by Nigel Jones
It was Jacques’s turn. “I am so happy for you, Yvette. So often I’ve worried about you.”
“I’m sorry, Jacques. You are the one person in my life to whom I owe a proper apology for my behaviour. Not for the killing, I would do it again, but my behaviour towards you. I know what I owe you, and I have never forgotten it. I have often thought that I should try to find you and thank you, but assumed you would be with that bloody Honeysuckle and the last thing you needed was for me to turn up again. So I did nothing.”
At bloody Honeysuckle, Sophie burst out laughing. “I’m sorry, that’s what I used to call her.” Jacques looked hurt.
Yvette looked at them both, they were obviously a couple but had never actually said so. “You two, you always flirted, right in front of me most of the time. What’s the story?”
Sophie took great delight in taking Yvette through their life’s story starting in a club in Vietnam. Yvette revelled in all of it. “So what happened to bloody Honeysuckle then?” she finally asked.
Jacques was not about to let them do a character assassination on her, so quickly took up the mantle of storyteller.
When he had finished, Yvette said, “I always knew she was remarkable.” She was serious now. “Did you thank her, like I asked?”
“No I didn’t, actually I didn’t.” Jacques looked thoughtful. Sophie looked at Yvette and both raised their eyes heavenwards in a plea for help. “Men!” They said in unison.
“Why don’t you thank her yourself? One day we could all go to the Isle of Wight and see her.”
The girls just looked at each other and shook their heads.
“What? What have I said?” Which heralded a round of hysterical laughter from the girls.
Honeysuckle was left in peace after that, both girls knew her importance in everything that ever happened to them.
Jacques wanted to know about Yvette’s work so started to pump her with questions.
“Be careful, he is a spy you know,” Sophie said behind her hand to Yvette.
“I know that now.“ She giggled, “I had MOSSAD pull his file. I have connections in high places you know.” She raised her eyebrows at him. “Vietnam seems to be your thing. They like you in the Pentagon, I hear.”
“Bloody hell. What colour underpants do I wear?”
“Black used to be your favourite,” Yvette said, as Sophie giggled.
“Don’t worry. You are of little interest to them, to quote. Otherwise they would not have given me the file.”
“Can I see it?” he asked cheekily.
“No you can’t. Anyway I don’t have it, I gave it back, and it has a terrible photograph of you.”
“Okay, I give in, forget the file. What was your finest moment in court?”
Yvette was serious now. “There were two. That shit, Eichmann was the first. He orchestrated the whole thing, the logistical movement of Jews from the ghettos to the extermination camps. I was part of the team who extracted him from Argentina, and I saw it through to the end as part of the team who prosecuted him. I stood as close to him as I am to you now and stared him in the eyes and smiled as they tightened the noose around his neck.”
“You haven’t completely lost it then.” It was Jacques.
She looked at him and watched his cheeky little smile spread as his eyes twinkled till they shone, and she remembered why she had loved him.
She smiled back at him, the confident smile still there. “No, the hatred still burns within me. It was Tuviah who told me to make them suffer with the eyes of the world on them. It was he that taught me there was another way, a better way to humiliate them before they died. And a way to make sure the world never forgot what they did.” The smile grew. “But even then there were some who didn’t deserve to draw one more breath.” Her eyes challenged him to admonish her and he could have sworn that her jaw raised a fraction.
Jacques knew better. That self-assurance had made her the remarkable lawyer she had obviously become, and had once made her an unstoppable force in his bed. He said nothing
“What was the other?” asked Sophie.
“The guards at Treblinka, who were only doing their duty.” She made a distasteful face as she said it. “Three hanged and the rest will think about what they did in a prison cell for the rest of their lives.” She laughed. “If I had found them back then they would all be dead.”
“They were lucky.“ Jacques was in no doubt that she meant it, and would have executed each and every one of them.
Sophie watched them, the avenger and her voice of reason. She was taken back to France and another time when she watched the handsome young English boy skilfully rein in the Resistance’s most fanatical fighter. He did it with humour and a guile that made Yvette look at herself, to question her motives and her methods. Without him Yvette would have perished in some dark and distant field in Northern France and there would not have been a new Laila and Esther to captivate the world.
He was doing it again, making Yvette laugh at herself and at her own fanaticism. He had been doing exactly that when Sophie first really noticed him. Not his body and face, she had already noticed those, but his being, the character that made him the man who she had grown to love. She suddenly wanted to be alone with that man, to shut out the world and love him.
She was brought back to the present by Yvette’s laughter. She had stopped listening; she’d been in her own reverie with Jacques.
They stayed for two days. Two good days, which brought happiness to them all, a closing to what had been open-ended.
“Will you stay in Germany, Yvette?” Sophie asked just before they left for Paris.
“No, when our work here is done we will go to Israel. Fritz has one surviving uncle there. It is all the family we have left, apart from you.” She held her friend’s hand. “Thank you for coming, Sophie. It has meant so much to me. And your man, look after him. Jacques is very special. If you don’t you will have me to look out for and you don’t want that!” She tried to look threatening.
“Why is it that his ex-girlfriends threaten me?” Sophie tried to look scared.
