‘Gosh, what did she do?’

‘Only stuffed it down the front of her dress!’ Philip’s solid body shakes with laughter. ‘I was watching as Beatrice tried to make polite conversation with Margaret while smoke drifted up from her cleavage. Some enterprising chap doused her with a glass of water. It did not go down well!’

Elizabeth puts a hand to her mouth to stifle her giggle. ‘I wish I’d seen that!’

‘And I’ve just overheard Field Marshal Smuts trying to charm Queen Mary. Talk about brave!’

‘What did he say?’

Philip puts on a creditable South African accent and strikes a pose. ‘“You, Your Majesty, you are the big potato,”’ he quotes Smuts, pretending to shake a finger in Elizabeth’s face. ‘“All the other queens here are just small potatoes, but you, you are the big one.”’

Imagining her grandmother’s face at being compared to a potato, Elizabeth collapses into helpless laughter. When she looks up at him, smiling and wiping the tears of laughter from her eyes, Elizabeth surprises an arrested expression in Philip’s icy blue eyes. ‘What?’

‘I was just thinking that you’re to be the big potato yourself one day,’ he says.

‘Even big potatoes need someone by their side,’ says Elizabeth and Philip’s face relaxes into a smile.

‘I’ll be there,’ he says, ‘reminding you just what a wonderful potato you are.’

‘I hope so. A potato should go well with the little cabbage that your mother calls you.’ Tucking her hand into Philip’s arm, Elizabeth smiles as she surveys the crowded room. ‘Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves, don’t they?’

‘They do. Even the big potato is in a feisty mood. That’s the good thing about weddings. It’s a chance to get families together. Half my relatives came over from Europe on the train ferry together and are all staying at Claridge’s. I went round to say hello the other night and the noise was unbelievable,’ Philip says with an affectionate grin. ‘They were all talking at the same time, as usual. They took over half the restaurant and spent the whole evening table hopping, drinking out of each other’s glasses, gossiping …’ His smile fades a little. ‘I couldn’t help thinking how much my sisters would have loved being there.’

Elizabeth leans into him in wordless sympathy. ‘I wish they could have been, Philip.’

‘I know.’ Philip squeezes the hand on his arm and makes an obvious effort to push the momentary sadness away as he brightens his voice. ‘But you’ll be glad to know that Uncle Dickie has at last persuaded my mother to abandon her nun’s habit for the wedding.’

‘Oh good. What is she going to wear?’

‘Don’t ask me,’ he says unhelpfully. ‘A grey dress, not a nun’s habit, that’s all I know.’ He eases his arm away so he can take her hand in a firm grip. ‘Now, come on, let’s go and dance. I’ve done my duty with every queen and princess in the room, and now I want to dance with my fiancée.’