anything but selfish, and did I look like I was complaining?”
Honeysuckle laughed. “No, you weren’t complaining.” She was in control of herself again and she giggled. “This Saphine has taught you well. Your tongue has learnt new tricks, which I shall dream about on cold winter nights.” She gave him a wicked smile. “Come, we should get back, I have to feed Lissette. Do you like her French name?”
“Yes, it’s lovely and so is she, just like you when you were tiny.”
Jacques suddenly realised that their whole conversation had been conducted in French, just like it had always been. Since Simon had come back from the hospital all those years ago, they had naturally reverted to English. Partly because it would have been rude to talk French in his presence, but also because subconsciously it had marked an end to the relationship they had known until that point. Even when they had spent short periods alone together they had spoken English.
As always Jacques left the Isle of Wight totally confused, but happy. Yes, remarkably happy.
* * * * *
Washington was a very interesting place to be, at that time the most dangerous city in the States, but one of the most exciting to be in.
He was close to the seat of power of the most powerful man on earth. He even met the incumbent president once, albeit very briefly. At a reception in the Pentagon, he shook Dwight D. Eisenhower’s hand before the president was introduced to other alien workers seconded there.
He loved their use of the term ‘alien’ to describe foreigners visiting their country, and by the end of his year there he realised why someone had once described Britain and the United States as being one country divided by a common language.
The sheer scale and potential of their military power staggered him. His brief was, of course, preparing for conflict in Vietnam, but some of the scenarios planned for that conflict amazed him. His personal battles had been small scale compared to some of the more extreme proposals of the Pentagon planners. Despite this, his was one of the few voices that cast any doubt on their ability to succeed against the, ‘godamn-commy-bastards.’ Some pen pushers were unbelievably myopic in their assessment of the enemy’s capabilities.
Whether he managed to get them to understand what they actually faced in Vietnam, he was never really sure, but at least they had been told and all he could do was wait and see what transpired.
During his time there he made up his mind that he must get on with his life. His love life, that was. Those two hours with Honeysuckle had been precious, but they were not enough, nor would any subsequent stolen moments be enough to sustain him. The longer he was away from Sophie the more he realised he missed her. He was about to get her to visit him in Washington, when the call came for him to go to the U.N. in New York where he was to be an adviser to the British Delegation on Vietnam. More particularly he was to give them an insight into the possible American intentions and capabilities in that region.
If he’d liked Washington, he loved New York, and after Sophie had visited he loved it even more.
She stayed two months to write her piece for Le Monde. She could easily have done it in ten days and still seen New York, but she had an incentive to stay.
They were two fabulous months. Months without war and terror, months they could totally relax in each other’s presence, months they could do what normal people did and enjoy everything that New York had to offer. They had never been together without a war raging around them or the threat of capture or death. They were both on a high; the drug giving them that high was normality.
Sophie had never been so happy. Honeysuckle was a constant presence, she knew that, but she was not a threat. Jacques had been totally honest and told her all about their kisses and how he realised he c
ould never have Honeysuckle. It was enough for Sophie; she had the kindest and bravest of men.
After that visit she returned twice more to New York and he took his leave in Paris where their romance flourished.
Only once did he visit the Isle of Wight and it was to tell Honeysuckle about Sophie. He had mentioned her in his letters but never the extent to which their relationship had blossomed. It was right that he should tell her to her face.
He agonised about where he should do it, he felt both the Warren and the pool were wrong. They were their places, places he should not convey such news to her. He remembered how wretched he felt at the pool when Honeysuckle had told him that she would marry Simon. He would not do that to her. He decided on the pier, it was somehow symbolic of their partings and meetings and in their convoluted life it was yet another of those occasions.
He asked her to lunch with him in the George hotel on the pretext of ‘catching up.’ He was sitting at the bar when she entered. If he’d had any preconceived ideas that it would be easy they were blown away at that point. The damned butterflies swarmed the second he saw her.
