Christmas with the Queen

Chapter 11 Jack

Chapter 11

Jack

Sandringham Estate, December 1952

I couldn’t believe that Olive Carter was here. I hadn’t seen her for years, and then, out of the blue, there she was, sitting on a sofa in the library at Sandringham as if she lived there. I’d always liked Olive. It was nice to see an old friend, a connection to happier days. I considered returning to the library to ask how long she was staying, but the clock was ticking, and I had plenty to do.

As I returned to the kitchens, I thought back to the day we’d first met all those years ago. A handful of months later, she’d vanished from our circle of friends, never to be heard from again. I wondered what her story was, how she’d filled the years since.

I paused outside the door to the kitchens, Olive’s expression flickering behind my eyes. Shock and sadness had passed over her face when I’d told her about Andrea, but there was something else, too. A distant faraway look, as if she was staring into the past, even as she looked directly at me. Whatever it had meant, I pushed it aside, and tried to focus on my tasks.

But seeing Olive had stirred long-forgotten memories. As I worked, I couldn’t stop falling back in time, remembering Olive and the circle of friends we’d made on VE Day, and those first weeks I’d spent with Andrea, so filled with hope and possibility. How happy we were. As emotion rushed up my throat, I squeezed my eyes closed, willing my thoughts elsewhere. I’d never get through the day if I dreamed of her, if I longed for her, if I allowed the pain to overtake me.

By the time I was finished with my duties for the day, it was late and I was exhausted.

Mason drove me back to Ryan’s house. “Well, you survived day one! They’re not a bad bunch really.”

“I’ve worked with worse, that’s for sure.”

“See you bright and early tomorrow.”

“Thanks for the lift. See you tomorrow.”

I was careful to close the front door softly behind me so as not to wake little Ivy. On the table, Maggie had left a covered plate of meat pie made with potatoes and vegetables and stout, and a small serving of beef she must have bought with the ration coupons she’d been saving. Lately there had been talk of rationing coming to an end, and it would be a relief for us all. At Sandringham, things were more relaxed, although Max had told me the queen still insisted that formal meals—often comprising dozens of courses—be scaled back considerably.

“Hello there.” Maggie trundled into the kitchen, already in her slippers and dressing gown. Ryan followed. “You must be exhausted.” She put the kettle on to boil.

“I am,” I said between mouthfuls of the pie. “I’m looking forward to a bath and a good sleep.”

Ryan pulled out a chair at the table and sat beside me. “How did it all go?”

“Fine. I like the head chef a lot. Nice guy. I spent some time with Mason, too. At least during our breaks.”

“Good to have a familiar face about the place, I’m sure.”

“It is,” I agreed. “He’s a good man, your brother.”

At this, Ryan smiled. “He’s always everyone’s favorite!”

Maggie leaned forward and kissed Ryan’s cheek. “He’s not my favorite.”

Ryan laughed, reaching for her hand. “I should think not!”

“Eat,” Maggie said, scooping another helping of pie onto my plate when I’d finished. “You’re too thin.”

I didn’t argue. I’d barely touched the meal served for the staff earlier. I hadn’t had much of an appetite since Andrea’s death, but I found myself hungry after a long day’s work.

“I bumped into an old friend today,” I said. “Caught me completely by surprise.”

“Anyone we know?” Ryan asked.

“Not sure you’d remember her. Olive Carter? She was part of the group in London after the war.”

Ryan thought for a moment. “Olive? Wasn’t she the girl who stepped out with Peter Hall for a while? What is she doing at Sandringham?”

“Peter Hall! I’d forgotten about him. Didn’t much like him. Olive is working for the BBC, doing some story on the royal Christmas traditions. It was strange to see her after all this time. Strange, and...” I searched for the right word.

“And?”

“And nice, I guess. To see her after all these years. We exchanged a few pleasantries, she spilled tea on herself, and that was that.”

Ryan laughed. “Calamity Carter always was a bit of a mess.”

Calamity Carter. I’d forgotten the nickname. For the first time in what felt like weeks, I cracked a smile. “That she was.”

“I’m glad it went well today. You look like you could do with a drink,” Ryan said.

We sat by the fire and talked about old times: the pranks he’d play on his brother during their school days, and my life in New Orleans. It was surprisingly soothing to reminisce, to think about the time before the war, when things were simpler, before we’d become adults with responsibilities and the kind of ambitions that drove us to distraction.

The day soon caught up with me, and before I knew it, it was midnight, and I couldn’t keep my eyes open. Yet, as I laid my head on the pillow, my thoughts persisted. Chatting with Ryan, and seeing Olive earlier, had pulled me back to a time in my life when everything had felt so hopeful and new. Olive had been there that night when I’d first met Andrea. Seeing her again was a jolt, a painful reminder of how quickly the years had passed, and how suddenly life could change.

It was unbearable that Andrea and I had only been given seven years together. We should have had a lifetime.

I willed my mind to be quiet, for sleep to allow my grief to rest for a little while. It had only been such a short time since her death, yet it already felt like a lifetime. How could I possibly endure all the years that spooled ahead without her, without purpose?

I closed my eyes, and waited for the release of sleep, and for morning to come.