by Nigel Jones
“I love you with every ounce of my being and I always will, Honeysuckle.” He could hardly get the words out.
“Then I will always have your love, and you will always have mine, my darling.”
They did not kiss, but held each other in an embrace that lasted forever, each wrapped in their private thoughts.
It was Honeysuckle who eventually broke away. In a strange way she was happy, her biggest fear had not been realised, the fear that he did not love her the way she loved him. Even though she knew she could not have him physically she had his love, she had the love of the one person in the world she held above all others. It would have to be enough, it was not what she dreamed of, but he loved her and now he needed her support. She would be strong and she would give him that support because he was hers and she was his, no matter whom they married or whomever else they may fall in love with.
“Come on then, you rogue. What have you been up to?” asked Honeysuckle, trying to lighten the mood.
Jacques managed to smile and told her about the sexpot Resistance fighter who seduced him.
“That was to be my job! I do not want to hear any details. It would appear your virginity is no longer there for my taking.” She was still trying to trivialise it, but it was one fantasy she would have to forget. Then she added, “And before you ask. Yes, I’m still a virgin. I was saving myself for you, so let your cheating heart bleed.” They both managed a contrived laugh. There was a degree of melancholy in their forced smiles as they each thought of what could never be.
Honeysuckle suddenly felt compassion for him and said, “Seriously, Jacques, will you be happy? And what is Yvette really like?”
They had always been truthful with each other and this was not the time to be anything less. “I think we will be happy, but she is complicated.” Honeysuckle was quiet, inviting him to continue. “She is Jewish, and her entire family were taken to a concentration camp, they may well be dead. Actually they probably are dead. It has affected her deeply and she has issues with the Nazis.”
“I’m not surprised.” Now Honeysuckle’s heart went out to the poor woman.
“She is possessed by a hatred and bloodlust that is not natural. Yet at the same time she is a vulnerable and loving woman. I think, no, I know she hates the person she becomes when she kills and hates so intensely. I think our relationship is her antidote to all she loathes about herself, and she believes having our baby will reinstate her feeling of humanity. She may well be right. She is capable of great love, and I believe she really loves me almost as passionately as she hates the Nazis. She is a good person, but scarred.”
Honeysuckle heard the words and found herself a little alarmed that his Yvette could hate more than she could love. “I’m sure she loves you passionately, what girl would not?” She stroked his cheek again.
All he was saying helped her make sense of the nightmare she’d found herself in. He was giving his whole life to another woman for all the reasons she loved him. “My darling, you are a good, gentle man. Now I understand. I hope and pray that you will be happy.”
He hugged her again desperately trying to make it platonic, but it was not. They were both young and beneath the hug was a real physical need for each other. Honeysuckle closed her eyes and imagined him naked next to her, then tried to put the thought out of her head. How could she be strong for them if she wanted him so badly? Her thoughts turned to his happiness and all that he had told her. She needed to find out more about Yvette, as deep inside she felt unease about Jacques’s description of her. She found herself doubting that theirs would be a happy relationship.
Then she felt guilty as she found herself thinking if they were unhappy there was still a chance for her. She must not think like that, all she wanted was for Jacques to be happy.
They spent the rest of the day together. At times behaving like ten-year-olds, and at other times being adults discussing parenthood, and life after the War. Honeysuckle admitted to him how she had planned their life together, and how it was to start when she joined the S.O.E. She even showed him the letter from Vera Atkins saying they would consider her. “I don’t think I’ll be doing that now, someone else got there first.” She laughed.
“Now it’s your turn. I‘ve told you all about Yvette, what about Simon?” asked Jacques.
“Ah, Simon. He’s infatuated with me.”
“I bet they all are!” He looked a bit peeved as he said it. That was good, she thought, ‘I like him lusting after me and being jealous, it serves him right for getting someone else pregnant.’
“Actually, Simon is quite sweet and a very good kisser.” She would rub it in a little more.
“Is he? That’s nice.” They both laughed.
“I’ve been seeing him for about four months. Actually not long after your beastly letter.” ‘Maybe they could still have fun,’ she thought as he winced. “He is stationed at Ibsley in the New Forest with one of the Fighter Squadrons, so he’s lucky to be so close to home. It was his first posting and he thinks they are getting ready for the push. After his training he had some leave and he came home to Farringford. I met him on my first day in the Mess. Now, whenever he is off duty he comes to see me on his motorbike.”
“I don’t blame him,” Jacques paused. “How do you feel about him?”
“I like him, he’s fun and very handsome but if you had not sent me that horrid letter I would never have noticed him. As it is, you did, so I kissed him and it serves you right.” She watched for the pain in his eyes. It was there. “Anyway, we’ve been on some dates. He’s nice and I suppose I will have a relationship with him now I can’t have you.”
She didn’t mean to sound cruel. She had Jacques’s love and he had hers, but this ghastly war made life precious and she had her own to live. The second nicest boy she had ever met was mad about her and the tales he told about his friends being killed broke her heart. Simon deserved to be cared for, to have a girlfriend to cherish. His life would likely be a short one and he deserved some happiness in the merciless world he inhabited. He had made it quite plain that Honeysuckle could fulfil that role. “Do you mind, Jacques?”
