There was no sign of his mother and sister in the lobby. None of the Falconers, in fact. As he glanced around, James decided not to say a word. He would let the surprise be a surprise.
The gift of the evening suit from his grandparents had taken him aback. He was touched and grateful to have received it. He smiled inwardly as he thought of his grandfather’s comment that he would need it during the next few years. He would only hope that was true, because then it denoted success.
A few heads turned and people looked at them as they crossed the lobby. James and his grandparents were striking in appearance and their clothes were elegant, and so they drew attention. James realized that they were heading toward the corridor which led to the main restaurant in the hotel. It was called Quadrille, and Philip knew the head sommelier. James’s grandfather had taken him there for lunch several years ago, and he had enjoyed it.
James knew he had made a wrong guess when they walked past the entrance to the restaurant. A moment or two later, Philip stopped in front of a closed door.
Stepping forward, his grandfather knocked on the door, immediately opened it, and led Esther and James inside. Everyone, who had been totally silent, waiting, cried, “Happy birthday, James!”
Indeed, he was surprised. His grandparents had hired the private dining room of the hotel, and there they were … the remainder of Clan Falconer. His parents, siblings, and two uncles. How smart the men were, and even little Eddie, now almost fourteen, was in a new dark suit, white shirt, and black bow tie.
James couldn’t help it. He clapped his hands, laughing with happiness, and then turned and hugged Esther and Philip.
“Thank you! Thank you so much,” he said to them. His blue eyes were sparkling and slightly moist. “And you really and truly have surprised me…” Staring at his beloved family, his gaze loving, he said, “How wonderful it is to be with my ilk … to be a Falconer is to be the best.”
“No, we’re better than the best,” his father said, and came over, hugged him, and stepped back, staring at him. “You look astonishing in evening dress, quite the toff.”
Glancing at Philip, Matthew added, “It’s true. You can always spot a bit of pure Savile Row, Dad. James is wearing a superb piece of impeccable tailoring. Tony’s a genius.”
“He certainly is,” Philip said. “Considering James never had a fitting.”
“But Tony did have every measurement known to man,” Esther exclaimed, laughter in her voice. “Marina didn’t miss an inch of the jacket she found in James’s room in Hull. She even included the length of a flap on the pocket. Which obviously Tony didn’t need.” Everyone laughed.
His uncles, George and Harry, came and greeted him. Philip motioned to the two waiters at the end of the room, standing near the bar. They came over with glasses of champagne, and fruit juice for Eddie and Rossi.
After toasting James and saying “happy birthday” yet again, Philip led the family to the other end of the room. He waved his hand at the table. “The hotel’s done a beautiful job, just look at this table. The flowers, the candles, the crystal … everything is perfection.”
Esther came and stood next to him, her eyes roaming over her family. “Your grandfather and I wanted to do something special for your eighteenth birthday, James, rather than waiting until you were twenty-one.” She shrugged. “Who knows what can happen in three years! We wanted to give you a dinner at a grand place. Then we realized we wanted it to be private, just us, the family. Philip had the idea of hiring a private room in a hotel. Great food and wine and service. What could be better?”
“Your surprise is wonderful,” James interjected. “Thank you again for doing this, going to all this trouble, and for choosing the Bettrage Hotel.”
* * *
After chatting to each other for a while and drinking a second glass of champagne, the family sat down at the round dinner table which Esther preferred, believing it was more congenial. The menu was composed of their favorite dishes. Cold vichyssoise soup, rack of spring lamb, new potatoes, and peas. The food was thoroughly enjoyed, the fine wines commented on, and then they settled back, wanting to relax, talk and catch up before dessert was served.
It was Esther who suddenly asked everyone to be quiet, explaining she had something special to tell them. The room was instantly quiet. All eyes were focused on her.
“I want to propose a toast to George. So please lift your glasses to congratulate him on his wonderful promotion at his newspaper.”
“Oh, Mum, really, don’t make a big fuss!” George protested. Nonetheless, he looked happy and was smiling.
“Congratulations!” They toasted him and sipped.
It was Rossi, seated next to him, who asked, “What is your promotion, Uncle George?”
“I’ve been given a new job, sort of, and a new title. I will now have the byline of ‘Royal Correspondent.’”
Maude exclaimed, “George, that’s marvelous! That means you are covering the royal family, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, at least many of the events they attend. When the Prince of Wales travels, I shall be in the press corps. Perhaps even when he takes trips abroad, I’ll be going along.”
“You won’t be writing much about Queen Victoria,” Rossi announced. “She doesn’t travel anywhere. She’s always stuck in Scotland, at Balmoral.”
“That is true, yes,” George answered. “But, in a way, it’s because of the queen I got my promotion.”
“Really!” Eddie cried. “Do you know the queen, Uncle George? What’s she really like?”
Laughter erupted. A moment later, when everyone was quiet, George turned to his nephew. “No, I don’t know the queen. I can’t claim to know any of the royal family. But last year I wrote a story about the queen’s Golden Jubilee. There was an enormous reaction from the public, a lot of letters from readers, and my editor was also pleased with it … touched, he said. Hence his decision to assign me to cover them.”
