Royal Holiday

by Guillory, Jasmine

  She looked out the car window for her first glimpses of England. The sun was setting already, which surprised her, since they’d landed in the middle of the afternoon. She reminded herself how much farther north London was from the Bay Area, and it was almost the shortest day of the year; of course sunset was this early.

  After about an hour and a half, the car slowed down. She and Maddie peered out the windows into the darkness—they couldn’t see much, but it seemed like they were turning off the highway and onto smaller roads. Then the car slowed down even more, and it got darker outside the car windows; the streetlights had seemed to disappear, and all she could see were the outlines of trees. She and Maddie looked at each other with their eyes wide open.

  Vivian reached out and grabbed her daughter’s hand and squeezed hard.

  “You’re going to be great at this.”

  Maddie nodded.

  “Thanks, Mom. I’m so glad you’re here.”

  Vivian smiled.

  “Me too.”

  Just then, the car came to a stop, and the very polite driver leaped out of his seat to open their car doors.

  “Madam. Madam. Welcome to Sandringham.”

  Vivian turned to Maddie.

  “Deep breaths,” she said under her voice, before she turned to get out of the car.

  “Thank you,” Vivian said to the driver. She reached for her carry-on, but before she could pick it up, someone else had come running.

  “Allow me, ma’am.”

  With nothing to carry, she and Maddie turned toward the . . . cottage? Was this a cottage? Oh God. She would have called it a mansion, but then, they did have different words for things in England. She still couldn’t remember what they called a bathroom. She was going to have to ask Maddie.

  They walked up to the front door, but before they got to the top step, yet another man in a suit opened it.

  “Ms. Forest and Ms. Forest? Welcome.”

  Vivian and Maddie turned to each other and smiled before walking inside.

  They’d just taken their coats off and handed them to Suit #3, when a woman came down the hall toward them.

  “You’re here! I’m so glad you made it! How was your flight? Was the drive here okay? I know it’s so cold outside, but we’ve made up the fires in your rooms. Would you like a hot buttered rum to warm you up after your trip? Some sandwiches or scones, maybe?”

  She was smaller in person, but even prettier than she looked on the cover of People magazine. Vivian hoped Maddie would get to find out exactly what her skin care regimen was, because the woman was glowing.

  Vivian reached out her hand.

  “Thank you so much, and thank you for your hospitality. Both the flight and the drive were very easy. And I can’t speak for my daughter, but hot buttered rum sounds like a dream come true.”

  Maddie laughed.

  “And so do sandwiches and scones.”

  The Duchess ignored Vivian’s hand and pulled her into a hug instead.

  “Wonderful! Let me take you upstairs, show you to your rooms, and let you get freshened up, then you can come down to the sitting room for a little feast. Don’t worry; I’m sure you’re exhausted. I don’t want to keep you up too late. I know how those flights from California to England can be!”

  The Duchess led them up two flights of stairs, chattering the entire time. Vivian hadn’t expected her to be so normal. She’d worried that everything here would be super formal, and she’d have to be on her best behavior for her whole vacation, but the past five minutes had reassured her.

  The Duchess threw open the doors of two rooms.

  “Here are your rooms, and the bathroom is right across the hall.” Vivian looked inside; their bags were already in their respective rooms.

  And each room really had a fireplace, with a blazing fire. Bedrooms with fireplaces—she was never going to get over this.

  “The house can get really drafty; that’s why I had them make up the fires in there for you. I would have put space heaters in all of the rooms, but I made that mistake early on and blew out the electricity for about half of the palace, and everyone is still talking about it, so I’ve had to go back to things like fires and lots of throw rugs and hot tea. Just preparing you now so you won’t wake up overnight shivering.”

  Sure enough, the next morning, Vivian woke up, huddled deep down under the many blankets piled on the bed. The night before, in the warm and toasty room, she’d thought there were way too many blankets on the bed—she’d counted at least five, one of which was a heavy wool blanket folded at the foot. But at some point overnight, the fire had gone out, and she’d managed to pull every single blanket over herself.

