Royal Holiday

by Guillory, Jasmine

  Vivian wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck when they stepped outside.

  “Cold, Ms. Forest?” he asked.

  She laughed.

  “Very, but I’m enjoying it. I rarely go anywhere colder than Northern California at this time of year, so it’s fun to experience actual winter. I’m glad my daughter made me buy this coat, though.”

  He smiled at her pink cheeks and wide eyes as she looked around at the trees surrounding them, some still holding on to their leaves.

  “Oh, but that brings up one more thing.” She stopped and turned to him. “I don’t want to be the rude American, and I’m trying to follow all of these English customs, but . . . please, call me Vivian. I haven’t been called Ms. Forest this much since Maddie was in school.”

  Malcolm laughed. This attitude of hers was why he’d smiled as soon as Vivian had walked into the kitchen, and why he’d invited her on this tour of the estate. He’d been both surprised and delighted by her demeanor when she’d walked in. Almost all guests of the royal family fell into one of two categories: either they were full of themselves and their own consequence, and felt the need to demand things from the staff at all hours of the day just to get what they felt they deserved, or they were overcome with all of the grandeur and refused to ask the staff for anything, even though that made it impossible for the staff to do their jobs.

  Vivian, however, was different. She had such a strong and joyful sense of self when she walked into the kitchen. She was neither demanding nor bashful; just friendly and inquisitive and smiling.

  “It will be my pleasure, Vivian. And I’m Malcolm, by the way.”

  She smiled.

  “Hi, Malcolm, nice to meet you, and thank you for humoring me. And thank you for picking up on Julia’s hint and offering to take me on this tour. I appreciate it.”

  Right, the tour. Hmmm.

  He made a quick decision.

  “Unless you object, I thought we could walk around the estate a bit and then over to Sandringham House? It’s a sort of sprawling building, and we won’t be able to see most of it, but even some could be interesting.”

  She stuck her hands in her pockets. He hoped her daughter had also gotten her mittens for this trip, along with that coat.

  “That sounds lovely, thank you. Wherever we go is great; it’ll be nice to stretch my legs after that long flight yesterday. And to know a little bit about where I am—we went straight from the airport to the car to come here, and it was already dark by the time we arrived.” She turned around and looked back at Sycamore Cottage. “I didn’t even really know what this house looked like from the outside until now.”

  He turned around with her, gazed at the brick, ivy-covered cottage, and smiled.

  “I’ve always appreciated this cottage,” he said. “I was so pleased when the Duke and Duchess moved in.”

  She shook her head and laughed.

  “That’s another cultural discrepancy I’ve learned since my less than twenty-four hours in England—you call things ‘cottages’ that are about six times the size of my house.”

  Okay, she had a point there. He grinned at her.

  “Just wait until you see the thing we call a house. Then you’ll understand why that’s a cottage in comparison.”

  They walked together down the tree-lined paths for a while. He wished for the first time in his life he knew more about trees; that way he’d be able to tell Vivian about what was around them. Granted, at this time of year, most of the trees were bare. Instead of making a fool out of himself by rambling about trees, he asked her how her flight was.

  Her smile widened as she answered him.

  “Much better than I thought it would be,” she said. “It was definitely the longest flight I’ve ever taken, but also the most comfortable.”

  They chatted for a while about air travel and how her drive from Heathrow up to Sandringham was, until they turned the corner. He gestured in front of them.

  “That’s Sandringham House.” Only part of the huge, sprawling redbrick structure was visible from where they stood, but it was impressive from any vantage point. “It could probably fit at least twenty Sycamore Cottages inside of it, with room to spare.”

  She stopped and stared. He stood next to her. It really was an enormous structure, when you took a step back and paid attention.

  “Wow. Good Lord. You work in that building?”

  He walked on, and she followed.

  “Not most of the time.” He kept his face blank. “Most of the time I work in Buckingham Palace, which is even larger.”

  Vivian laughed again.