“Bonjour, cheri, it’s lovely to see you,” she said.
They kissed on both cheeks and looked at each other, searching for any changes that may have occurred during the two years they had been apart. Some laughter lines perhaps, Honeysuckle’s hair slightly shorter, but in essence they were the same.
During lunch they talked of New York and Washington, Lissette and the hotel, their parents and their past, but never of the future.
After lunch they walked to the end of the pier and leant on the rails, looking across the Solent at the sailing boats.
“What is it you want to tell me, Jacques?” Honeysuckle asked suddenly.
Jacques was surprised. “How do you know I want to tell you something?”
“I know you, Jacques. I can sense every tension in your being. This is why we are here, isn’t it?” She touched his arm.
“Yes, it is.” He hesitated. “There is a girl….”
“Sophie, the girl in your letters.”
“Yes, how did you know?”
Honeysuckle just smiled. “You silly man, I read every word you write over and over again, and also the words you don’t write.”
“Oh!” Jacques was wondering if it was possible to have any secrets from her. “Well, we are together, I suppose you would say.” He no longer had any use for the words he’d prepared to say to her. He waited for her reaction.
Honeysuckle was still smiling on the outside, though inside her selfish heart was crying. She couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Do you love her very much?”
“Yes, I suppose I do.” He looked away. He could not bear to hurt her or look at her as he said it.
Honeysuckle knew she had no call over Jacques, yet it was a blow, but a blow she had experienced before with Yvette during the War when still a child. She had grown used to knowing she would never be with him.
“Will you marry her?” she managed to ask without her voice trembling.
“I don’t know, Honeysuckle. We live strange lives and don’t even see each other that often, but we are good for each other.” Genuinely, he had never thought of marriage.
Honeysuckle did not speak at first, but stood lost in thought, her arm linked through his. They remained stationary for an age, each lost in their own thoughts.
Honeysuckle was trying to work out the ramifications of the revelation he had just made, the revelation she had half-expected. Jacques just waited for her reaction and when it came, as always it surprised him.
Eventually she turned to him with that look in her eyes and asked, “Does this mean I won’t get my kiss anymore?” A mock look of pain appeared on her face, but her eyes showed total confidence as to what his answer would be.
Jacques burst out laughing. She smiled. “You minx, you know we will always have the kiss. After all, we belong to each other don’t we?”
“Yes, Jacques. That’s right.” There was an authoritative tone to it, like a mother affirming a lesson learnt by her small child.
He burst out laughing again and she threw her arms around his neck and they hugged.
Both still laughing, they parted and Honeysuckle said, “I must meet her. You have had to accept Simon all these years and have been wonderful. It is only fair that I should meet the woman you have chosen. It will be my punishment, and your revenge,” she added with a small giggle. “Can you bring her to the ball on New Years Eve? I really would love to meet her and make sure she is worthy of you.” The last said in a more serious tone.
Jacques smiled. “She is worthy, Honeysuckle. She is more than worthy.” Jacques suddenly realised that part of this whole process was to gain Honeysuckle’s approval. “I will see if she can come over from Paris.”
“Good. If she can’t, then I will go to Paris.” It was a statement of intent, not an idle threat.
Honeysuckle never had to go to Paris. The second Jacques told Sophie of the invitation, there was no doubt where New Year’s Eve would be spent. She had to meet the woman who meant so much to Jacques, to meet the one woman who could steal Jacques from her.
Before she left for England she spent more money on one dress than she had probably spent on all the clothes she had ever bought. If there was to be a battle she had to be well armed.
Jacques had spent Christmas with his parents and on Boxing Day they had gone to the hotel and spent the day with Honeysuckle’s family. The whole process was as easy as it had ever been. Lissette was a delight and still slept each night with her teddy bear, also called Jacques.
“A bloody common name round here,” Simon had said.
