‘I’m not as precious as you.’

Elizabeth sighs and pushes a wisp of hair away from her face. ‘I just wish I could do something.’

‘You are doing something,’ Philip surprises himself by saying. ‘You’re representing hope for the future. We all need you more than you know.’

‘Thank you,’ she says softly after a moment. ‘That makes me feel less useless.’

‘Besides, it’s not as if you’re completely out of danger here, are you? I was given my instructions on how to find the bomb shelter. Although I doubt I’d be able to find it again – it was hard enough finding my bedroom,’ he goes on, coaxing a smile out of her at last.

‘It’s not an easy place to find your way around, is it? Especially not in the blackout. In the early years of the war we used to practise what would happen if there was an invasion and we had to escape,’ she tells him. ‘We had to run down to the armoured cars in the darkness. There’s only enough room for Margaret and me and Crawfie and some luggage. They told us we’d only be allowed to take one corgi.’

‘It must have been a dilemma wondering which dog to take.’ Philip tries to lighten the conversation, and Elizabeth smiles back at him.

‘Well, it was!’

He feels like punching the air. Her smiles are rare, but worth waiting for.

By unspoken consent, they turn the conversation away from the war.

‘Where are the dogs, anyway?’ Philip asks. ‘You talk about them so much in your letters, I was expecting to have to fight my way through them to get at you.’

Get at you. That wasn’t the right way to talk to Princess Elizabeth, Philip berates himself mentally. Uncle Dickie would have his hide if he could hear him!

Subtlety, my dear boy, subtlety. Philip can practically hear Mountbatten’s voice.

Fortunately, Elizabeth seems to realise he is teasing, though the faint colour that tinges her cheeks suggests she might have been a little taken aback at his forthright reference to why he was there.

‘They’re cattle dogs,’ she says, shifting her stole up onto one shoulder. It promptly slithers down her other arm. ‘They like to herd people up and nip at ankles, and they can be a bit naughty. Consider yourself fortunate that they’re shut away tonight.’

‘Lucky for me,’ Philip murmurs, but he is distracted by the slippery stole that is dragging his attention to her bare arms. He wonders what it would be like to draw the stole up into place for her. Her skin would be warm, the fur would be soft. His fingers twitch with the urge to touch and his mouth dries so abruptly that he takes a slug of his whisky.

It is unexpectedly intriguing, the way she swings between shyness and sensible conversation, the way she turns aside compliments and talks of dogs and knitting, apparently unaware of the lures at her disposal: the creamy skin, the enticing figure, the curve of her mouth.