Christmas with the Queen

Chapter 26 Olive

Chapter 26

Olive

New Zealand, December 1953

T he flight to New Zealand went off without a hitch and despite the long hours of sitting, and the occasional bout of something dreadful called turbulence, I thoroughly enjoyed the experience. I felt like an intrepid explorer, and even managed to reference renowned female journalist and travel writer, Nellie Bly, in my report for Tom. It was the best piece I’d ever written, because there was so much I wanted to say.

Once in Auckland, I was transported by tender to board SS Gothic which was anchored offshore while the royal party prepared for their planned tours and official engagements. Their arrival was a source of immense excitement and anticipation throughout New Zealand. I’d captured the atmosphere as best I could on the journey from Christchurch and quickly dispatched a piece to Tom, taking advantage of the unique insight I had of the build-up and preparations for the queen’s visit. I finally felt that I had something useful to contribute, a unique story to share.

On board SS Gothic , I was met with a wonderful lightness in the air that seemed to have infused everyone with good humor. From the news reports and photographs I’d heard and seen in London, it was clear that even the usually stuffy royal family were enjoying a more relaxed atmosphere away from the demands of formalities at the palace. The queen and the Duke of Edinburgh, and their staff, spent sunny days on deck, playing cards and games and laughing with each other. I supposed it must be a rare treat for the queen to be out of the public’s gaze during her time at sea.

The press team assigned to the royal tour consisted of a number of Fleet Street hacks and special friends of the monarchy from the more reputable magazines— Tatler , Town & Country , Harper’s . On the long flight to New Zealand, I’d had plenty of time to worry about how I would fit in, anxious that I would be a spare part among the more experienced journalists, but I needn’t have worried. Word about my involvement—albeit brief—in the queen’s first Christmas message last year had spread beyond the walls of Sandringham, and several people mentioned it to me, impressed that I’d broken through the usually impenetrable division between her public and private self.

Getting people to open up to me was a talent I’d always had. People generally liked me. Olive, the dependable friend. Olive, who was always great fun. Olive, who would get the job done. Friendship had always been easy for me, but love was as elusive as an audience with the queen.

As I stood on the deck of the SS Gothic , exhausted after the long journey but elated to be there, I realized how much I’d missed having time to myself. Since Lucy’s birth, life had revolved around her every need, and I had neglected my own. But now, with the breeze in my hair and a sense of adventure on the wind, I had time to think, to breathe, to process everything that had happened over the last few weeks.

I thought about Jack, wondering if he was here as part of the household kitchen staff. Part of me hoped he would be. Part of me dreaded seeing him again. And then there was also Peter, and the promise to meet up when I got back home. It was so strange that these two pieces of my past had come back into my life within a year.

I pushed all thoughts of them aside as I turned to see the queen walking toward me, a cine camera in her hand, color in her cheeks, and a lively sparkle in her eyes.

I curtsied. “Ma’am.”

She stopped as she recognized me. “Miss Carter! What a pleasant surprise! Have you been here all the time?”

“I’ve just arrived, ma’am—reinforcements. There was an incident with another reporter.”

“Oh yes. Poor chap. Well, it’s jolly nice to have another woman on board.”

Everyone in the press corps had remarked on the fact that the queen had been less reserved than usual on the tour. She certainly seemed in good spirits.

“What are you filming, ma’am, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Oh, anything really. Life on the ocean waves, the occasional dolphin, silly little films of Philip.” She smiled as she glanced at her camera. “Clever little machines, aren’t they?”

“Nice memories to capture.”

She nodded. “Quite.”

She was called away then by an equerry. I was about to return to my cabin when one of the other reporters appeared and called me over.

“Press briefing, Carter. Five minutes.”

Inside, we were given details of the schedule and protocol for our arrival in New Zealand. It was the first time a monarch had visited the country, so huge crowds were anticipated. I was still suffering from the effects of the change in time zones and could hardly keep my eyes open.

After the briefing, I returned to my cabin to get some rest. I’d barely laid my head on the pillow when there was a knock on the cabin door.

I dragged myself up and opened the door. A member of staff offered a small smile.

“Sorry to disturb you, miss. Her Majesty would like to see you.”

“Me? Now?”

