Christmas with the Queen

Chapter 24 Olive

Chapter 24

Olive

London, December 1953

A fter a frustrating week at work, I was relieved when Friday evening came around. After tea, I buttoned my coat and stepped outside. It was a perfect winter night. Clear, frosty skies were peppered with stars and the pavement sparkled at my feet.

“Where are you off to anyway?” Dad asked as he stood in the doorway.

“To the pictures, with Rosie.”

“I wish you’d find a nice young man to take you to the pictures.”

I kissed his cheek. “Don’t start that again, Dad!”

“I just want you to be happy, Olive.”

“I am happy. I’ll see you later.”

But I couldn’t help agreeing with my father. It would be nice to have a handsome man waiting for me at the tube station. For now, Rosie would have to do.

But even the latest film couldn’t cheer me up. Somehow, the build-up to Christmas hadn’t held the same magic as it usually did. Even the few flakes of snow that fell on my way home couldn’t lift my mood. I found the crowded pavements irritating, surrounded by happy couples, arm in arm, laughing as they hurried through the snow, or stopped to steal a kiss. And if it wasn’t happy couples in love, it was happy families carrying bundles of packages and stopping to admire the shop window displays. I was tired of always being the one to arrive home alone, and I was also tired of being given the least important assignments at work.

I went to bed in a bad mood and woke up in an even worse mood after a restless night.

Come Monday, I was irritable at work. I was distracted and tired and made silly mistakes. I was relieved when it was time for lunch.

Rosie leaned back on the bench and stared at me in that way she always did when she knew I was keeping something from her. “What’s put you in such a bad mood today? And don’t say nothing, because I can tell.”

I sighed and took a bite from my meat paste sandwich. Rosie and I were having our lunch break in the park, despite the cold. It was her idea, and a good one as it turned out, despite my initial reluctance. It was lovely to be outside, to feel the nip of the December air on my cheeks, and to blow away the tired headache that had lurked at my temples all morning.

Rosie poured us each a coffee from her Thermos and added a tot of whisky. She took a sip and winced at the hit of alcohol. “Blimey! Might have been a bit heavy-handed there.”

“You always are.” I sipped my coffee and savored its warmth as it slipped down my throat.

“Let me guess. It’s Jack Devereux , isn’t it?” She always exaggerated the pronunciation of his surname.

“It isn’t him exactly. It’s just, well... Oh, God, Rosie. It is him. I can’t stop thinking about him. Which is ridiculous.”

“I don’t see why it’s ridiculous. He is the father of your child, after all.”

“Don’t remind me.” I took another slug of whisky coffee. “I know it’s silly, but when I saw him last year, I thought it meant something. You know how much I believe in fate and destiny and all of that. I thought there had to be a reason why I’d bumped into him again, but there wasn’t. And now he’s halfway around the world and I doubt he ever thinks of me at all.”

“It’s only been a year since Andrea died, Liv. Give him time.”

“Time for what?”

“To move on. To see you as more than his old friend, Calamity Carter. If that’s what you want?”

I wasn’t sure what I wanted. “It’s just all so complicated.”

“Love always is.”

“Who said anything about love? This connection—or whatever I have with Jack—doesn’t even have to be about love, does it? Maybe I should tell him about Lucy, give him an opportunity to get to know her, regardless of what there could be between him and me.”

“And what about Lucy? What if she falls in love with him and he decides he doesn’t want to be a father to her?” Rosie looked at me, her understanding for my predicament clear in her eyes. “You can’t rush it, Olive. Relationships are like a good Christmas pudding. They need time to steep and mellow, for all the spices and flavors to come together.”

“Don’t you go all cheffy on me, too. You sound just like him, turning all serious when he talks about food!”

“Maybe not now, not yet, but if it’s meant to be with Jack, the time will come to throw some brandy on your feelings for each other and set them alight and then... whoosh!”

We both laughed as she threw her arms dramatically in the air to mimic flames of desire.

We talked over our plans—or rather, lack of plans—for Christmas, and then made our way back to the office, where Maguire was waiting with his usual welcoming scowl.

“Harding wants to see you, Carter.”

“Did he say what it was about?”

“Why don’t you go and find out? I presume you know the way. You’ve been up there often enough recently.”

When I reached his office, Tom had a wry smile on his face. “Well, Carter, I promised you a good story since Charlie Bullen has the royal beat, and I think I have something that might put a smile back on your face.” He indicated that I should take a seat.

