Christmas with the Queen

Chapter 21 Jack

Chapter 21

Jack

Royal Yacht SS Gothic , South Pacific, December 1953

I maneuvered expertly around Max as he shouted for the next dish. Pulling the venison off the grill, I ladled a wine reduction sauce over the tenderloin. Two plates, three, four, five, in quick succession, passing them forward to Max, who finished them with a sprig of rosemary and an eagle eye. The familiar clatter of clanging utensils, pots and pans, and hurried voices was a symphony I’d grown as used to as my own heartbeat. I’d even adjusted quickly to the cramped galley kitchen of the SS Gothic and the swaying motion of the ship, my body remembering the sensation of cooking at sea. Formerly a merchant vessel, adapted for the royal tour, the Gothic didn’t exactly have restaurant-standard facilities, but it was much better than the galleys I’d cooked in during the war.

“Three more venison, Devereux!” Max shouted.

“Yes, chef!”

I rushed to fill Max’s order—and bumped into Mason for the fifth time that day.

“Jesus, Jack!” he said, his tasting spoon falling onto the stainless-steel countertop with a loud clatter.

“I’m sorry. I’m in my head too much today.”

“If you bump into me again, I’ll toss you overboard!”

We had a good laugh at that and went about finishing the dinner service.

Mason had become a real pal this past year. Along with his and Ryan’s help, I’d packed up my life on Richmond Street and given Andrea’s things to her family in the second-worst goodbye of my life, before moving into the staff quarters at Buckingham Palace. I still thought of Andrea every day, still missed her in a way I couldn’t measure, but I found myself breathing a little easier.

It was hard to believe that nearly a year had passed since I’d joined the royal kitchen staff. The days and weeks had slipped away in the busy kitchens, the calendar full of official state dinners, the sumptuous coronation banquets for Her Majesty, and the far simpler family meals and teas dotted in between. It was a whirlwind, a constant cycle of pressure that suited my state of mind. When the overseas Commonwealth tour was announced and I was assigned to the SS Gothic ’s crew, I was proud to be selected, and more than happy to leave London behind for six months. I had nothing else in my life beyond work and a few friends, and truthfully, there was a part of me that missed the Navy days of sea, sky, and sun.

“I need more creamed potatoes!” Max called.

I reached for a clean serving bowl, spooned a heap of the silky potatoes onto it, and passed it to Max.

“That’s the last of them,” he said, blowing out a breath and mopping his brow. Between the ovens and unrelenting sunshine of the South Pacific, it was hot as Hades in here.

I cleaned down my station thoroughly, as always, and gulped a glass of cold water. I was looking forward to a little star-gazing on deck later—and a chance to rest my aching feet. The ship was like a small battalion, and there was an endless list of people to feed: the queen and the duke themselves, and their personal staff, comprising two ladies-in-waiting, three private secretaries, a press secretary, the Master of the Household and two equerries; twenty other officials and staff; seventy-two naval staff, as well as a band of the Royal Marines. Last came the nine members of the press who had been invited to join the tour to report on it for the newspapers, newsreels, and radio programs back home.

I scrubbed my hands clean and removed my dirty apron, thrilled to be done for the day.

“Jack! Look lively!” Mason called as he crossed the short distance from the preparation area to the back sink. “The duke is here.”

I shrugged. “And?”

“He’s asked for you. Wants you to meet him upstairs in his salon.”

“He asked for me?” I was pleasantly surprised. We’d had a nice exchange at Sandringham a year ago and had spoken a couple of times since, when he’d popped into the kitchens at Buckingham Palace, and at Balmoral that summer. I was always surprised when he remembered me.

“Go on then,” Mason prompted. “Don’t keep him waiting!”

I made my way to the duke’s salon, where I was shown inside by one of his staff.

“Devereux, sir,” the equerry announced.

I stepped forward and cleared my throat. “You asked to see me, sir?”

The duke looked up from his desk and smiled broadly. “Ah, yes, Devereux. There you are. Good man. Look what I found!”

He held out a handful of black and white photographs. I took them and studied them, feeling a smile come to my lips. Sailors posed for the camera in some of the pictures. In others, they were boarding a ship before setting sail, or setting up mess halls in the driving rain. I flipped through two more photographs of men peeling mounds of potatoes, and serving the soldiers.

I looked up. “The Seabees?”

“Indeed.” A hint of a smile curved at his lips. “I had a little time to look through my naval memorabilia and came across these. I remember for one campaign, our resources were running low, so we joined the Allies for meals. The Seabees were there. I thought you might like to see these.”

“Thank you, sir. That’s very kind of you.” I peered at one of the photographs. “Look at this guy—he’s staggering under the weight of that pot. He looks like he’s about to drop it!”

“What do you suppose would be the punishment for wasting all that food? Fifty push-ups and run laps on the deck until you vomit?”

I laughed. “That seems pretty likely to me, sir. Or clean-up duty, maybe.”

“Good grief. The horror of it all!”

I liked the duke’s sense of humor. Sometimes I thought he didn’t quite fit within the stiff formality of royalty, but he seemed to charm everyone he met, and Elizabeth clearly adored him.

I missed the closeness a marriage brought. Missed having someone to share things with, or to laugh with in silly moments.

The duke tucked the photographs back into his pocket. “But, bloody hell, I do miss it—the boys, the camaraderie, and all the raucous games! At least we’re at sea again. That does something for the spirit, doesn’t it?” He clapped me firmly on the shoulder. “It’s good to have someone here who understands. Anyway, must get on. There is always something for one to do. And no doubt you’re dead on your feet after another dinner service.”

“I’m a little tired, sir. Yes.”

The equerry opened the door.

“Thank you again, sir,” I said. “It was good to remember the old times.”

I headed back to the kitchen, where Mason was finishing the last of his duties.

“What was that about?” he asked.

“The duke wanted to share some pictures from his time in the Navy.”

“Well, aren’t you the favorite! It doesn’t hurt to have the queen’s husband as an ally, does it?” He grinned.

“I suppose not,” I said, still surprised that the duke had not only remembered me but had gone out of his way to share his photographs.

“Game of cards on deck, and a nightcap?” Mason asked.

“Sounds perfect.”

A sense of contentment washed over me as I realized how much I enjoyed my job and the company of the people I worked with, and for. We headed up on deck to the balmy air and clear star-studded skies, and for the first time in a year, despite the lingering sadness that colored each day, I felt as if I truly belonged.