“In her office, miss. If you’d like to follow me.”

“Should I bring anything?” I grabbed my notepad and a pencil and hurried after the chap, more than a little surprised, thoroughly unprepared, but intrigued nevertheless to have been asked to visit the queen in her private office.

“Ah, Miss Carter. Take a seat.”

“Ma’am.” I sat in the Queen Anne chair opposite her in a pleasant lounge area away from her desk.

“Perhaps I could run my speech past you, as we did last year. I am afraid I have struggled rather to find the right tone.”

I nodded enthusiastically. “Of course, ma’am.” Not only was I eager to help, I was proud to have been asked.

I sat back, listening carefully as she read from the typed script. There was a lot of religious content, and details about the tour—where they had been, where they were going. It felt a little stiff and not at all Christmassy.

“What do you think?” Her eyes searched mine. “I felt it was important to emphasize the reason for this extensive tour, to remark on the opportunity it offers to reach all my subjects, not just those in Great Britain. It is a rather impressive schedule when one thinks about it. All those countries!”

I took a moment, wondering how honest I could be. “Perhaps there might be room for more about family in the speech, ma’am? Being away from loved ones at Christmastime can be hard, and I suppose it’s often a difficult time for some people, as well as a happy time for others.”

She thought for a moment and then made a few notes on the page. “Yes, quite. Thank you for the reminder.”

I wondered if she was thinking about her children, and her sister, Margaret. The newspapers had been awash lately with stories of the love affair between the princess and Group Captain Peter Townsend—and the queen’s refusal to approve their request to marry.

“Who is it you will miss this Christmas?” she asked.

I smiled. “My daughter, Lucy. It’s my first Christmas away from her.”

“Then we have something in common. I miss the children terribly.”

Her words were unusually personal, offering a glimpse of the woman and the mother behind the crown. She seemed suddenly vulnerable and alone, with the weight of the world on her young shoulders.

“Your daughter’s father is on hand back in England?” she continued.

I paused for a moment. “She’s with my parents.” I couldn’t bring myself to offer my usual lie. Not to the queen.

She studied me for a moment, as if weighing up her response. “No happier times for a grandparent than those they spend with their grandchildren.”

“No, ma’am.” I breathed a sigh of relief, grateful for her diplomacy.

“Whether a mother, or a queen—or both—we must all make sacrifices at times. Face the difficult decisions.” She returned to the script of her speech and made a few additional notes. “The crown is, both literally and figuratively, a heavy item to wear. One must rule with one’s head, not with one’s heart.”

“But what if your head tells you one thing and your heart tells you another?” I asked.

At this, a light smile passed her lips. “Then one must choose and make peace with it. Life brings us many challenges and dilemmas. Indecision and regret are where madness lies.” She stood. “Quiet certainty, Miss Carter—that is the way we must all rule, however large or small our realms.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I’ll remember that.”

She straightened her shoulders and smoothed her hair as she checked her reflection in the mirror above the mantelpiece. “And now, I must approve tonight’s menu. Chefs really are unusual creatures—so particular, and so easily offended. I hardly dare make a single remark.”

At this, I laughed. “They’re an odd bunch, to be sure.”

The queen picked up a pile of paperwork and sat down at her desk chair. “Duty calls, I’m afraid. I shall look at the speech again, see if I can add something a little lighter. And thank you.”

I took my cue to depart. “No, ma’am. Thank you .”

As I was about to leave the room, there was a light knock at the door, and a member of staff stepped inside. “Mr. Devereux for you, ma’am.”

“Oh yes. Do show him in.”

My stomach lurched. Jack was here.

As he stepped into the room, our eyes met. He did a double-take but then he quickly nodded his head and addressed the queen. “I have the menus you requested, ma’am.”

I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He looked so smart in his chef’s whites, his face healthily tanned from the sun. He looked so much better than when I’d seen him last Christmas, when grief had hollowed his eyes and stolen his smile.

The queen seemed to catch the moment of surprise between us. “Thank you again, Miss Carter.”

I dipped my head and dropped into a curtsey. “Ma’am.” I looked at Jack as I rose. “Mr. Devereux.”

He stole a wink and nodded his acknowledgment. “Miss Carter.”

I walked out of the room with my heart pounding.