Christmas with the Queen

Chapter 17 Jack

Chapter 17

Jack

Sandringham Estate, December 1952

I woke at dawn the next day in the little cottage I’d been allocated on the Sandringham Estate, and dressed hurriedly. I met one of the royal family’s many chauffeurs, a friendly Welshman named Evans, who was kind enough to drop me at the train station for my quick trip into London.

Lulled by the gentle motion of the train, my eyes soon became heavy, and I fell into a deep sleep, exhausted by the demanding schedule in the royal kitchen and the emotional fallout of Andrea’s death.

The next thing I knew, we had arrived in London and a conductor was shaking my shoulder to wake me.

It was a short walk to the solicitor’s office, where I signed various distressing forms relating to Andrea’s death. I didn’t even read the words. I simply signed where I was told to sign. When I’d finished, I breathed a sigh of relief and all but sprinted for the door.

Outside, sluggish gray clouds crowded the sky and a damp wind whipped off the Thames. I huddled in my jacket and, chest tight, began to walk to the flat. I took my time, watching harried shoppers and eager children stream by on either side of me. Every shop or pub window was decorated for Christmas, and festive merriment bubbled in the air. I could sense it, even as I moved outside of it, my palms sweaty as I drew nearer to my neighborhood. Our neighborhood.

I climbed the steps to the flat and let myself in. The mat was so thick with mail that I had to shove the door hard before it opened. As I gathered up the pile of bills, Christmas cards, and condolences, I was hit with the odor of stale air.

The Christmas tree sagged limply in the corner of the living room. A few baubles had dropped and rolled across the floor. I walked numbly to the bedroom and stood in the doorway, desperately seeking any sign of her—an indentation on her pillow, her favorite perfume still uncapped, her dressing gown crumpled in a heap on the floor. It was all there, just as I’d left it. Just as she’d left it. I could sense her, hear her bright laughter in my ears. The way she’d tease me about my favorite sweater with the holes in the sleeves. How she’d straighten my shirt collar before planting a kiss on my nose.

I didn’t know how I could ever move past the excruciating ache of her absence.

I sat for a while in the kitchen, not bothering to turn on the lights, wearily opening the stack of bills and Christmas cards and condolences. To Jack and Andrea, Happy Christmas. Dear Jack, We were so sorry to hear about your terrible loss... I couldn’t bear to read them. As I tossed them into the garbage can, my eye caught the familiar spine of a well-loved notebook. Grandpa’s recipes.

I took the tattered old notebook in my hands, thumbing carefully through the worn pages, running my fingertip over his scrawled notes in the margins. For a moment, the ache in my chest eased as a sense of nostalgia washed over me. Grandpa always knew how to make me feel better. Whether it was a pile of sugar-dusted beignets, a fatherly hug, or a story from when he was a boy, he always knew what to do. I held the book to my chest. I would take it back to Sandringham. It was a little like taking Grandpa himself, and I needed his soothing presence now more than ever.

As I blindly gathered my things and locked the front door behind me, another pang hit me. I wanted to see her, to tell her I loved her, that I was thinking of her wherever she was. I glanced at my wristwatch. I had enough time to stop by the cemetery—Max would understand. I walked to Mrs. Howard’s flower shop to buy a posy for Andrea’s grave, and to see a friendly face, too.

“Jack! My goodness, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes. I’ve missed you,” Mrs. Howard said with a kind smile. “Give us a hug, won’t you.”

I embraced this sweet lady who had been such a friend to Andrea. I was grateful for her in this moment. “It’s good to see you.”

“How are you doing, dear? I’ve been thinking about you.” She reached for a handkerchief and wiped a tear from her cheek.

“I’m taking things one day at a time.” I glanced around the shop, wondering what I should bring to the cemetery. Nothing too big or flashy, but something pretty and seasonal, just as Andrea would have liked.

“Going to see her?”

I nodded, relieved I didn’t have to explain myself.

Mrs. Howard led me to a corner of the shop and selected a posy of red and white Christmas roses. “Consider it a Christmas gift.”

“That’s very kind of you, Mrs. Howard, thank you.”

“Nonsense. You’ve given me plenty over the years. The lovely cakes and biscuits, the Sunday dinners when I was all alone. I was very fond of her, you know.” Her voice wavered a little. “You’re a good man, Jack. You deserve every happiness. I know you’ll find it again, in time. Now, come here.” She raised her hands to my face, and I bent down to her height so she could place a motherly kiss on my cheek.

“How about I stop by again,” I said. When I’m back from Sandringham in the New Year?”

“That sounds perfect.”

Outside the shop, I paused to stare up at the building next door with its red brick and faded white trim, as charming as ever, even if it needed sprucing up. Our building. Our restaurant. Our dream. I couldn’t imagine it without Andrea, and I didn’t have the energy to try.

I walked to the bus stop and traveled the few stops to the cemetery, where I walked past centuries of worn headstones, trying to return to the numbness that had shored me up the past couple of weeks.