“Probably because we all still love him.”
Sophie knew that was the case with Honeysuckle, and looking into Yvette’s eyes she decided she meant it too. “I promise that I will cherish him, but I probably won’t obey him. No one ever obeys him, do they?” They both laughed.
At the airport the little girls kissed them both and Yvette embraced each of them in turn. She made them promise to stay in touch. Before they could walk through security Yvette grabbed Jacques again and gave him one last hug.
“Thank you, Jacques,” is all she said.
They flew back to Paris and spent ten glorious days together. Sophie was not going to share him with anyone else, especially an ex-girlfriend.
She had to stay in Paris for a month to sell some of her freelance work through her agent, and to catch up with her editors at Le Monde and Paris Match. Jacques boarded a plane to London to see his bosses, and then briefly visit with his parents in Yarmouth. And of course, unsaid but understood by Sophie, Honeysuckle.
“Just because I am not there does not give you carte blanche to sleep with any of your ex-girlfriends. They all seem to be in love with you still, and when you get back to Saigon I include Saphine in that. Just because she spends half her life trying to get me in her bed does not mean you are no longer desirable to her, so hands off!”
“Yes, Miss.”
Sophie arranged his collar like he was a child going off to school, then kissed him on the forehead. “Now, get along, and behave!” She added as he turned to go.
“So that was the ghost, Buster. She is alive and well, and still haunting Nazi War Criminals. You’d have liked Yvette.”
Yvette did not sound like food to Buster!
TWENTY-TWO
It was a slightly warmer day and Jacques wanted to be on the Warren when he recalled the events he intended to cover that day.
He made some hot soup and put it in a
flask, cut the sandwiches and took a handful of biscuits from Buster’s jar and slipped them in his pocket, but not before giving a couple to the salivating dog who was sitting beseechingly in front of him.
He grabbed a blanket and stuffed it into a rucksack. It would be cold up there and even Buster seemed to feel the cold these days.
“Come on, young Buster, off we go.”
At the bench he gave Buster two more biscuits and settled down with him, the rug tightly wrapped around them both.
Jacques stared out to the Solent; calm and benign unlike the day it had taken his father’s life.
His business in London had not taken long. All he had done was give them a verbal brief. This was basically the same as all the written ones, which had been posted in the diplomatic mail, minus a few expletives.
The ferry crossing had been quite rough with a strong westerly wind preceding a depression that was approaching from the Atlantic.
His mum and dad greeted him in their now long-accustomed fashion, with a wave from the pier before embracing him as he disembarked from the boat.
He spent a wonderful evening with them describing Vietnam and its people, but little about the war. He did talk about Yvette and the remarkable happenings of the past month that led to their reunion.
However the main topic of conversation was Sophie. Elizabeth had grown to love Sophie, partly because of her spirit and partly because she obviously brought happiness to her son. Which was something she had prayed for all the years she had watched him agonise over Honeysuckle.
Elizabeth was not disappointed with the look on Jacques’s face when he talked about Sophie. It was an evening she would never forget, her son happy and her silly old French husband at home by her side.
“And you, Papa. Maman writes that you only fish twice a week now,” said Jacques.
“Oui, just fish for our own plates and some for the hotel. That is all. I am retired. So I bowl and now there is a French name on the clubhouse wall. Club Champion 1966, the old buffers don’t like it, c’est bon, c’est tres bon!” He laughed, they all did. It was obligatory.
The next day he borrowed his father’s car and drove to Farringford to see Honeysuckle. She had been waiting by the door and ran down the steps to meet him, excitedly followed by her dogs wagging maniacally. Then she hugged him as he got out of the car.
“I’ve missed you. How are things?” She was still hugging him whilst the dogs sniffed inquisitively at his ankles.
Jacques had been wondering what his reaction would be when he saw her. He had been so completely happy with Sophie that he had actually stopped thinking about Honeysuckle every day, just occasionally there was a day that he did not.
As she embraced him, he let his head settle on her mop of dark curls. As they touched his cheek the butterflies swarmed in his stomach, he was relieved, nothing had changed.
“I have so much to tell you, Honeysuckle, and I have to do something I should have done twenty years ago.” He held onto her, his head not wanting to lose contact with her hair.
“I’m intrigued. Come in, there is a nice fire burning in the drawing room. I’ll have some tea sent in and you can tell me everything. Simon will be back soon, he has gone to meet the architects to discuss the refurbishment.
Armed with a cup of tea, a Garibaldi biscuit and an admiring dog watching him, or the Garibaldi, he listened to Honeysuckle as she said, “I can’t wait to hear your news, but first how is Sophie?”
Jacques smiled, a smile of contentment. “She is very well. She is in Paris with her editors and will meet me back in Saigon in a few weeks.”
The smile told Honeysuckle everything she needed to know. He was happy. Sophie made him happy. She fought back a pang of jealousy.
“Good, I am so delighted for you both,” she said, which was perfectly true.
“And Saigon, I keep reading about bombs. Isn’t it very dangerous? I know you have lived with danger all your life, but I am just a parochial island dweller and I worry for you both.”