  “Slumming it this week, hmm?”

  He glanced around them.

  “Oh yes, absolutely.” They both laughed. “Her Majesty is only here a couple of months out of the year, and most of that time there’s only skeleton staff up here with her. I usually wouldn’t be with her at Sandringham so close to Christmas, but it’s been an unusual year.”

  He’d been irritated that all of the nonsense in Parliament made him have to spend this much time in Norfolk in December, but meeting Vivian Forest was a bit of a silver lining.

  She raised an eyebrow at him.

  “Does that mean you’re not always where the Queen is?” She shook her head. “If that question is too nosy, please excuse me and pretend I didn’t ask it; jet lag has taken away my filter.”

  He smiled at her.

  “It’s perfectly all right. I’m usually based out of Buckingham Palace—I only travel with her to her other estates when circumstances warrant.”

  She nodded. He could tell she wanted to ask what the circumstances were, but instead she took her phone out of her pocket.

  “Is it okay if I take pictures?” she asked. “Actually, are you sure it’s okay that I’m walking around here, with the Queen around?”

  He laughed and nodded.

  “Don’t worry, the Duke and Duchess often have guests at Sycamore Cottage. The staff—and the Queen—are all aware that you and the other Ms. Forest are here.”

  She smiled at him and snapped a few pictures. The wind blew her hair against her face, and he had the wild urge to brush it away. He took a step back from her and cleared his throat. “So, Ms. Forest—excuse me, Vivian. You’re from California, is that right? Did you grow up there?”

  She nodded.

  “I’ve lived there my whole life. I thought about moving away for a while—I’d decided that after college I’d try to move to the South, or maybe even travel abroad. But life got in the way.”

  Most of the time when people said things like this, they looked sad, or at least wistful. Vivian just seemed matter-of-fact.

  “But I love California, and I have no idea what it would be like to live anywhere else. Though I love the glimpses of other states and countries that I’ve seen; I hope I get to travel more when I retire.”

  “What kind of work do you do?” he asked. He’d learned Americans always wanted you to ask them this question—he usually avoided doing so, but he wanted to put Vivian at ease.

  She paused for a moment.

  “I’m a social worker. At a hospital in Oakland,” she said.

  That was probably why it was so easy to talk to her.

  She stuck her hands deeper in her pockets. It really was cold today.

  “I have my gloves with me.” He touched her elbow. “If you’re cold and need to wear something on your hands, I mean.”

  She laughed and shook her head.

  “Oh no, thank you. It’s just that I’m so used to a sunny day and a bright blue sky translating to warmth, so I keep expecting it to warm up, then I remember it doesn’t work like that in most places.”

  He was glad she had that warm coat and scarf, at least. It was almost as cold inside Sandringham House as it was outside.

  “Will you be all right to walk around outside for a while?” he asked. “Or do you want to head straight for the house?”

  She shook her head.

  “It’s nice to be
outside. Yesterday I was in airports and airplanes and cars all day; it’s good to have some fresh air, even if it’s cold.”

  They took a roundabout route up to Sandringham House. She seemed to enjoy looking around at the vast, well-maintained, tree-lined estate, even though he didn’t have much detail to tell her about it.

  “Had you been to the U.K. before?” he asked her.

  She shook her head.

  “Never. But I’m thrilled to be here.”

  He smiled at her.

  “Well, I hope you enjoy your holiday. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do for you while you’re here.”

  Why did he say that? Being a concierge for some American tourists—even if they were the guests of the Duke and Duchess—wasn’t his job.

  She smiled at him and shook her head.

  Ah. He did it so she’d smile at him again. He must have lost his mind. A fifty-two-year-old man and he was acting like a teenager with a crush.

  “That’s so nice of you to offer, but you don’t have to do that. Plus, I’m only here for about a week—we’re here at Sandringham through Christmas, then Maddie and I are spending a few days in London before we fly home.”

  “What are you planning to do in London?” he asked.

