Christmas with the Queen

Chapter 42 Jack

Chapter 42

Jack

Sandringham, December 1954

I watched Olive lead her daughter out of the kitchen. Lucy’s long blonde braids were tied with ribbons, and the lapels of her coat were smeared with flour. I’d never been great at judging children’s ages, but I figured she was about seven, the same age as Ivy—a cute kid, and precocious with adults. But what struck me most of all was that she was the spitting image of Olive. Pretty and friendly and clever, like her mom.

I wondered, for a moment, what her father had been like. It must have been incredibly difficult for Olive to lose a husband and then find herself raising Lucy on her own. The world wasn’t kind to single mothers. This, I knew, from my own mom and our difficulties when I was little. She’d had her share of faults, but she’d truly struggled and that counted for something, despite our fractured relationship these days.

I placed the remainder of the stars and hearts that Lucy had made with the leftover scraps of dough on a sheet pan and slid them into the oven. I’d bake them and ice them, drop them off at their cottage later along with Olive’s gift.

Max skirted in behind me to collect a utensil he needed. “Seems you’re a popular man. Who was the little girl helping you earlier? It’s not usually permitted to have a child in the kitchen, but I thought I’d let you off, as it’s Christmas.”

“She’s the daughter of an old friend. I somehow ended up babysitting.”

“You were very patient with her. Children exhaust me. I’m glad I never married, or had children.”

“Too busy for them, chef? Married to the job?”

At this, he laughed. “Something like that, yes!”

“I’m about to finish up here,” I said, changing the subject. “Do you need me to work on anything else before I head to my room?” I was looking forward to wrapping up my chores for the day so that I could deliver Olive’s gift and say a proper hello.

“You’re a free man,” Max said. “Go and get some rest.”

I heaved a sigh of relief. “Great. See you bright and early tomorrow.”

Outside, I walked quickly, savoring the perfect winter night. Stars gleamed overhead and my breath puffed out in little white clouds. My thoughts turned in circles around Olive as I walked. Suddenly I was nervous to see her. Our short encounter in the kitchens earlier had been awkward. She’d seemed surprised to see me, and a little irritated with Lucy. I hoped Olive liked the gift I’d bought her—and I hoped it wasn’t too much.

I remembered that impulsive night so many years ago when things had turned passionate between Olive and me. Both of us had accepted that it was a one-time thing, unfinished business from VE Day. My feelings for Olive back then had been confusing—I was attracted to her, to be sure, but it was Andrea, with her tender, steady ways, who I fell in love with. Andrea was so similar to me, and after the uncertainty of war, we’d both craved the stability we found in each other.

But Maggie was right: Andrea would want me to be happy. I might be too late—Olive might be with Peter now, for all I knew—but I needed to tell her how I felt.

I walked around the lake, past the willow tree that lay dormant for the winter, past a bench placed in the perfect spot to watch the ducks on a summer day, and on to the cottages, balancing the plate of treats for Lucy. Along with the pastry hearts and stars Lucy had made to top the mince pies, I’d added jam biscuits, gingerbread men, and shortbread shaped into angels. Children, I was learning, were easily pleased and there was almost nothing better in the world than their excitement at Christmas.

As I approached Olive’s cottage, the windows glowed through the drawn curtains and the happy sounds of laughter and music emerged from inside. Without pause, I knocked on the door. In an instant it swung open with a whoosh of warm air.

“Mr. Jack!” Lucy shouted, her cheeks fire-engine red.

Olive filled the doorway behind her. Her eyes were bright, her hair mussed. She looked radiant.

“Jack! What a surprise! We were just dancing. I’m a little out of breath!”

“I hope I’m not bothering you. I have something for you both.”

“And I have something for you as it happens. Come in.”

I stepped inside the cottage and saw at once the cluttered dining table, overflowing with crafts. Paper streamers, tinsel, cut-out stars and snowflakes sat in heaps, ready to be placed on a Christmas tree.

“We’re decorating the tree,” Lucy said. “Want to help us? It has to be ready for Father Christmas, or he won’t leave me any presents.”

“You’re right,” I said, laughing. “I brought your pie dough, baked and iced, and some other treats.”

Her already-round eyes widened. “Mummy, can I have some?”

“You can have two and no more. You’ll make yourself sick.”

I laughed as Lucy gobbled down two angels, a jam biscuit, and one of her own creations, in one minute flat.

“That’s enough, young lady.” Olive carried the plate of goodies into the kitchen and transferred them into a tin.

She stepped into the bedroom then, emerging a moment later holding a package. “I hoped I might see you here. I got you a little something.” She smiled shyly.