“Ha! Parochial island dweller, please! If you were in Saigon, the Viet Cong would have run away years ago.” They both laughed.
“Seriously, Jacques. What is it like?”
“Yes, it’s dangerous, but you learn to live with it. It will get worse because at the moment we are winning. To counteract that, Charlie, sorry that’s the Viet Cong, will increase its terror war in the urban centres.” He paused. “This sounds just like my briefing in London.” He smiled again.
“I asked because I want to know. You never told me anything about France and what you were doing there. ‘Not for small ears,’ you once pompously said to me.” The last part she delivered with all the pomposity she could muster.
“Did I? I’m sorry. I always did underestimate you, didn’t I?”
“Yes, but I knew your motives, so I forgave you.” She smiled at him, assessing the man. “You look good, Jacques. Do you still have all those muscles?”
He laughed. “Are you flirting with me?”
“Probably. I still have to dream, don’t I?” She looked questioningly at him. “Anyway, what is your news?” It was time to change the direction the conversation was going. She knew if she did not, she would be in great danger of straying into self-imposed forbidden territory. She put the thought out of her head.
“Yvette, I have seen Yvette. She is well, married to a German, no less, and has two children named after her poor sisters.”
“Oh my, that is wonderful news, tell me everything.” Honeysuckle put down her tea and moved to sit next to him on the sofa, touching his arm as she settled down waiting to hear about Yvette.
Jacques was aroused by her close proximity but made no attempt to move. He proceeded to tell her everything, from the television in Saigon to meeting the children, and Yvette’s veiled threat to Sophie when they left.
Jacques knew about Honeysuckle’s threat to Sophie the day they met, she had told him. When he mentioned Yvette’s threat, Honeysuckle just squeezed in tighter against him and gave him a sweet smile with her head half-cocked.
Jacques just laughed and hugged her when he saw the smile. “I love you, young Honeysuckle.” It was almost a platonic gesture.
“I love you too,“ she replied and stroked his cheek, her gesture definitely only half-platonic. To stop anything else from happening Honeysuckle asked, “You said there was something you have to do, what is it?”
“Oh yes, something Yvette asked me to do twenty years ago that I never did.”
“Go on.”
“To thank you, she asked me to thank you for giving her back her life when you visited her in hospital. She said that without you, Laila and Esther would never have been reborn.”
“I think there was a bit more to it than me just visiting her.”
“Yes, of course there was, but you started it, Honeysuckle.” They looked at each other, a thousand words unsaid yet understood.
A door banged outside in the reception. “That will be Simon. You’ll stay for lunch?” She reluctantly let go of him and stood up.
Simon entered. “Look, darling, we have Jacques with us, he is staying for lunch.”
“Fantastic, good to see you, old man.” He strode across the room and shook Jacques’s hand as vigorously as ever.
“You two have a chat whilst I see Chef and arrange for something special to eat.” Honeysuckle turned and left them together.
Simon took Jacques around the hotel explaining their plans for the alterations. Then they walked around the grounds, fighting the strong winds as they went, whilst Simon outlined his blueprint for a nine-hole golf course. “My new passion, old boy,” he said. “Do you play?”
Jacques laughed. “Not too many golf courses in Saigon, I’m afraid.”
“No, I suppose not.” Simon had never actually thought about Saigon before.
They had a wonderful lunch and a bottle of one of Simon’s best vintages. They were drinking coffee when Mary, the receptionist, interrupted.
“Sorr
y, Honeysuckle, but there is an important phone call for you at reception.”
Honeysuckle got up and left the dining room. She returned five minutes later with a look on her face that not even Jacques recognised.
“Jacques, come with me to our private lounge. Do you mind waiting here, darling? I’ll explain later.” She touched Simon on the arm gesturing for him to remain seated.
She took Jacques’s arm and led him from the room into the private quarters.
Once they were alone, and without asking him to sit down she threw her arms around him and held him to her. “I’m so sorry, darling. Big Jacques is dead, he drowned whilst fishing this morning.” At that she burst into tears, unable to keep her composure any longer.
Jacques did not speak at first. He had Honeysuckle wrapped, distraught within his arms, and his first thought was for her. Big Jacques had been her father just as much as he had been his. He had been the one to give her away at her wedding, and had always championed his beloved Honeysuckle, his surrogate daughter
“How?” he was eventually able to say, the first tear rolling down his cheek.
Through her own tears, Honeysuckle replied, “Your mum doesn’t know the exact details yet. Apparently he went to catch a fish for your supper.” With that she was inconsolable.
Jacques knew what to do. He just held her until the tears stopped, his own tears mingling with her curls.
When eventually her tears ran dry she said, “Come on, we must go to her.”
Honeysuckle broke the tragic news to Simon, who offered to go with them, but Honeysuckle declined. “Please don’t be cross, darling, but at this time I think Elizabeth would just like to be with close family. Your time will come and your support will be invaluable.” As always she chose the perfect words.
Elizabeth was brave; the only thing that Jacques found difficult to deal with was when his mother said that she thought she had beaten the damn sea after his father had retired. These words were too much for Honeysuckle who had now lost both her fathers to that same damned sea. She was grief-stricken.