  She laughed.

  “I’ve honestly left all of the planning to Maddie, and I barely know anything about London, so it’ll all be fresh and exciting for me. She did say we’re staying at a very fancy hotel, which should be fun.”

  That smile was still on her face. It made him want London to be perfect for her.

  “Well, please do ask if you have questions about anything; I’d be happy to help. And now, welcome to Sandringham House.” They walked under the big archway in the drive and through the wide front doors. He nodded at the footmen who opened the doors for them. “I usually go in and out one of the side doors, but I decided you needed the full experience for your first time here.”

  She stopped in the entryway with a look of awe on her face.

  “Wow.” She turned around in a circle, and he turned with her. Right in front of them was the massive Christmas tree, blanketed in white lights, which almost touched the two-story-high ceiling. On either side of the carpeted spiral staircase were two sitting rooms, filled with antique carpets, golden lamps, and brocade couches. The floor was ivory-colored tile. Everything gleamed like it was made of gold.

  It was good to see this house through new eyes. It really was a lot to take in. He led her toward the drawing room. She followed him slowly, still looking around.

  “Architecturally, this building is a bit of a hodgepodge, but it’s still quite impressive.”

  She trailed her hand along the banister as they walked by the stairs.

  “Impressive and overwhelming.” She looked up and down the hallway, both sides of which had guns mounted along the walls. “And you work in buildings like this every day?”

  He nodded.

  “I do. At first I was awed by it every day, and now I’m used to it, for the most part. It strikes me every time something major happens—when there’s a state dinner, or a royal wedding, something like that—but things can become normal to you so quickly. And I’ve been working in and around these buildings for, all told, well over fifteen years now.” He smiled at her. “But sometimes I look around and I can’t believe I work amidst all of this.”

  He took her into the drawing room, to see the painted ceilings and the art on the walls, then into the dining room, to see the tapestries hanging from the walls. She walked close to the tapestries.

  “These tapestries are like something I’ve seen in a museum,” she said. He noticed that she kept her hands clasped behind her back. “The work that must have gone into these . . . all the detail. How extraordinary.”

  He’d never inspected the tapestries that closely before, but now he stood next to her to look at them. She was right—so many of those tiny stitches created this artwork. What a feat.

  Vivian made a circle of the room before she returned to his side.

  “It’s like being inside a museum, except with no one else there.”

  He looked around the room and laughed.

  “That’s exactly what it’s like.”

  They wandered through most of the main rooms, both up and downstairs. He took her to see the main dining room, but it was a bevy of activity with the staff getting ready for Christmas, so they just stood at the door and watched for a while. They went through the ballroom, where she gasped at the incredibly high ceilings and crystal chandeliers. They turned back down the central corridor toward the main staircase, and he saw Vivian stare at the walls lined with many different types of weapons.

  “So medieval,” she said under her breath. He turned back and grinned at her, and she grinned back.

  He’d been so consumed with work this year that he hadn’t stopped to enjoy himself in a while. This past hour with Vivian Forest had been the most fun he’d had in months. He liked walking with her. He liked talking to her. He hadn’t felt like this since . . .

  He rolled his eyes at himself. One pretty black woman his age turns up, and he starts acting like his teenage nephew.

  “Can I ask you a very basic question?” she said, when they reached the top of the stairs.

  He stopped and smiled at her.

  “Certainly.”

  She looked down, then back at him.

  “You’ll have to forgive me. I don’t know much about the monarchy—what does the Private Secretary to the Queen actually do?”

  He laughed.

  “Don’t worry, lots of people don’t know the answer to that question. Many things: the biggest role is to support the monarch in her duties. As Head of State she gets a box of government documents to read through every day, and does so without fail. And with, well, current events being what they are, there is plenty going on.”

  Vivian nodded.

  “Like with a lot of things about England, at first your system seems similar to ours, then when you dig deeper, it’s like it’s all in a completely different language.”