  She had no idea what time it was, but light from the window was coming into the room, so it must be morning. She forced herself out of bed, even though she knew she could happily sleep for at least a few more hours—she hadn’t fallen asleep until pretty late the night before, either because of jet lag, or excitement, she wasn’t sure which. But she was only going to be in England for a handful of days; she didn’t want to waste any of the daylight. Especially since they didn’t appear to have a ton of it.

  She checked her phone to see if anyone at home had texted, but no, it was the middle of the night there, wasn’t it? She sent a quick text to her sister Jo to see how she was feeling. Jo’s cancer had been in remission this time for six months, and while she was a lot better, she was still pretty weak. Vivian had felt really guilty about leaving her, but Jo had laughed at her and told her there was no way she should miss this trip.

  Vivian walked across the hall to the bathroom and wondered what she was going to do all day. Maddie would be working, and Vivian wasn’t quite sure how much she was allowed to just wander around a royal estate on her own. Come to think of it, she wasn’t sure about how a lot of things would operate for the next few days—for instance, how was she going to manage to get coffee this morning? This wasn’t some bed-and-breakfast where there would be coffee and tea and muffins down in the living room. And her lack of sleep the night before meant she needed that coffee.

  No matter what, she’d better go downstairs showered, with her hair in place, and with a bra on. There might be a prince in the kitchen, for God’s sake.

  When she walked back into her room after her shower (first scanning the hallway to make sure no royalty was around to see her in a towel), she noticed a piece of paper on the floor by the door.

  Morning, Mom! I’ll be closeted away (no pun intended) all morning making clothes decisions and doing fittings, but I’ve been instructed to tell you to head into the kitchen whenever you wake up and decide you want breakfast.—Maddie

  Okay, so she was supposed to just head into the kitchen, presumably to find whoever made the amazing sandwiches they’d gobbled down the night before, and ask for coffee?

  The whole idea of someone else at her beck and call made her so uncomfortable. Of course, yes, it would be great to wake up as a princess and have someone there to make her bed every day and build her bedroom fire and cook her meals and whatever else a household staff did for you, but since she wasn’t a princess, she had no idea how to do this. She wasn’t walking into a restaurant; she was walking downstairs in a house and asking people who were used to working for royalty to work for her, a black woman from Oakland who had celebrated her fiftieth birthday almost five years ago. Were they irritated about having to wait hand and foot on her and Maddie?

  She pulled herself up straight. Hell with it. If they were, oh well. She was here, wasn’t she? It’s not like she was going to ask for a four-course meal, but coffee was a reasonable request. This was a trip of new experiences, wasn’t it? It was time to put her bra on and do this.

  She heard a crackle on the other side of the room and looked up from the note. She shook her head and laughed. There was a brand-new fire in the fireplace. Someone must have come in and made it up while she was in the shower. If the staff was irritated about waiting on her, they hadn’t shown it.

&nb
sp; Twenty minutes later, she made her way down two flights of stairs. When she got to the ground floor, she hesitated for a second and then turned left, toward the back of the house. She wasn’t positive that was where the kitchen was, but it made the most sense. She’d sort of expected to see someone on her journey across the ground floor—any of the men in suits, for example—but though she heard faint music and some voices in the distance, she saw no one.

  Finally, after she walked through a formal living room with furniture that looked so elaborate she was afraid to touch it, and a huge dining room with a wooden table that gleamed, she followed a narrow hallway that she was sure must lead to the kitchen. The sound of voices and of running water from that direction made her even more certain. She took a deep breath and stepped into the room with a smile on her face.

  “Good morning, I’m Vivian Forest,” she said to the young woman with red hair standing at the stove. Well, she was probably somewhere in her thirties, but Vivian would always call anyone in the vicinity of her daughter’s age “young,” no matter how old they both got. “If it’s not too much trouble, can I have . . . ?”

