Christmas with the Queen

Chapter 52 Jack

Chapter 52

Jack

Royal Yacht Britannia , Southern Ocean, December 1956

I took it one day at a time. There was nothing else to do.

I was a father. Lucy was my child.

No matter how many times I ran the words through my mind, I couldn’t get used to the idea that another part of my life had been running in parallel all these years. After the initial hurt and confusion had crashed over me, anger had come next. Olive had telephoned me at the palace several times before I left England, but I didn’t reply. I was hurt, and wanted to hurt her in return.

In the end, I was glad to have left with the royal tour so soon after Mason and Rosie’s wedding. Sailing to the other side of the world was exactly what I needed. It had given me space to think, and time for me to digest this new truth that had turned my life completely upside down.

On the upper decks of Britannia , I looked out at the sunset that stained the sky with vibrant, fiery hues. I’d enjoyed our time in the South Pacific with its warm winds, vast deep blue seas, and a searing hot sun that beamed over the shimmering waves. At night, thousands of stars had clustered like sand on a shore we could never reach but admired from afar. But our journey became more remote as we sailed toward the waters of the Southern Ocean. I felt isolated, and, at times, intensely lonely so far away from home.

As I had come to expect, the duke was on deck, too, chatting amiably with the crew. A few men had drained half a bottle of scotch, their laughter ringing out into the night. The duke was so different at sea. Although I had seen some parts of his life, I couldn’t fully imagine what his days consisted of when he was back in England, but I knew my life had taken an abrupt turn.

I was a father. Sweet, inquisitive little Lucy was my child.

My thoughts kept turning back to this incomprehensible fact, and to all those years ago, when Olive had suddenly disappeared. It now all made sense. There was never a new boyfriend. She’d been sent away to Cornwall to have her baby.

Our baby.

All this time, I’d never known I had a daughter. I’d had no idea that Lucy, the darling little girl I’d come to know, was mine.

I squeezed my eyes closed as my thoughts became a tangled web of memories: the miscarriages and Andrea’s death, how lost and bruised I’d been for so long. I’d given up on the idea of children, written them out of my story, but now everything had changed.

I thought of how fate had brought Olive and me together again, only to throw more obstacles in our path over and over, our timing never quite right. Some distant part of me understood why she had held her secret so tightly. The last thing Olive needed—the last thing Lucy needed—was an on-again, off-again father figure. They needed someone who would be there for them always. Someone who would love them.

Love.

I loved Olive. I cared deeply for Lucy, too, and knew it would only be a matter of time before I loved her with all my heart. I didn’t know how I could ever forgive Olive, but if I was to know my daughter, I would have to find a way. I had no idea where we went from here. I didn’t even know if Olive had told Lucy the truth. What I did know is that they were happy without me. But could I ever be happy now without them?

“How’ve you won again?” one of the crew shouted, followed by a mix of bragging and laughter.

“He cheats!”

I glanced over at the men, playing some game or other. They were enjoying themselves, but soon, we’d all squirrel away to the warmth belowdecks, out of the wind. We were southbound, and it wouldn’t be long before we left the balmier temperatures for the coldest region in the world.

As the Royal Yacht Britannia tossed on the sea, I tried to quiet the tumult inside me. Part of me understood why Olive had guarded her secret. After all, I had guarded my feelings about her for too long. I hadn’t given Olive the open door she needed to share the most important thing in her life with me. Perhaps we had both left things too late.

I gripped the railing as sea spray wet my face, and a memory flooded my senses.

It was a hot, hazy afternoon, and I was seven years old, sitting in a booth at Grandpa’s restaurant with a thick banana and chocolate milkshake.

“What are you doing, Grandpa?”

He was bent over a notebook, scratching down notes as fast as he could think. “I’m writing a recipe. My crawfish é touff é e. One day you’ll need to make it and if you forget a detail, you can look it up in here.”

The é touff é e was bubbling on the stove and the thick aroma of homemade stock, cayenne pepper, and onion permeated the air. He’d made it extra spicy, the way most of his customers liked it.

“You’re writing this for me?”

“Yessiree,” he said, dropping the pen. “You’re a natural, son. Your life might take many twists and turns, but don’t let that get you down. There are a lot of second chances in life. And one day, you’re going to be a great chef. Better than your old grandpa. Now, bring me the bag of rice from the pantry.”

I’d hopped up and did as he asked, all the while listening to him whistle a familiar tune.

As the memory faded, my eyes focused on the darkening sky in front of me, the wind in my hair. He was right: I was a great chef, and life was full of twists and turns. If you were lucky, it was full of second chances, too.

But would I have a second chance at happiness; at love? That was the only question that remained.