The worst part of it, Philip acknowledges to himself, is not knowing what Elizabeth herself feels now. She has been schooled to keep her thoughts to herself, but he’d hoped he had got past that invisible guard she erects between herself and the world. Now, he’s not so sure.

They just need some time alone together. Is that too much to ask? Philip grimaces as his knee twinges with every step. He hopes Margaret isn’t there as she usually is for these palace suppers. Elizabeth’s sister can be fun but she dominates the conversation and all too often Elizabeth lets her.

As with so much else at the moment, luck isn’t with him. When Cyril announces him, the first person Philip sees is Margaret, lounging on the sofa in front of the fire and reading a newspaper. He bends to greet Susan who bustles to meet him, then lifts his eyes to Elizabeth. She looks tired, he thinks, and there are lines of strain around eyes, but she smiles and offers her cheek for a chaste embrace.

‘I’m so glad you’re all right,’ she says.

‘All right?’ Philip bristles instantly. ‘Of course I’m all right!’

Margaret waves the newspaper at him. ‘We’ve just been reading about your accident.’

‘Oh, good God, they didn’t bother with that, did they? It was nothing!’

‘That’s not what this paper thinks,’ Margaret informs him. ‘They say you’ve got a reputation for speeding and they think you should be more careful.’ She folds the paper to the right column. ‘“His well-being is essential to the happiness of the heiress of the throne,”’ she reads out.

Philip throws himself down into an armchair. ‘It would be nice if someone gave a fig about my happiness for a change,’ he grumbles.

‘But are you really all right?’ Elizabeth asks as sits carefully in the armchair opposite. Typical of Margaret to appropriate the sofa so he can’t even sit next to his own fiancée, Philip thinks sourly. ‘It sounds as if it was a nasty accident.’

‘It was nothing,’ Philip says again. Irritated, he pulls out his cigarettes, extracts one and taps it on the packet. ‘I skidded on a wet road and ended up in a hedge. Banged my knee up a bit but that’s it. There’s no need for anyone to fuss.’

‘I worry about you driving so fast,’ Elizabeth admits. ‘And smoking,’ she adds pointedly as he fishes out his lighter.

Deliberately Philip lights his cigarette and inhales. ‘I didn’t realise getting engaged meant giving up all my pleasures in life,’ he says.

‘You can see what heavy smoking has done to Papa. Call me a killjoy if you want, but I’d rather you didn’t end up ill too.’

‘Terrific,’ Philip says sarcastically. ‘No speeding, no smoking … this marriage is going to be a barrel of laughs, I can see. Uncle Dickie arranged for me to have lunch with Winston Churchill just so the great man could impress on me what a serious business it is marrying the heir to the throne. As if I thought it was nothing but a joke!’ He blows smoke at the ceiling. ‘Not that it’s been much fun so far.’