I was intrigued. What could possibly be better than spending months with the queen and the Duke of Edinburgh in the South Pacific? “I’m all ears,” I said.

“How are you with flying?”

“Flying?”

“As in, air travel.”

“I’m not sure,” I said, confused by the question. “I’ve... never been on an airplane.”

At this, Tom laughed. “Well then, how about you start by flying halfway around the world?”

I leaned forward as he pushed a leaflet toward me. The words SPEED AROUND THE WORLD WITH B.O.A.C. were printed on the front, along with a map showing a route from London to New Zealand.

I looked up. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“We’ve been offered a seat on the BOAC Speedbird flight from London to New Zealand, via Australia. BOAC want the press to raise awareness of the new service and assure people that it is all perfectly safe.”

“Is it?” I asked. “Safe?”

He cleared his throat. “Of course. You will report on the experience of modern high-speed flight and send updates from each of the short refueling stops on the way. There will be just under two days of flying in total, each way. What do you say?”

I wasn’t sure what to say. I had always wanted to travel, but had never been further than Cornwall. The invitation was a more than reasonable consolation prize for not being sent on the royal tour, and I could already see a way to deliver an entertaining report on the experience of taking such a long trip in such a short space of time. “Two days?” I said. “Each way?”

He nodded.

It was definitely manageable at home. My parents wouldn’t mind looking after Lucy. My heart started to race with anticipation. I could do this.

“This is the perfect story for me, Mr. Harding. Thank you. I promise I’ll—”

“And there’s one other thing.” He pushed his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose. “I’m not quite sure what witchcraft you’re using to make this happen, or what sort of vendetta you have against poor Charlie Bullen, but we have been informed that Charlie took a nasty fall on the deck of the ship a few days ago and is now laid up with a broken leg. He needs surgery apparently. He’ll be transferred to a hospital as soon as the Gothic reaches New Zealand.”

“Oh dear.” I bit my lip to stop a smile spreading across my face.

“Indeed. So that leaves us without a royal correspondent, during a very important royal tour, and an historic Christmas Day message due to be broadcast from Auckland.” He looked at me and raised an eyebrow. “If you take the BOAC piece, you would arrive just before the Gothic is due to dock.”

A smile finally escaped. “You want me to take over from Charlie? Cover the Christmas events in New Zealand?”

Tom nodded, then shook his head. “You’re like a cat with nine lives, Carter—I’ve never seen anyone land on their feet so often.”

My mind whirled. This was incredible. And yet, if I stayed on in New Zealand, it would mean missing Christmas with Lucy. “I really would love to, Mr. Harding, but...”

“Could your daughter manage without you?” Tom prompted, guessing the reason for my hesitation. “Just for one Christmas? It’s a hell of an opportunity, Carter.”

“Can I think about it?”

Tom leaned back in his chair. “For a couple of minutes, yes.”

“That long? You’re too kind.” There was so much to organize, but I couldn’t possibly let the opportunity slip away.

“I’ve a newsroom full of people who would bite my arm off for this chance.”

I had to make it work somehow. “Then, my answer is yes.”

“Good. I’m very pleased to hear it. Now go and get yourself organized. You leave in three days.”

My head spun with ideas and excitement as I turned to leave his office.

“One more thing, Carter.”

I paused in the doorway. “Let me guess. Don’t mess it up?”

“Well, yes. That, too. I was going to say, happy Christmas. You’ve had a good year. Keep it up.”

I smiled. “I absolutely will, sir. And a happy Christmas to you, too, Mr. Harding. Are you doing anything nice?”

He glanced at a photograph of his wife on his desk. “We are spending Christmas in Paris, as we do every year, to honor an old promise.”

His words sent a prickle down my back. I had an old promise to honor, too. One I had made to myself, many years ago. That one day I would tell Lucy the truth about her father. I had thought this might be the year to do it, but now I was heading halfway around the world. The year would be almost over by the time I returned.

My father didn’t see what all the fuss was about when I told him about the opportunity and how awful I felt about leaving Lucy.

“She’s seven years old,” he said. “You’ve dozens of Christmases to spend together. Leave her with me and your mother. We’ll have a lovely time.”

I still wasn’t sure. “But you know how much Lucy loves Christmas, Dad. It feels wrong to not be here with her. It isn’t as if she has a father to make up for it, is it?”

