Christmas with the Queen

Chapter 7 Jack

Chapter 7

Jack

A fter luncheon had been served to the family, it was the staff’s turn to break, so I joined Mason at the table. We ate our fill of a simple vegetable soup with bread, tea and biscuits, and headed outside. Cool, damp air swirled around us, a nice change from the heat of the kitchens.

Mason shook loose a cigarette from a half-empty packet. “How’s it going?”

“Fine, fine,” I said. “Max seems like a nice guy.”

“He is,” Mason agreed, blowing a stream of smoke through his teeth. “He has high standards, but he’s the salt of the earth.”

“He reminds me of my grandfather,” I said, leaning against the outer brick wall.

“Oh yeah? The one who owned a restaurant?”

“The one and only,” I replied. “He was good-natured. An enormous man, with a booming laugh. He taught me everything I know about the spice and flavor combinations of Creole cooking, and the way it melds many kinds of cuisines together.”

I looked out at the thick carpet of grass that still glistened with dewdrops. Blue sky peeked between the dissipating clouds. I missed Grandpa so much, missed his steady guidance and encouragement. I thought of Andrea then, and how she’d never had the chance to meet him. She would have loved him so much. The hollow ache in my chest began to spread again.

“I joined the US Navy soon after he died,” I added quickly, forcing down the emotions before they threatened to overwhelm me. “Haven’t been back home since.”

“Let me guess. You were running away. Putting some distance between you and your memories of him?”

“Something like that, yes.”

I hadn’t expected to find my calling in life peeling mounds of potatoes during a war, but I’d found it there, wedged between the mess hall tents at camp and aboard our ship. I should have known that I would eventually follow in the footsteps of the man who’d guided me for most of my life.

My world had upended when Grandpa died of a heart attack. Mom had closed his restaurant instantly, said it must be sold because we were steeped in debt. Whether it was her, or Grandpa, who was steeped in debt was unclear. She sold the restaurant and his home without consulting me—and set me adrift. I’d wandered aimlessly from job to job, until one particularly swampy summer day I found myself on the doorstep of the US Navy recruitment office, volunteering for the construction and support unit, the Seabees. I was quickly relegated to cooking duty. It was hard to believe I’d spent four years cooking for the US Navy and seven more cheffing in London. I’d always been a cook, just like Grandpa, and I always would be.

“And London after the war?” Mason dragged on his rapidly dwindling cigarette.

I nodded. “I didn’t intend to stay, but life has plans for us all, doesn’t it.”

I’d been glad to settle across the ocean, as far away as possible from the reminder of what I’d lost and the disappointments of a mother who cared about no one but her latest sponge of a boyfriend. And then I’d found a new family with Andrea and thought I’d never have to doubt or worry again.

“Our gain then.”

I warmed to Mason’s kindness. We weren’t exactly friends, but we had known each other for years through Ryan. “Thanks,” I said. “Mine, too.”

He flicked his cigarette butt to the ground and crushed it with his shoe. “I started out as a dishwasher, then somehow wound up at a culinary school in Paris, like the rest of that lot in there.” He motioned to the building behind him. “After the war, I applied to join His Majesty’s staff, and next thing you know, it’s been seven years.”

“Ever wanted to work somewhere else? Have your own place?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Wouldn’t that be the dream! I don’t know where, or how I’d ever manage the costs though.”

“Restaurants don’t come cheap. Grandpa was always struggling to make ends meet. I still have his recipe books. I’d hoped to have my own place one day, give his dishes another try.”

“Hoped?”

I nodded. “A lot of things have changed recently.”

Andrea had been such an integral part of my dreams. It felt as though they had all died with her.

I turned my face to the sun, closing my eyes. I didn’t know where I’d go from here, after Christmas. The thought of returning to my old life in London paralyzed me. Walking the same streets where I’d held Andrea’s hand, passing the flower shop where she’d worked, seeing my own grief reflected in Mrs. Howard’s eyes—it would be too much. But neither could I imagine returning to New Orleans, a place that had lost all meaning for me since Grandpa’s passing. Both former iterations of my life felt impossible.

After meeting Andrea, I had never imagined that I’d feel lost again, and yet, here I was, as lost as ever. What I wouldn’t give to talk to Grandpa now, about all of this; about Andrea. If he were here, he’d tell me what to do, show me the way through.

I swallowed hard against the grief that hovered at the edge of every conversation, every thought. Suddenly overcome, I leaned against the brick wall for support.

Mason studied my face and reached out, cupping my shoulder for the second time that day. “Take a moment. I’ll see you inside.”

I wiped at my eyes and worked to steady my breathing, forced myself to think about the tasks ahead. Eventually, my hands stopped shaking. With a deep breath, I joined the others indoors.

Over the next few hours, I busied myself in the steamy kitchen, doing every task asked of me with precision and diligence, moving from the sandwiches for afternoon tea to the dishes on the dinner menu. I focused on my work, kept my head down—even when a visitor arrived.

The woman and her escort were an unwelcome interruption when we were all so busy. They seemed to be in everyone’s way, and the prattle of her endless questions clearly irritated everyone, given their clipped answers. I hoped she’d take the hint and not bother me.

I was glad I was a nobody, a temporary if helpful pair of hands, not a person worth interviewing. The last thing I wanted was to force polite interactions with this stranger, especially when I scarcely knew the operations of the kitchens myself. Besides, I didn’t have the wherewithal. It was hard enough keeping myself together as it was.

Eventually, I heard Max take charge in a firm but fair tone, letting them know it really wasn’t a good time for visitors.

“Good luck, miss, and happy Christmas,” Max added as the woman left the kitchen.

I glanced over my shoulder at her retreating back, glad to be left to the rhythm of my work.