When I reached my darling wife, I laid the bouquet atop her grave and stared at her headstone. A thousand emotions and memories swept through me as I crouched down beside her. It was agony to be there, but it felt unbearable to leave.

After some time, the cold seeped into my hands and feet, and I began to shiver.

“Until we meet again, my love,” I whispered. “Merry Christmas.”

I walked from the solemn cemetery and hailed a cab to take me to the train station, to return to Sandringham. I was needed there, and for now, that was all I had.

When the train pulled into King’s Lynn station, I breathed a sigh of relief. I’d done it; I’d signed the necessary paperwork and visited the cemetery. Two tasks I’d been dreading.

Evans chattered away on the drive back to Sandringham, oblivious to my thoughts. “I’m like a spinning top today, back and forth!”

“Lots of new arrivals?” I asked, not really caring for conversation but making an effort to be polite.

“Plenty. It’ll be hot in the kitchen tonight, I’d say! I’m not long back from dropping another visitor to the house. Actually, you know her, I think. Olive Carter? With the BBC? She’s very pleased her locket was found. Must be pretty special, what with her coming all the way from London.”

I was mildly interested to hear that Olive was back, and glad to have reunited her with her necklace.

At the house, I dressed quickly in my chef whites and was immediately swept up into the dinner service. I barely had time to think until we’d finished and the cyclone of activity began to wane. Exhausted, I wound through the kitchen to the back door, only to be met by an unexpected face.

The Duke of Edinburgh. Philip. Standing outside the staff entrance in a pristine suit, a cigarette in hand. He was staring up at the stars.

“Your Highness. Apologies. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” I bowed my head awkwardly and turned to step back inside.

He put the cigarette to his lips, inhaled, and blew out a stream of smoke. “Not interrupting. Yet.” He winked in a friendly way. “I’ve escaped from the women. So many of them in there. What are you escaping from?”

“A very long day,” I said. “A very long month, in fact.”

He offered me a cigarette. “A fellow doesn’t like to smoke alone. Care to join me?”

I took one though I rarely smoked. “Very kind of you, sir. Thank you.”

“You’re American,” he said. “Where are you from?”

“New Orleans. Louisiana.”

“You are a long way from home.”

“I sure am. I was a Seabee for the US Navy. Worked in the mess hall and, when the war ended, landed in London.”

“Ah. A Navy man.” His face lit up. “Served in the Navy myself.” He leaned closer. “I miss it a great deal, but don’t tell anyone.”

“Your secret’s safe with me, sir. I don’t miss the war, of course, but I miss being at sea. The endless horizon, the sensation of being at one with nature, the cycles of sun and moon and tides, the feeling that everything is inconsequential out there. There’s something calming about it.”

“That’s exactly it. You have captured it perfectly.” He looked at me and tapped his cigarette, sending a scattering of ash to the ground. “What brought you to London then? A beautiful blonde, perhaps?”

A small smile tugged at my lips as an image of Andrea flashed through my mind. Victory in Europe Day. That first carefree night of cocktails and dancing and new friends.

“A beautiful brunette, actually. Now I consider England home.”

“That makes two of us then.”

“Isn’t England your first home, sir? Sorry. Your Highness.”

“You seem like a decent sort—no need to get hung up on the formalities. Us Navy chaps have to stick together! It is a complicated thing, loving two countries,” he continued. “Serving one in deed, and one with your heart. My mother and sisters are in Greece. That was my first home.”

Of course. I remembered Andrea saying something about Philip’s Greek heritage when she’d dragged me to the Mall to celebrate their wedding and catch a glimpse of the happy couple on the balcony at Buckingham Palace. I studied his lean face and sharp cheekbones, his bright, intelligent eyes. He was much more than the papers made him out to be.

“Well, I’d best get back inside,” he said, crushing the stub of his cigarette into the ground. “No doubt Lilibet will be looking for me. She is still grappling with the bloody speech she has to deliver on Christmas Day. At this stage, I think she would be as well to wish everyone a merry Christmas and be done with it!” He offered his hand. “Merry Christmas to you...”

“Jack,” I offered. “Jack Devereux.”

“Merry Christmas, Jack.”

“Merry Christmas, Your Highness. And thank you for the cigarette.”

He turned back. “And thank you for a few moments of normality! Did you make that sauce we had with dinner tonight, by any chance?”

“I did, Your Highness.”

“Delicious. I enjoyed the spice. It’s rather nice to have something different for a change.” With that, he waved a hand over his shoulder in farewell and disappeared into the night.

I shook my head, unable to believe I’d had a conversation with the Duke of Edinburgh—with a member of the royal family. I wished I could tell Andrea. She’d been beyond excited when we’d decided I should take the position here—in part, I knew, because the thought of being near the royal family had delighted her.

Heart in my throat, I gazed at the infinite night sky and thought about all the things she was missing and how very much more she would miss as life carried on without her.