I didn’t talk about Lucy’s father often, but he had been on my mind a lot lately. Everything would be so much easier if he was around.

“She has her nanny and granddad, who love her as much as any father would,” Dad said. “Talk to Lucy. She might surprise you.”

Lucy couldn’t believe I had even thought about not going. “You have to say yes when the queen invites you somewhere, Mummy. I think it’s the law.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell her the queen hadn’t invited me herself. “I’ll miss you so much.”

“I’ll miss you too, but me and Nanny and Granddad will have a nice time. You can bring me some things back for my scrapbook.”

Lucy saw everything through such a simple, uncomplicated lens. I often wished I could do the same.

“Well, how about we have Christmas before I go?” I said. “To make up for it.”

“Really? Could we?”

“I don’t see why not!”

“You’re making a bit of a habit of spending Christmas with the royal family,” my mother said later. She had returned from Auntie Jean’s refreshed and less irritable, but she was still showing no real signs of affection or love for my father. “Oh, and there’s a letter for you on the hall table,” she added.

I padded through to the hall and opened the envelope, wondering who could be writing to me.

Dearest Carter,

I had a bit of bad news recently and find myself reminiscing about old times and old friends, so I’m writing on the off chance that you’re still at your folks’ place, or that they are and might pass this on to you. I’m back in London for the next few weeks, so how about a drink for old times’ sake? If you’re happily married, feel free to ignore this letter. If you’re still single, or unhappily married, my telephone number is below.

Yours hopefully,

Peter Hall

Peter Hall was the last person I’d expected to hear from! I wasn’t sure whether I was pleased to hear from him, or annoyed, or simply surprised. It was typical of Peter to be so impulsive, and so impossible to resist. Jack was a complication—always had been. Peter was just Peter, a bit of harmless fun. I wondered what he was doing now. Maybe a drink with an old flame for old times’ sake was exactly what I needed, but I would have to put him off until after Christmas.

I grabbed my coat and went to the telephone box at the end of the road, preferring to keep my conversation with him away from my mother’s wagging ears.

I put my coins into the slot and dialed the number at the bottom of Peter’s note. My heart raced as the telephone rang at the other end, and then there was a click, and a voice I hadn’t heard in years.

“Hello. Greenwich 38498.”

“Hello, Peter.”

“Carter? Is that you? Bloody hell. Didn’t think you’d reply.”

“I’m not sure I should have.” It was surprisingly lovely to hear his voice, if a little annoying to admit how easily I knew I could fall for him again.

He laughed. “How the hell are you?”

“Not bad. You?”

“Middling. Better for hearing your voice. So, how about a drink? Browns in Bloomsbury? Tomorrow at seven? My treat.”

“Actually, I’m about to go away for a while. With work. But maybe when I’m back, after Christmas?”

“Well that’s a damned shame, but I’ve waited eight years to see you again—I suppose a few more weeks won’t make much difference.”

Had he really been waiting all this time to see me again? “I’ll telephone when I’m back,” I said.

“You’d better. And, Carter?”

“Yes?”

“It’s good to hear your voice. Really good.”

“Yours too, Peter. I’ll see you soon.”

I hung up the receiver and took a moment to catch my breath. What on earth had I just done? I didn’t really want to rekindle things with Peter Hall? Did I?

That evening, I packed my suitcase and spent as much time as possible with Lucy. We looked through Dad’s old atlas as I showed Lucy the route I would be taking, by airplane and ship. She couldn’t believe how far away New Zealand was. I could hardly believe it myself. The furthest I’d ever traveled from London was to Cornwall, and that hadn’t been somewhere I’d gone by choice. My thoughts clouded as I remembered those difficult months: the deep shame of my “condition,” losing my job, being sent away to a distant relative where nobody would know me, the feeling of being so isolated and alone. And yet, when I looked at Lucy’s face, I couldn’t believe there had ever been any sadness or doubt about any of it.

“You get to sleep now,” I said as I tucked the bedsheets and blankets around her, and kissed her on the forehead. “I love you, little bear. I’ll be back before you know it.”

She threw her arms around me. “I love you, Mummy. You’re the best Mummy in the whole world.”

My heart squeezed with affection. I hoped she would always believe that. Even when the truth about her father inevitably came out.

In the end, it was surprisingly easy to say goodbye to London and its cold gray December skies. As the airplane took off and climbed above the clouds, my life below already felt so far away. A thrilling adventure lay ahead, and I was ready for it.