Royal Holiday - Jasmine Guillory Page 0,7
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