What a difference Philip’s declaration has made! Sometimes her happiness is so acute it almost hurts. Knowing he loves her has somehow made everything fall into place. All the petty tensions in the wedding plans seem to have evaporated and the palace, so tired and dreary after the war, has come alive again and for the past week has been buzzing with good-humoured preparations. Staff flit around, swathed in aprons, ferociously dusting and cleaning chandeliers and polishing silver. Stacks of gilt chairs line the corridors, ready for refreshments for the ball tonight, and then for the wedding breakfast. The scent of huge floral displays drifts in the air, mingling with that of furniture polish, while the sound of hoovering and musicians tuning up has become the norm.

Nobody can hear themselves speak and the dancefloor is a crush but everybody seems to be enjoying themselves so Elizabeth counts the ball a success. True, there have been a couple of incidents, but no good party is without those, or so they say. Elizabeth herself was dancing with Uncle Dickie when the plump Princess Juliana of the Netherlands slipped and fell to the floor where she lay, upended like a turtle, while the band trailed off and everyone froze. Elizabeth didn’t dare look at Mountbatten: she could tell he was trying not to laugh and if he did, she wouldn’t be able to help herself. There was an excruciating silence until the princess’s partner, the Duke of Gloucester, managed to help her, not without difficulty, to her feet and the band hastily resumed.

‘Good of your father to lay on some comedy as well,’ Mountbatten murmured provocatively and Elizabeth had to press her lips firmly together to stop laughing.

‘Stop it!’ she muttered.

‘No, really. Everyone’s having a terrific time. Did you hear about one of our Indian friends who has been taking advantage of the plentiful champagne?’

‘No,’ she said with foreboding. ‘What happened?’

‘He took exception to the Duke of Devonshire for some reason. Or maybe he did have a reason. Poor old Ted took a punch on the nose.’

‘Oh, dear.’

‘He’s all right,’ Mountbatten told her, his eyes gleaming with amusement. ‘The Maharajah in question has been escorted off for a “rest”,’ he added and then leant closer. ‘We’re far enough away from dear Juliana … I think we’re allowed to laugh now, don’t you?’

The memory is still making Elizabeth chuckle when Philip comes up beside her later. ‘Hello, you, what are you giggling about?’

She tells him about Princess Juliana’s mishap. ‘It sounds so unkind, but it was funny!’

Philip grins. ‘Uncle Dickie’s right about the comedy. You know Beatrice Lillie?’

‘The comedienne?’

‘She outdid herself tonight. Apparently, she’d been told she wasn’t allowed to smoke in the royal presence – a message that seems to have passed your father by – but she was desperate for a cigarette. Of course, Margaret chose that moment to stop and talk to her and poor Beatrice didn’t know what to do with her cigarette. There were no ashtrays nearby and she could hardly grind it into the floor.’