  He lowered his voice.

  “Don’t tell anyone this, but I worked for a member of Parliament early in my career, and for the Foreign Office for years after that, and I still sometimes get confused about politics here.”

  She laughed again, and he smiled at her.

  “But the job is also a lot of work dealing with her diary”—he saw the perplexed look on Vivian’s face—“or her calendar, as Americans call it—all of her public and private engagements.”

  “So lots of juggling, in other words.” She smiled at him. “That makes it even more kind that you took the time out of your schedule to give me a tour. Thank you.”

  He almost laughed. It had nothing to do with kindness; it was all selfishness on his part. He’d enjoyed this more than he’d enjoyed anything in a while.

  “It’s my pleasure, Ms. Forest.” He winked at her, and she smiled.

  He stopped in front of one of the big picture windows at the back of the house.

  “You can see the stables from here.”

  She gazed out the window toward where he was pointing.

  “Oh wow, and there’s someone riding a horse!” She laughed. “Sorry, I’m sure this is normal for you, but it’s wild for me to see people on horseback like it’s nothing. The closest I’ve ever been to a horse in real life, other than a zoo, was probably one of those carriage horses they have in New York City.”

  He bowed his head to her.

  “Oh, we can’t have that. I’d love to take you to meet some horses while you’re here, if you have time. Maybe tomorrow?”

  What in God’s name was he saying? He had enough on his plate for the next week; he didn’t need to keep playing tour guide. He had a whole list of detailed plans for tomorrow: go over all of the scheduled engagements for the royal family for the next three months, check on the progression of the Trooping the Colour logistics, deal with that memo he’d meant to read for ages
, et cetera.

  Granted . . . none of that was time sensitive. He was in a bit of a holding pattern right now, just waiting for news. He had plenty of time to do all of those tasks.

  Vivian smiled at him.

  “I’d love that,” she said.

  As they walked on, she turned to him with a question on her face, then turned away.

  “Was there something else?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “No, it’s too personal of a question. We just met each other an hour ago.”

  He opened up the napkin he’d been carrying since they left Sycamore Cottage and handed her one of Julia’s scones.

  “We met over these scones; you get one free question. Didn’t you know the old English superstition?”

  She shook her head and laughed at him but took the scone.

  “I know you all think Americans are gullible about the British, and we will probably believe anything you say about many things, especially when you say it in that incredible accent, but that’s where I draw the line. But fine, I’ll ask anyway: Are there other black people who work for the Queen?”

  A lot of people had tried to ask him this question, but they’d asked it so euphemistically he’d been able to pretend he didn’t understand what they were asking, even when they’d rephrased it three or four times. He smiled at those memories. That had frustrated those people so much.

  Strangely, though, he didn’t mind Vivian Forest asking him this. Maybe it was because of the way she’d asked it—so up front and without any dancing around. Or maybe it was just because he liked her.

  “A few, but not many. When I worked for her the first time, I was the only one on the personal staff—since I’ve come back, there have been a few more, but . . . only a few.”

  He led her in the direction of his office on the far side of the house.

  “Why did you leave? And why did you come back?” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, I keep asking so many questions. You don’t have to answer that.”

  He laughed.

  “I don’t mind. I left the first time because I received a job offer in the private sector that I couldn’t refuse.” One which had paid him almost three times the salary he’d received as an assistant private secretary. Working for the Queen meant many things, but good pay wasn’t one of them. “I worked for a consulting firm for years; I was skeptical about how much I’d like the job at first, but it turned out I enjoy it a great deal. But I came back because my former boss had some health issues that caused him to resign suddenly, and Her Majesty needed someone experienced to jump into the private secretary role, so she called me. At first I said no, but she invited me for tea to discuss it further, and”—he smiled at Vivian—“she’s very good at pleading her case. So here I am. I warned her that I couldn’t promise to stay here forever—I would like to go back to the private sector at some point—but it’s been good to be back.”