“How can I mind after what I have done? All I want is your happiness.”
Honeysuckle looked at him and fought back her retort, he did not need to feel any more guilt. “Thank you,” she said.
“Will you marry Yvette?”
“Yes, I suppose so when the War is over. I’m afraid our child will be born out of wedlock, I don’t see how we can marry before then.”
Honeysuckle couldn’t resist it. “Another bastard in your family then,” but she said it with her beautiful smile lighting up her face and emerald eyes twinkling.
“You, rotter. I suppose I had that coming.” But he did not let her get away with it completely and began to tickle her waist as he had done a thousand times before when she was a child.
She shrieked with delight as they engaged in the wrestling match that would always follow his attack as she tickled him back, eventually ending up on the sand, arms and legs wrapped around each other with her curls in his face. At exactly the same time they realised the intimate nature of the skirmish, and Honeysuckle turned her head towards him giving him a look of such carnal intensity he thought he would die if he did not kiss her. He moved his lips towards hers.
“No, don’t, Jacques. I could not bear it and I would not let you stop.” She put her hand to his lips. “If you kiss me now the rest of my life would be unbearable, and so might yours.”
She was quite right, of course. Jacques knew that he would never desire anyone else the way he did Honeysuckle at that moment. Her animal intensity just inches from his face and the look in her eyes that said, ‘take me, but you can’t have me,’ would haunt him forever.
They lay locked in their embrace for an age, as if each of them were daring the other to defy the unwritten rules they had made. Each knew that if one made a move the other would not resist. Eventually Jacques took her head in the crook of his arm a
nd pulled it to his shoulder laying his cheek on her soft curls he closed his eyes, not daring to look into hers any longer.
Honeysuckle’s heart was beating heavily. ‘Yes, he loves me,’ she thought. Her eyes closed too, as they clung together for the next half an hour without speaking a single word.
To Jacques, it was the most intense half hour of his life. The most complete he had ever felt. Honeysuckle savoured every second, knowing they would probably be the most important moments she ever spent with him and also realising they would have to sustain her through all the times he would not be with her.
Buster opened his other eye. The man had not moved a muscle for ages. He usually grunted or laughed occasionally, but he had sat completely still, to the point that Buster had become alarmed and decided both eyes were to be used for guarding.
Suddenly the man snapped out of it and said to Buster, “Hungry, old boy? I am, let’s tuck in. She always left me feeling hungry for more.”
TEN
Buster was hoping the man didn’t do the sitting still thing again. The man was not as young as he used to be, and it wouldn’t do if he were to keel over on the bench. Buster was not as quick as he had once been and even though it was downhill all the way to get help, he decided if the man did the sitting still thing again he would bark very loudly to snap him out of it. Not only that, but he’d seen some cheese and onion crisps going into the bag, which were his favourite crisps and he was already salivating thinking about them, so the man would need reminding about lunch sooner rather than later.
It was another fabulous summer day, which had enticed more than the usual trickle of ramblers from their beds. On a day like this the man would find it difficult to remember whilst having to wish ‘good morning’ to the stream of walkers who were passing by as they walked the Coastal Path to the Needles.
Buster didn’t like ramblers. They had clumpy boots and sticks, and he could not understand why so few of them had dogs and more importantly, dog treats. He had given up barking at them though, the man didn’t seem to like it, and just occasionally one of them knew how to tickle him properly behind the ears. A good tickler had actually just given him an apple core, so perhaps today’s ramblers would be a better bunch. However, he would keep both eyes open, just in case an army of them arrived with sticks. He would have to bark at an army.
As they settled into their positions for remembering, Jacques said, ”This could be an Yvette day.” Buster was pretty sure Yvette was not lunch, so paid little attention.
Jacques was sitting squeezed up against Yvette in a Lysander, which in itself was not unpleasant, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Honeysuckle. His old pal Daniel was flying them back to Normandy after their briefing for the invasion of Europe. For old times sake he had allowed Jacques to fly a couple of circuits before setting off, which Jacques had enjoyed more than he thought he would.
As he helped Yvette into her parachute harness in the ridiculously small space, he asked, “Can you manage this, Mum?”
She loved it when he called her Mum. She was five months pregnant and could feel the baby kicking as she struggled into the harness. “Just about, but this will be the last time.” She giggled as he caressed her now voluptuous breasts.
Their brief was to co-ordinate the sabotage operations and preparations for the Allied landings in Normandy. Yvette was going to be involved for just two more months then would rest at the farmhouse and await the arrival of their baby. As they waited for the drop point to arrive they had been discussing babies’ names.
“I’d like an English name,“ said Yvette. “It’s time you had an English name in your family.”
Jacques was instantly with Honeysuckle once again, remembering a conversation they had once had about calling all their children by French names.
“Honeysuckle, if it’s a girl.”
He was instantly brought back to the present by the sound of her name. “Your neighbour, when you were little. The little girl you told me about. That’s such a sweet name. What do you think?” asked Yvette.