  Her voice trailed off as she looked around the room. It wasn’t the huge wood beam ceiling that stopped her, or the enormous bright red stove, or the dried herbs and garlic and onion braids hanging over the big wooden table. No, it was the man standing by the back door.

  His hair was short, with a touch of gray at the temples. He was wearing a shirt and tie and suit pants, but with a very cozy-looking cardigan on top instead of a jacket. He had a plaid scarf wrapped around his neck and was somehow pulling it off better than any nonmodel she’d ever seen. His skin was warm brown. And he was smiling at her like they’d been friends for years. She couldn’t help but return a smile just as big.

  “Ms. Forest, good morning!” Vivian’s attention snapped back to the woman standing at the stove. “I just made a new pot of coffee. Would you like a cup? Or tea? I’m happy to make you whatever breakfast you want. We weren’t sure what you and the other Ms. Forest would like, so I have a lot of options, but I made some fresh scones this morning if that interests you? The other Ms. Forest mentioned you enjoy them at breakfast although we usually eat them at tea-time.”

  Vivian couldn’t decide what appealed to her more, hot coffee and fresh scones, or that man in the corner who looked like a tall mug of hot chocolate.

  Why choose?

  “I’d love both the coffee and a scone. Thank you so much.”

  Would Hot Chocolate leave? Or come farther into the room? Or just stay silent until she went away? Vivian tried to keep her mind on the woman pouring her coffee.

  “I’m Julia Pepper. I’m the cook here at Sycamore Cottage. It’s nice to meet you.” She set the cup in a saucer and then on a tray. “I can bring the coffee and some scones into the sitting room where you ate last night, if that’s convenient for you?”

  Vivian would rather stay in this warm, comfortable-looking kitchen and chat with Julia and Mr. Chocolate over there, but she didn’t want to disturb the running of the household.

  “Oh yes, of course, that’s—”

  “Now Julia can introduce us,” Hot Chocolate said. Good Lord, was that nickname a good one; his voice was so warm and dark and liquid. He was smiling at her again, and she smiled back.

  “Ms. Forest, this is Malcolm Hudson.” Julia’s voice sounded amused. “He’s Her Majesty’s private secretary now, but he’s always had a soft spot for my scones.” Her Majesty. As in, the Queen. This man worked directly for the Queen? What in God’s name? “Mr. Hudson, Ms. Forest.”

  He stepped all the way inside the kitchen to shake her hand. His big, warm hand enveloped hers and shook firmly, but not for too long. She sent up a tiny thank-you that she’d put a bra and lipstick on before coming downstairs.

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Hudson.” People seemed very fond of using last names here, so she was going to go with it. When in Rome, after all. “I hope there are enough scones for both of us.”

  He laughed and turned to Julia.

  “What do you think? Are there enough scones for both of us?”

  Julia picked up a plate full of scones and presented it to him.

  “I know you want all of these, but some of them are for tea, you know.”

  Vivian picked up her cup of coffee from the tray Julia had been preparing. She took a sip and smiled. Julia made good coffee.

  “Have you both worked for the royal family long?”

  Malcolm nodded.

  “We’ve both gone back and forth a bit, haven’t we, Julia?”

  Julia put a scone on a smaller plate, and set it in front of Vivian, along with tiny pots of jam and what Vivian thought might be clotted cream. She then did the same for Malcolm. Vivian watched him spread jam and the cream onto his scone. Was that how they ate them here?

  “I definitely have. I’ve worked for a few members of the family, but I started off over at Windsor Castle.” Yes, okay, of course, this nice young woman used to work at a castle. “I’m a pastry chef by training and came in at first just for a few special events, then got hired on permanently. There was some staff turnover a few years ago, and I left to go work in a restaurant, but then the Duchess lured me back, and now I work for them full-time.”

  Vivian spread jam and cream onto her scone like Malcolm had, and then took a bite.

  “Oh my goodness, this is delicious,” she said. “No wonder the Duchess lured you back.”

  Malcolm laughed and picked up his scone.

  “Do you see why I show up at the back door with a pleading look on my face as often as possible?”

