Uncle Dickie. Philip needs no reminding of Mountbatten’s interest in the affair. He doesn’t want to alienate his uncle who would be furious if Philip backed off now. He has already lost one father. He cannot afford to lose another.

It is time to commit himself. The thought leaves Philip depressed. He has to be back at Corsham the next day which at least gives him a chance to postpone the need to make things up with Elizabeth. She’ll get over it, whatever it is, he tells himself, but the stricken look in her eyes niggles at him and he is snappy all week. An attempt to distract himself with a darts competition at the Methuen Arms ends in humiliation when he can barely hit the board, to the jeers of the local team.

On Thursday, Philip rings Elizabeth. ‘Can I take you out for a drive this weekend?’

There is a slight hesitation at the other end of the line. ‘I think it’s better if you come here,’ she says. ‘We’ll have supper.’

He misses the joyful lift in her voice, Philip realises as he hangs up. He will have to try harder.

Her dresser’s criticism of his wardrobe lingers and he even finds his hand hovering over a tie as he gets ready to go to the palace, but why the hell should he follow convention? He is not going to change. Elizabeth will have to take him as he is.

It’s a relief to be shown into her sitting room and discover that Elizabeth is alone, apart from her precious corgi which bustles over to sniff at his ankles.

‘No Margaret?’

‘Crawfie’s taken her to a ballet. I thought it would be better if we were alone.’

‘I’m glad.’ Philip hesitates. Her hands are folded at her waist as if holding herself in. ‘Did I do something wrong last weekend, Elizabeth?’ he asks gently. ‘You left the party so abruptly.’

Her eyes slide away from his. ‘It wasn’t anything you did,’ she says with difficulty. ‘I was … embarrassed.’

‘Embarrassed?’ It is the last thing Philip has been expecting.

‘People are gossiping.’ Elizabeth takes a breath. ‘About you and me.’

‘I’m afraid they will,’ he says. ‘Do you want me not to come and see you so often?’

‘No … oh, I don’t know what I want!’ she bursts out. ‘I hate knowing that my private life, my feelings, are being talked about in pubs and shops and parties.’ She struggles to contain herself before she goes on. ‘I went to open a factory the other day and everyone was calling out “Where’s Philip?” as if you and I were … were …’

‘Lovers?’ Philip suggests when she trails off.

Colour stains her cheeks and she doesn’t answer.

‘Is that what you want, Elizabeth?’ he asks after a moment.

She turns away to the long window that looks out over the Mall, lit in the darkness by car headlights. A fretful spring day has thrown showers against the windows and the glass is still gleaming with raindrops, tiny silvery circles against the darkness.