I found myself grinning, relieved she’d bought me something, too.

“Open it!” Lucy said, as eager as if it were a present for her.

I laughed at her enthusiasm and opened the paper carefully.

“Just rip it!” Lucy squealed.

“Calm down, love,” Olive said. “Let Jack open it the way he wants to. It’s his gift.”

I played on Lucy’s childish impatience, opening the paper teasingly slowly, then tore through the rest quickly. A navy scarf uncoiled and landed in my lap. I picked it up and wound it around my neck, appreciating the soft yarn against my skin.

“It’s perfect. How did you know I needed a scarf?”

“Lucky guess. I remembered you were always complaining that England is too cold.”

“Open yours,” I said, handing Olive my present.

She opened the paper—and gasped. “Jack! It’s beautiful.” She turned the red journal over, running her hands over the etchings in the leather.

“I thought you might use it to take notes, for your reports and articles.”

“It’s wonderful. Thank you so much.” She held it to her chest, a wide smile on her face.

“Now open Peter’s present, Mummy,” Lucy said. “Mummy’s other friend gave her a present, too!” she added, turning to me.

My warm smile froze. So it was Peter I’d seen with Olive in the park recently. Again, I felt a stab of jealousy dampening my spirits.

“We need to finish the tree and get you to bed,” Olive said suddenly. “We’ll leave the rest of the presents until Christmas Day.”

“Well, ladies,” I said, eager to be on my way. “I have a very long day tomorrow, so I’d better get to bed myself.”

“Thank you again, for the journal,” Olive said as we walked to the door. “I love it, truly. It was so thoughtful of you.”

“I’m glad. I guess I’ll see you around over the next few days?”

“It seems like I’ll be working flat out if I am ever to prove myself to Charlie Bullen. I suppose you’ll be up to your eyes, too?”

“Working round the clock.” I offered a rueful smile. How I wished she wasn’t tangled up with Peter Hall again. “Well, goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Jack,” she said.

“Goodnight, Mr. Jack,” Lucy called after me.

I waved at Lucy and turned to go, warring with my feelings, embarrassed that I’d thought Olive might be able to see me as something more than a friend. Now I knew the truth for sure: Peter was courting Olive, and I had no business butting in, not now. We were friends, nothing more. Always had been, always would be.

I walked through the falling snow, alone once again, back to my room in the staff quarters. My earlier enthusiasm lost; my hopes deflated.

When I opened the door to my room, I noticed that a large envelope had been left on the desk, addressed to me, care of Sandringham House. I picked it up and tore it open. Inside was a smaller packet with a label on the front that read: For the attention of Jack Devereux. Something inside clinked.

Puzzled, I fished out a set of keys and a handwritten note.

Dear Jack,

Knowing you—and dear Andrea—has been a highlight of my final years. You are a talented and wonderful young man, and though tragedy has befallen you, I know you will one day find your way again. In fact, I hope my gift will help you do just that.

I have been unwell for a while, but I have chosen not to bother anyone with the news. There is something beautiful about living a life right until the end, without any sorry looks and tearful farewells. As I reach my final days here in the hospital, I have a chance to set my affairs in order—something I should have done a long time ago. You see, I have been keeping a secret. One I should have told you about years ago, but I wasn’t yet ready to let go.

Inside this package are the keys to the building on Richmond Street. I have put off every potential buyer that has shown interest through the years, because in my heart, I knew they weren’t the right fit for such a special place. I never had children of my own, and now, as I look back on my life, I realize I’ve known someone deserving of the building all along. You, dear boy. I have watched you admire it and love it as much as my late husband, Walter, once did when it was a thriving restaurant in his name. I know it will be in good keeping and will thrive once again, in your hands.

We can’t bring the things we’ve cherished with us when we go, but we can leave them in the care of others who have loved us and will remember us. What a blessing.

The sum of money I have also left will, I hope, help you repair the old place.

Bring it back to life, Jack.

Fill it with love, laughter, and delicious food once again.

With great affection, always,

June Howard

My eyes stung as I read the letter for a second and a third time. I couldn’t believe it—the building I’d yearned for had belonged to Mrs. Howard all along. And now it was mine.

Gratitude washed over me as I clutched the keys tightly in my hand. This dear woman had made me believe that Christmas miracles do happen. I couldn’t wait to tell Mason, and Ryan and Maggie, and Olive—so many people—but for now, as I watched the snow fall beyond the window, it was a Christmas gift to savor quietly as I whispered a thank you to the stars.