‘I’m glad you’re coming back for Christmas,’ she says abruptly and Philip smiles.

‘So am I.’

Chapter 7

They eat in the State Dining Room. With the velvet curtains drawn against the winter night, it could almost be as it was before the war, Elizabeth thinks. The log fire may be meagre in the magnificent fireplace and the elaborate gilding on the walls and ceiling dulled, but the light is so dim one can hardly tell. The great mirrors on either side of the fireplace are warm with the wavering candlelight; the silver gilt gleams, while the mahogany table is polished to such a high shine that one can see the immaculately set crystal glasses reflected in it.

The meal itself is hardly a match for the setting, but her parents pride themselves on being rationed like everyone else, and at least they have access to game from the royal estates. Some pheasants have been sent down from Sandringham and are served roasted with vegetables grown in the castle gardens. Like everyone else in the country, the cook does his best with what he can get.

For Elizabeth, it is a change from the usual nursery suppers. She is content to sit and let the conversation flow around her. She wants to think about Philip. What was it he had said about the dogs? I was expecting to fight my way through them to get at you. She still doesn’t know quite what to think of that. A part of her is affronted: Philip sounded as if he assumed he could just walk into a room and claim her like a parcel. Elizabeth is not someone who can be ‘got at’. She expects to be treated with the deference due to her as heir to the throne.

Another part of her, she reluctantly admits to herself, felt an unwilling thrill at his arrogance.

Philip isn’t like the other men. Listen to him now, telling Papa about his ship being dive-bombed somewhere off Sicily.

‘There were three of the blighters coming for Wallace,’ he is saying, and she is not the only one listening. His expression is alert, amused, his gestures expansive. Compared to the deferential courtiers whose every movement is discreet, he is overwhelming, but her father doesn’t seem to mind.

‘We all dived for cover at first,’ Philip goes on, ‘but the first Stuka missed us completely. We thought that was a lucky escape and we kept our heads down as the second one came in low.’ His hand swoops over his plate in demonstration. His smile glimmers. ‘But he missed, too, and then blow me down if the third pilot didn’t strike out as well! They were at it for about half an hour and they didn’t get a single hit!’

The King is laughing. He likes Philip, Elizabeth notes with relief.

‘We ended up standing on the deck jeering at them,’ says Philip. ‘Eventually they gave up or ran out of ammunition. I don’t think they can have been the Luftwaffe’s finest. I can only think they must have been flying with shocking hangovers.’