Maude said, “I remember reading it. It was touching, that’s true … I think you made the queen appear to be more … real, more like ordinary people.”
George nodded. “I know what you’re getting at, Maude. I think I showed her being … a mother as well as a queen.”
“Some mother!” James exclaimed, and then stopped abruptly. Looking across at his uncle, he said, “I’m afraid I missed that story, but I’d like to know what you wrote, Uncle George.”
“Then I shall tell you.” George glanced around the table. “Is that all right with everyone else?”
They all agreed and looked at George with bated breath, wanting to hear the story, even those who had read it in The Chronicle.
George said, “Last June, June the twenty-first in 1887, to be exact, I was in Westminster Abbey for the queen’s Jubilee. There were nine thousand people, if you can believe that, all squeezed in together. Many of them were in specially made wooden galleries built up against the walls. I was on the ground floor, being part of the press group. The queen sat in the Coronation Chair and was all alone. I was disappointed that she wasn’t in her crown and robes of state. She would have been more like the queen and empress she is. But no, there she was in her mourning black dress and bonnet, trimmed with white lace. Anyway, as the service progressed I saw that the Queen was very involved and quite affected by the ceremony…” George broke off, sipped his red wine, and continued.
“The person standing closest to her in the Abbey was her heir, the Prince of Wales. To me he seemed anxious about her, kept looking at her intently and very warmly, I thought. Once the ceremony was over, the prince was the first member of the queen’s family to walk forward. After bowing to her, he kissed her hand. And then, much to my amazement, and everyone else’s, I think, she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. A journalist friend told me that it was totally out of order, that she had broken protocol. But anyway, she did it on the spur of the moment. I believe it was prompted by great emotion. Then to top it all, she kissed all of the other princes and princesses with genuine affection. Never been done before, and perhaps never again.
“When I got back to the paper, I wrote a story that was about a queen who was a mother. As I read my notes, I began to see so many little links into that angle. The end result? Readers loved it, and, most importantly, so did my editor.”
“I read the story myself and was moved by it,” Philip said. “And rather a proud father that day, George. As for this promotion, you deserve it. Congratulations again!”
“Thanks, Dad,” George said, and looked across the table at James. “Why that odd comment about the queen?”
“I think she’s treated the Prince of Wales very shoddily, and I don’t believe for one minute he caused his father’s death. Prince Albert died because he got sick and probably wasn’t given the correct treatment by doctors.”
“I agree with James,” Rossi announced.
“You always do,” Eddie muttered.
James said, “I have a lot of admiration for Bertie and many of the things he’s done for the country. You’ll see one day, when he comes to the throne, he’ll be a good king, if not, in fact, a great king.”
“Oddly enough, I tend to agree with you, James,” George replied. “About Bertie being a good king, although there are those who won’t. Unfortunately, there have been too many scandals…”
Esther cleared her throat and looked at George, frowning, and then her eyes shifted to Eddie. “Shall we think about dessert? We ordered something special, strawberries Romanov. Before we have the birthday cake.”
“One of my favorites,” James said, smiling at his grandmother. “I’d love to have that before my cake, and thank you, Grans.”
There was some discussion at the table about the extra dessert before the cake. Then George said to James, “Interesting, isn’t it, about Victoria? How her progeny sits on the thrones of Europe?”
“It is. But what has always intrigued me is that two Danish princesses, sisters, married two kings. Alix married the Prince of Wales and one day will be the Queen of England, and her sister, Minnie, married the late Czar of Russia, whose son Nicholas is now the czar.”
George sipped his wine for a second or two, and then remarked somewhat sarcastically, “And let’s not forget that the queen’s eldest daughter, Vicky, married the Emperor William’s son and heir, Fritz. They’ve had a son who one day will be kaiser himself. And he’s very anti-English, even though he’s the eldest grandson of our queen.”
“That’s food for thought,” James answered, and changed the subject. He began to speak about the theater and wanting to see Lillie Langtry’s new play.
* * *
Everyone present at the dinner knew that they must partake of the strawberries Romanov, so as not to offend Esther and Philip, who had already ordered it. Whilst they waited for it to be served, George excused himself, left the table, and returned a few seconds later with a package in his hand.
His brother Harry got up when George returned to the table, and it was Harry who spoke. “We wanted to get you a useful birthday present, James. But because you are you, we thought it ought to be something … really nice. And this is our choice.”
He handed the present to James. He and George then said, “Happy birthday!” in unison.
James opened the package, still looking somewhat startled, and then exclaimed, “Oh my goodness, a pocket watch! What a marvelous gift.” He was beaming as he held the watch in his hands and showed it to the rest of the family. Rising, he went to his two uncles and hugged them.
“I’ll help you to put it on later,” Philip said, smiling at his grandson.
Eddie, never one to be overlooked, announced to the table, “Dad and I gave James two cravats and two silk hankies for his top pocket. You did like them, didn’t you, Jimmy?”
“I did, very much, and thanks again, Eddie, and you, too, Dad.”
Rossi exclaimed, “And Mother and I made James two beautiful linen shirts.”
“Yes, they are very smart, and thank you both,” James said, looking from Rossi to his mother, who was sitting next to him. “I do believe I have been well and truly spoilt. And I shall never forget this birthday.”