Christmas with the Queen

Chapter 55 Jack

Chapter 55

Jack

London, February 1957

A s our months at sea came to an end and we finally headed toward London, I had never been happier to see the dusky gray skies of a city I realized was my true home. But I knew it was far more than that: London was the place where I’d truly become a man—where I’d learned to put my heart on the line for the first time, and where, at long last, I was ready to do it again.

As I dropped off my chef whites and left Buckingham Palace for the last time, I paused outside to look at the iconic building I now knew so well. Even from here, I could almost smell the pastry chef’s vanilla sugared almonds, the odor of Princess Margaret’s cigarettes, and the scent of furniture polish. I could hear the hum of voices as the maids chattered while they went about their dusting and vacuuming, or the patter of little Charles’s and Anne’s feet and their accompanying laughter as they raced through the grand, gilded corridors, all the while being chastised by Nanny Lightbody. I had fond memories of the palace, and of my work here, and would miss it more than I had expected. But every season had its time, and I was perched on the precipice of a new one.

My first stop was the post office. I’d tied up the typed pages and handwritten notes of my cookbook together with string and neatly wrapped them in brown paper, adding a letter to the publisher, explaining my background and my experience in the royal kitchens. I hoped they might like it enough to publish it. If not, I was glad to have spent the time writing it all down. A published edition would be this chef’s icing on the cake.

Next, I walked toward my old stomping ground, The Thirsty Dog. As I walked past, I remembered the good times with the old gang, and the more painful moments—the last time I’d been there with Andrea before her accident. I’d visited her grave earlier that morning, laid fresh flowers and asked for her acceptance as I moved on with life. I knew that was what she would want for me, and that she would always be with me, no matter what.

I turned and began to make my way toward Richmond Street. Although it was February, a generous sun shone overhead, illuminating the city in golden light. A promise of the spring to come. The streets were bustling with double-decker buses and taxis, the sidewalks with mothers and children and shoppers, friends arm in arm. The air bubbled with happy chatter and the sounds of a city awakening as the last of winter drained away.

I stepped around a puddle that glittered in the sunshine and turned the corner. Howard’s Florist came into view, but the faded sign I would have recognized a mile away was no longer there. In its place, there was a shiny new sign. A thank you, from me. The new florist who had purchased the shop had been gracious enough to honor the former owner’s legacy.

A lump of emotion caught in my throat as I thought of how much Mrs. Howard would have liked it with its gold swirls and hand-painted flowers; how much Andrea would have loved it, too. I continued on, passing my restaurant—I’d be spending plenty of time there soon enough—but for now, there was something more important I had to do.

I walked onward to Regent Street. When Maison Jerome came into view, I paused briefly outside it. My former employer had never given me a chance, but how different my life would be now had I not followed Andrea’s encouragement to look for something better, or if I had resisted Ryan’s insistence to follow him to Norfolk that terrible Christmas to take up my position at Sandringham after all. Life turned on a dime, it seemed. What I’d learned since was to cherish each moment; treasure the things I had now.

Finally I arrived at Broadcasting House, home of the BBC. Heart in my mouth, I entered the lobby and approached the desk.

“Can I help you, sir?”

“I hope so. Could you tell me how I might reach Olive Carter?”

“Is she expecting you, sir?”

“No, but...” I paused, and smiled to myself. “Well, that’s not entirely true. Let’s just say that I hope she is expecting me.”