One night Lissette had dragged teddy Jacques into bed with Mummy and Daddy and cuddled up with them. Honeysuckle couldn’t help it; she slowly relieved her small daughter of teddy Jacques and took over cuddling duties herself.
Sophie arrived on the 30th and was greeted with open arms by Big Jacques.
“At last, a French woman in my house. Come in, please come in.” His moustache was twitching.
“May I take your coat, dear?” Elizabeth gave her an altogether less Gallic greeting.
Of course Big Jacques was instantly in love with the French beauty, whilst Elizabeth warmed to her in her own English way.
By the time Sophie had helped Elizabeth pick out a dress for the Ball and assisted with her hair and make-up, warm had turned to like.
“She is lovely, Jacques,” she whispered to him as they waited for Sophie to appear in the living room for a glass of Champagne before they left for Farringford.
The door opened and in she walked. The three of them had been chatting, but now there was silence. It was Big Jacques who spoke first, “Mon Dieu, you look beautiful.” He stepped towards her, took her hand, and then led her into a twirl so all could see this epitome of French beauty.
Elizabeth clapped her hands in delight. Jacques just stood there staring at the sensational woman in her Dior gown and eventually managed to say, “You look absolutely stunning, Sophie.” His eyes were almost popping out of his head.
It was exactly the reaction she had wanted. She could go into battle.
Jacques dropped them at the main entrance to the house and parked the car. The doorman took the ladies’ coats as they walked into the reception.
“I’m scared,” Sophie admitted to Elizabeth.
It had remained unspoken why Sophie had come to the ball, but Elizabeth was well aware of how she must be feeling.
“Come on, let’s check our make-up before we go in,“ said Elizabeth, ”you’ll be fine. Honeysuckle is very nice.”
By the time they had completed their toilette, Jacques had returned and was already standing talking to Honeysuckle by the ballroom entrance, where she was greeting her guests.
Sophie had never felt as apprehensive as she felt at that moment. Neither the Nazis nor the Vietminh scared her the way the thought of meeting Honeysuckle did.
Suddenly she saw Jacqu
es talking to her. Sophie stopped in her tracks and held Elizabeth’s arm. “God, she is striking.” It took all her courage not to turn around and flee.
“Yes she is, Sophie, but so are you. Come on, stiff upper lip.” Elizabeth gave her an encouraging smile and the words made Sophie giggle. She had heard Jacques say them so many times. “Come on, I will introduce you.” She took Sophie’s arm and pulled her towards her nemesis.
“Honeysuckle, I’d like to introduce you to Jacques’s girlfriend, Sophie.” She wasn’t sure why she had brought Jacques into the equation, but ridiculously she felt for this French girl. Mentioning him somehow helped to redress the balance between the girls.
Honeysuckle turned and seamlessly offered her hand, with a smile that would have melted anyone’s heart. She had known that Sophie had been standing there but had deliberately not looked at her. “Hello, Sophie, I’ve heard so much about you. Welcome to Farringford. You look stunning, I love your dress.” Honeysuckle delivered it all in perfect French, with a slight Normandy accent.
French! The bastard had never told her she spoke perfect French. Unfazed and in perfect English, albeit with her wonderful accent, she replied, “It is very kind of you to invite me. I have heard a great deal about you too. Jacques’s description of you does not do you justice, you are very lovely.” The first riposte was over, and Jacques had been drawn deep into the battle.
Honeysuckle smiled, but before she could reply Simon appeared. “Ding dong! So this is the famous Sophie that Honeysuckle keeps talking about. I hear you have tamed our Resistance fighter.”
Still smiling Honeysuckle offered, “Simon, my husband. He likes a pretty face.” This was by way of explanation.
“Nice to meet you, Simon. But I don’t think anyone will ever tame, Jacques, he is a rare wild species.” So far it was going well.
Every bone in Honeysuckle’s body wanted to fight this woman and reclaim her man, the man she knew she could tame with just one look or a single kiss. But it was not about that; it was about getting to know the woman to whom she was conceding her man.
