Lost in his memories, he doesn’t realise he has stopped talking until Elizabeth’s hand slips into is. It is astonishingly comforting.

‘I don’t blame her,’ he says. ‘She was ill.’

‘I know she was.’

‘Everyone thinks I’m embarrassed about her but I’m not,’ Philip says, as if she has contradicted him. ‘I’m proud of her. She isn’t afraid of anything. The rest of the royal family left Greece after 1941, but my mother stuck it out in terrible conditions during the occupation. In the last few months before the end of the war, she survived on bread and butter and she gave away every other scrap of food she could find to people she said needed it more than she did.

‘It was even more dangerous in Athens after the liberation,’ he goes on. ‘The communists were fighting the British for control and there was a strict curfew but my mother insisted on going out anyway to distribute food to children. She told me yesterday that the British forces tried to get her to stay inside because it wasn’t safe. They were worried she might be hit by a stray bullet, but she just shrugged. Apparently she reminded them of the saying that you don’t hear the shot that kills you. “I’m deaf in any case,” she said, “so why worry about that?”’

‘I’d forgotten that she is deaf,’ Elizabeth says. ‘It must be hard for her.’

‘She lipreads very well but her voice … she doesn’t have the same tone as people who can hear,’ Philip says. ‘I never thought about it as a child, but I can hear it now. There’s no getting away from the fact that she can seem strange, Elizabeth. She’s not like other royals. My sisters can put on a show. They know how to be royal; they’ve been doing it all their lives. And you can rely on cousins like Sandra to put on tiaras and behave. But my mother?’ He lifts his shoulders. ‘No, she’s different. If we ever get to a wedding, I’m warning you now that there’ll be pressure to hide her away.’

‘No.’ Elizabeth’s voice is quiet but firm. ‘That won’t happen, Philip, I promise you. She’s your mother. She’ll be there.’

Chapter 37

London, June 1947

The meeting between Elizabeth and Princess Alice goes better than Philip has expected. Proud of his mother he may be, but Elizabeth can never have encountered anyone quite so unimpressed by her position or so unconcerned with protocol.

But then, his mother is a great-granddaughter of Queen Victoria. She is not impressed by royalty.

Alice takes Elizabeth’s face between her weathered hands and looks deep into her eyes. ‘Yes, good,’ she decides. ‘You will do.’

‘Mama …’ Philip begins, embarrassed, but Elizabeth gestures to him to be quiet and in any case, his mother hasn’t heard him.

‘Am I good enough for Philip?’ Elizabeth asks, smiling, and Alice laughs as she drops her hands.

‘Yes, you have true eyes. And you speak slowly and clearly. This makes me very happy.’