She is holding on to that.

She knows Philip can come across as arrogant. He is quick-tempered and impatient of pretentiousness and deference. Sometimes, yes, he is off-hand with her. He isn’t attentive but he teases her and disagrees with her and tells her exactly what he thinks. He doesn’t love her, but he likes her and he treats her like a woman instead of a princess. That is enough for Elizabeth.

‘We’re happy,’ she tells Margaret, uncomfortably aware of the defensive note in her voice. ‘Or we would be if Papa would just let us marry.’

‘He won’t be able to say no when we get back from South Africa,’ Margaret reassures her and Elizabeth sighs and touches Philip’s photo one last time before turning away.

‘I hope you’re right.’

As HMS Vanguard ploughs on into the Atlantic Ocean, the swell gets heavier and the wind more brutal. It screams past the portholes, sprays the deck with sleet and whips up great waves that send the ship pitching and lurching. Long before they reach the Bay of Biscay, Elizabeth is miserably seasick. She lies in her bunk and keeps her eyes fixed on Philip’s photo. If she dies, she will never see him again. That’s all she can think, but sometimes the sickness is so bad she wants only to die anyway.

Margaret doesn’t help by regularly bouncing into Elizabeth’s cabin and demanding to know if she is better yet. ‘Everybody’s miserable except me and Peter,’ she declares.

‘Peter?’

‘Yes, Peter. Peter.’ Margaret stares at her. ‘Gosh, you must be sick if you can’t remember Peter! He’s Papa’s equerry, for heaven’s sake!’

‘Urghh.’ It’s the best Elizabeth can manage.

‘Peter and I have been out on deck,’ Margaret rattles on. ‘It’s not as bad as it was. I had to hold on to him when we first went out, the wind was so strong but it was fun. And then we were both starving so Peter asked if we could have some lunch and we had the most delicious shepherd’s pie—’ She stops as Elizabeth beckons her closer. ‘What, Lil?’

‘I hate you, Margaret,’ Elizabeth says, weak but perfectly distinct. ‘Go away.’

Margaret only laughs merrily and dances out while Elizabeth turns her face to the wall with a groan.

***

It is two days before Elizabeth can sit up, three before she can leave the cabin on shaky legs. It is like venturing into a new world. The wind has dropped, the seas have quietened and the sun glitters on a dazzling expanse of water. Whichever way she looks there is only space and light.

She stands at the rail, breathing in the ozone, astounded by the power of the ocean. Vanguard steams on, engines throbbing, while the breeze lifts her hair and her spirits rise in response. She can barely remember life before the war. Since then it has been a dreary world, a world of dim lights and grey weather and rationing and making do, even at Buckingham Palace. All this glitter, all this light, feels like a gift. Elizabeth feels as if she has been cut loose, untethered, and she grips the rail almost as if she might float away.