***

Some ten days later, Philip receives another invitation to supper at Buckingham Palace with the princesses. This time he is prepared for the nursery atmosphere and dresses down in an open-necked shirt and tweed jacket. They eat sausages and mash served by the avuncular footman, Cyril, and drink orangeade again. It’s awful stuff, but after a heavy night with David the previous evening, Philip is quite glad to give his system a rest.

Margaret’s presence keeps the conversation light. She likes to be teased, although not too much, and is inclined to get huffy if she feels he has gone too far. Not that Philip takes any notice of that. Margaret is tough, as only the truly self-centred can be. She can take it, he reckons.

He is gentler with Elizabeth but he’s not going to treat her like glass. He has a shrewd notion that she is surrounded by deference and that, if nothing else, his breezy attitude will make a refreshing change. So he teases her too and enjoys seeing her face bloom into a smile. It transforms her into a warm and pretty young woman. She will never be a beauty, he thinks, but she is very appealing when she laughs.

Privately, Philip makes it his mission to make Elizabeth laugh more often. She needs more fun in her life, he decides.

‘Let’s have a race,’ he says.

They look at him blankly. ‘A race?’

‘It’s raining and it’s dark,’ Margaret points out, as if to a child. ‘Where are you thinking of holding this race?’

‘We don’t have to go outside. How many miles of corridors have you got here?’

‘We can’t run inside,’ Elizabeth says, shocked.

‘Why not? We used to get the crew running round the deck to keep them amused and fit. There must be more room here.’

‘Well, yes, but—’

Margaret jumps to her feet. ‘I’ll race you, Philip. I bet I can beat you too.’

‘Is that a challenge, brat?’

‘Down to the end of the corridor and back,’ she suggests but he shakes his head with a grin as he gets lazily to his feet.

‘That’s not far enough. I vote down the corridor, along to the staircase, down to the entrance, up the Grand Staircase and back here.’

‘All right,’ says Margaret, brightening at the thought of a challenge.

‘Elizabeth, you’re in this race too.’

‘Oh, no, I don’t think …’

‘No excuses.’ Philip stands over her, holding out a hand, until she takes it and lets him pull her to her feet.

‘I’m not sure we should be doing this,’ Elizabeth says nervously but Philip isn’t having any of it.

‘You’re a princess,’ he reminds her. ‘You can do what you like in your own home. We’re all racing.’

Ignoring her feeble protests, he chivvies her into a starting position next to Margaret who is already crouched and ready to go. ‘Look, even Susan is up for it,’ he points out as the corgi heaves herself out of her basket and follows them out into the corridor. ‘I’ll even give you a head start,’ he offers.