Fortunately, the court jeweller arrives just after her secretary has left, presumably having passed Jock on the stairs, and doing his best to look dignified in spite of being distinctly breathless. He purses his lips when shown the tiara and is told the bride is due to leave at eleven but manages to retain an air of avuncular calm. ‘I cannot promise a perfect job in view of the time,’ he begins, only for Elizabeth to interrupt.

‘I don’t mind as long as I can wear it,’ she says. ‘I must wear it!’

The jeweller bows. ‘Then wear it you shall, Your Royal Highness. I will be as quick as I can.’

‘Now,’ says the Queen when he too has gone, ‘let’s all calm down.’

Elizabeth’s earlier feeling of serenity has completely deserted her, but she knows her mother is right. She thinks about Philip and how he would react to a broken tiara, and instantly feels steadier. He is what is important today, she reminds herself, pressing her fingertips to her chest to slow her breathing.

It enables her to stand still while they deal with earrings, and shoes, and the long, beautifully embroidered veil is carefully pinned to her hair awaiting the crowning touch of the repaired tiara, but as time ticks on and there is no sign of either Jock or the jeweller, Elizabeth begins to fret again. She wants to pace but she can’t with the veil on. She twists her hands together instead. What is she going to do with her hands during the walk up the aisle?

‘My bouquet!’ she exclaims, suddenly realising she hasn’t seen it yet. ‘Where is it?’

There are glances of consternation around the room. Nobody knows. ‘It’s been delivered,’ the Queen says, ‘I’m sure of it.’ Although she doesn’t sound sure. ‘It must be somewhere.’

Summoning a footman from the corridor outside, the Queen sends him to organise a search for the missing bouquet, and Norman Hartnell delegates two of his team to help them. Elizabeth can hear the sound of footsteps running along the corridors and doors being unceremoniously flung open.

There is still no sign of the bouquet when the jeweller comes back. Everyone lets out a simultaneous sigh of relief as he slides the tiara safely onto her hair, followed by another as a panting, red-faced dresser returns with news that the bouquet has been found in the porter’s lodge icebox.

‘A footman put it there to keep it cool so it could be given to you at the last minute,’ the dresser says. ‘But then he went off duty and forgot.’

‘Now we just need Jock with the necklace.’ Elizabeth’s hand keeps straying to her throat where the pearls will nestle.

‘It’s almost time,’ the Queen says anxiously. She is wearing a flattering dress in an apricot-coloured silk brocade. ‘I need to go, I’m afraid. They’ll be waiting for me downstairs. I’m going in the car with Margaret.’

‘All right, Mummy.’ Elizabeth kisses her mother. ‘See you at the abbey!’