He pauses and Elizabeth realises she is holding her breath.

‘I don’t mind telling you I was terrified to breathe in case the pilot noticed us,’ he says with a ghost of a grin, almost as if he had read her mind. ‘Not that it would have made any difference! The next thing we knew a bomb was screaming down … but it wasn’t anywhere near us, thank God. The pilot must have seen the flaming debris and thought he had done for us the first time, so he was finishing off all that was left of Wallace.’

‘Exactly what you wanted him to think, in fact,’ Elizabeth says.

Philip sends her a glimmering smile. ‘Quite. We were lucky he fell for it. We lived to fight another day.’

‘T-thanks to you,’ says the King, whose stammer still surfaces occasionally even when he is relaxed.

Philip holds up a self-deprecating hand. ‘You don’t want to listen to Uncle Dickie, sir. You know yourself how it works on a ship. It’s never just one man’s idea, especially not under circumstances like that. You don’t have time to think, just to act.’

‘Well, we’re very grateful to you for doing both. What’s next for you, Philip?’

‘I’m heading up to Newcastle, of all places, I believe. They’re commissioning a new destroyer, Whelp, and I’m to oversee the finishing touches before she’s ready for active service. After that, I hope I’ll see some action again.’

Chapter 8

Philip’s footsteps echo along the stone corridors as he gropes his way back to his room later that night. Kicking off his shoes, he yawns hugely and wrenches at his collar so he can fall backwards onto the bed. Whatever other changes the war has foisted on Windsor Castle, it hasn’t affected the excellent wine cellar.

The evening has gone off quite well, he decides, pleased. The King seems disposed to like him, although he may have to put in a bit more effort with the Queen, just as Uncle Dickie warned.

More importantly, he has made some progress with Elizabeth. He didn’t miss the admiring way she looked at him when he was talking about that nerve-wracking night on Wallace. Uncle Dickie will be pleased with him.

Best not to push it, Philip muses. He will go back to London tomorrow. There are still a few days to go until Christmas and he doesn’t fancy spending them on his best behaviour at Windsor. He and his cousin, David Milford Haven, are invited for Christmas itself, so they can come back together on Christmas Eve. In the meantime, there will be parties and maybe a chance to catch up with Osla, although he senses a certain cooling there.

He will need to go carefully with Elizabeth. Isolated at Windsor, she is unlikely to pick up on any gossip, but still it behoves him to be discreet, Philip realises. He has seen how quickly she withdraws, like a snail shrinking into its shell at the slightest brush of familiarity, but he is sure he can coax her out, given time.