  Vivian downed the rest of her coffee.

  “I absolutely do. Were you also the one who made those fantastic sandwiches we had last night after we got in? I was in a dreamlike state after the flight and the long drive, but I swear they were from heaven.”

  Julia laughed and blushed. Oh wow, she was one of those redheads who blushed bright red like they did in books.

  “They were just sandwiches, but I’m so pleased you liked them. You’ll have to let me know if you have any food allergies or if there’s anything I should avoid while you’re here.”

  Vivian shook her head.

  “No allergies here, and I’m sure anything you make will be wonderful.”

  She’d rather die before she told this nice woman what not to cook in her own kitchen. That might mean she’d get some unrecognizable food while she was here, but she could live with that. She smiled to herself; this whole having a chef cook your meals thing was more complicated than she thought it would be.

  “So, Ms. Forest,” he said. She seriously couldn’t remember the last time someone had called her “Ms. Forest” this much. Maybe the last time she’d done career day at a high school? “Enjoying your time in the U.K. so far?”

  She laughed.

  “Absolutely, but my time in the U.K. so far has just been Heathrow Airport, the inside of a car, and this house. We just got in last night and came straight here.”

  Julia refilled Vivian’s coffee cup.

  “Oh no, that will never do. Ms. Forest needs a tour of the Sandringham Estate. Don’t you think so, Malcolm?” Julia looked up at Malcolm with a twinkle in her eye.

  Vivian shook her head.

  “Please, don’t feel like you have to—”

  He grinned at her, then at Julia.

  “Julia has a point. We can’t have you thinking all of the country is like Heathrow Airport. I’d love to give you a tour of the estate. Unless you had other plans for this morning?”

  She shook her head again.

  “I didn’t, and I’d love a tour, but are you sure you have time? Your . . . boss doesn’t need you?”

  He reached for a napkin and wrapped up two more scones.

  “We meet in the mornings; she rarely goes off schedule.”

  Julia smiled at Vivian.

  “Ms. Forest, lunch is at one o’clock, but feel free to drop in if you need another snack in the mean
time, though one of those scones in my good napkin had better be for you.”

  Malcolm lifted his hands, one of which was holding on to the napkin-wrapped scones.

  “Both of them can be for her if she wants! Ms. Forest is from California; she isn’t used to the damp air here. She’ll need something to warm her up.”

  Julia laughed and turned away from him. She pressed some button in the corner of the room.

  “Gregory, can you please bring Ms. Forest’s coat to the kitchen? Thank you.”

  Thirty seconds later, her driver from the night before delivered her coat and scarf to the kitchen.

  “Are you ready, Ms. Forest?” Hot Chocolate / Malcolm Hudson asked.

  She’d just come downstairs for coffee, and now she was going on a tour around Sandringham with the Queen’s Private Secretary? Who happened to be a really attractive black man? England was treating her well so far.

  “Lead the way,” she said.

  Chapter Two

  Malcolm had no idea what had prompted him to offer Vivian Forest a tour of Sandringham. This would ruin his well-planned morning. He didn’t give people tours, and he didn’t even know much about the Sandringham Estate. But something about Vivian’s smile had made him want to talk to her for longer than it took to eat his scones.

  Plus, he’d been feeling strangely restless this week. Maybe it was because he was here at Sandringham, instead of at home in London, and had been forced out of his normal routine, but he’d been fighting off boredom. Which was ridiculous, just on the face of it—he was only up here because Parliament was being anything but boring right now—but for some reason, he’d needed something to break the pattern he felt stuck in. That feeling was what had made him walk over to Sycamore Cottage this morning, so he supposed playing tour guide was his punishment for his restlessness.

  He glanced over at Vivian and laughed to himself. Vivian Forest, with her bright smile, glowing skin, and curvy body, looked like a reward, not a punishment. He didn’t know what he’d been rewarded for, but he was grateful, nonetheless. He made a mental note to say yes to the next thing the Duchess’s office asked him for.