“Yes it’s lovely, but I’ve lived with it all my life. I’d prefer something different.” He couldn’t bear to be reminded of her every day. “Perdita is nice, it could be shortened to Perdy,” he added, trying to sow another seed in Yvette’s mind.
“I like that. Yes, Perdy. And for a boy, I like Derek or Simon.”
Jacques looked at her. Bloody hell; was he to be punished forever? “They’re okay, but there are nicer names I’m sure.”
“Okay, we’ll talk about boys’ names later. I think we must be nearly there.”
Daniel located the flares and positioned the Lysander about one mile upwind of them. “Good luck,” he yelled as they jumped from the door into the rushing wind that raced over the wing’s aerofoil. They went into a free fall, and perfectly positioned themselves to land in the field where the brothers, Alain and Pierre, had lit the flares. Jacques made sure he landed first and released his harness before running anxiously to where Yvette was about to land. He need not have worried; she landed perfectly like a feather fluttering down to earth. He gathered her parachute whilst the boys retrieved his, and within minutes they were in the van on the way back to the farm.
“Good to have you back. When is it to be? When do we drive these Nazi scum from our land?” asked Pierre.
“About six months time, Pierre. We have much to do and our role will be vital,” replied Jacques, although to them he was still Philippe.
“I can still be of use right up to having the baby.” Yvette was keen to stay involved.
“No, not a day past seven months, Maman.” It was Jacques again. She liked it when he was forceful. The brothers smiled. Yvette’s baby, although being something of a shock had brought happiness to them all. Philippe was a good Frenchman and a good fighter and they approved of her choice. They even knew he was really called Jacques, they had heard Yvette call him by that name often enough and teased them whenever the mythical Philippe was mentioned.
Back at the farm, Albert presented them with one of his famous daubes and some freshly baked bread. Yvette devoured copious quantities of the stew for both herself and Perdy, which she had already decided her baby would be called, should it be a girl.
Replete from the daube, Yvette gave an outline of their assignment and the people they needed to contact in the run up to the invasion. The next day Philippe and Yvette would drive back to Caen, where he would resume his life as a wine distributor after returning from taking his girlfriend to visit his family in Toulouse. Their next stop would once again be Paris, where a great deal of work needed to be done with Sophie and the newly-formed Prosper network, in preparation for the advance on Paris.
Back in their love-nest in Caen, they spent the night in each other’s arms. Yvette was as happy as she had been since the day the War had started; despite her demons she had a future with a wonderful man and their beautiful baby. Jacques thought of Honeysuckle but he was also swept away with the loving woman he held in his arms and rejoiced in her newfound contentment. Perhaps it could work.
The next day they left to meet Sophie in Versailles, along with others from her group, which had steadily been growing over the previous months. Francis Suttill was now in charge of the Prosper network and they were to meet with a man called Henri. He had been a pilot in the French Air Force and was going to work with Jacques to locate suitable landing fields for all the arms and explosives, which were to be flown in. There would be up to one hundred missions and the logistics of finding suitable arms dumps would be a problem.
Sophie opened the door and hugged Yvette. “Look at you, you look gorgeous, positively glowing.” She turned to Jacques. “And you are very handsome too, Daddy.” Then she dismissed him as being superfluous to the rest of the conversation by putting her arm around Yvette and walking her to the small kitchen for baby talk, leaving Jacques with a sweet smile.
She did come back with a bottle of beer for him before returning to the kitchen for more baby tal
k. He was sipping the beer listening to the girls giggle, when there was a loud knock on the door. Sophie was instantly in the room with him, her pistol in her hand. She put a finger to her lips as Jacques eased his weapon from his jacket.
There was another knock. “Sophie, c’est Henri.”
She lowered the gun and looked through the peephole and unlatched the door. “What are you doing here? Our meeting isn’t until seven,” she frostily asked the tall blond-haired man who walked through the door.
“I wanted to meet your friends. I hear one is a pilot.” He smiled at Jacques and offered his hand. “Henri, we will be working together. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
“Hello, Henri.” Jacques considered the man who shook his hand. He had sharp features with intelligent eyes that looked coolly at him above thin lips that worked overtime in an attempt to offer a warm smile. Behind him Sophie still looked disapprovingly at the intruder.
Yvette appeared at the door. She had remained in the kitchen, her weapon cocked to create the element of surprise should their visitor have been wearing a S.S. uniform or a leather coat.
“Mademoiselle Yvette, I presume.” Henri stepped confidently towards her and offered his hand once again. Yvette took it and said hello, but did not return his ingratiating smile.
Whilst he drank the beer Sophie offered him, he chatted to the three of them oozing a superficial charm. Jacques enjoyed his company and his conversation, especially about flying. Yvette listened and observed him without saying much but responding amicably to his questioning about her obvious bump. Sophie said nothing but her eyes never left Henri, and her expression never softened.
After he left and Jacques had said how pleasant Henri seemed. Sophie said, “Do not trust that man, Jacques. There is something wrong about him. He is too pleasant, and never says anything out of place. Keep a very close eye on him when you work together.”
“Why?” Jacques looked surprised.