‘And the sovereign’s daughter,’ says Philip, looking from one to the other.

‘Porchey’s a terrific horseman,’ Elizabeth puts in quickly in an attempt to defuse the antagonism.

‘Is he?’

‘Do you ride?’ Porchey asks Philip.

‘No,’ he says. ‘I’m more of a speed man. I like fast cars and fast boats.’

‘I like speed too,’ says Porchey, ‘but I like fast horses.’

‘So do I,’ Elizabeth says quickly. ‘I remember my grandfather taking me to his stud at Sandringham and being allowed to pat Limelight, who was one of his favourites. And it was only last year that I went with Papa to the Beckhampton stables and said hello to Big Game. I promise you, I didn’t wash my hand for the rest of the day.’

‘What about you?’ Porchey looks at Philip with a trace of hostility. ‘You’re a long way from the sea for a naval man, aren’t you?’

‘I’m on shore leave. I’ve been on convoy duty, escorting merchant ships from Rosyth and Sheerness.

‘Isn’t that route the one they call E-boat Alley?’ she asks.

Philip’s brows rise in surprise. ‘You’re well-informed.’

For a girl, or for a seventeen-year-old? Elizabeth is both those things, but she is more, too.

‘I feel I must be.’ She doesn’t want to tell him how carefully she has followed his movements with every letter. She has a map of the world with pins marking his route. It has felt like the only way she can connect with him.

Two years ago, when Philip came for tea at Windsor, she and Margaret had been enthralled by his devil-may-care attitude and the entertaining way he talked about his experiences. Afterwards, she shyly offered to write to him, and of course was thrilled when he said he would be delighted to get a letter from her. But then, what else could he say? He had even replied occasionally. It was kind of him to find the time to write at all, Elizabeth always told herself as she read and reread his letters in vain for any indication he thought of her as anything other than a remote member of his extended family.

‘I try to keep up with what is happening in the war everywhere,’ she adds, wincing inside at how pompous she sounds.

It is true, though. All round the world, people are fighting in her father’s name, and one day they will fight in hers. The least she owes them is to know what is going on.

It is almost a relief when her mother, arriving late as usual, beckons Porchey over. He is a favourite with the Queen. Elizabeth is not supposed to know, but her mother has a ‘first eleven’ list of potential husbands in mind for her, and Porchey is on it. It’s no secret that she wants Elizabeth to marry an aristocrat from a background similar to her own.

Elizabeth is very fond of Porchey but she can’t imagine marrying him. He’s a friend. He would be safe. He would be kind. Those are good qualities to have in a husband, she can see that, but marrying Porchey would mean that everything in her life would carry on exactly as it has always done. Elizabeth is ready for a change.