‘By cart. The children hid under the straw.’ Sophie smiles faintly at his expression. ‘I know, a princess reduced to travelling in a smelly farmer’s cart! That’s just how things were, Philip. There were no buses, no trains, no fuel for cars, even if there were any that hadn’t been requisitioned. It was frightening, though,’ she admits. ‘I was terrified that someone would spot the children and rip the clothes from their backs. Or worse. I tell you, in those days, people were starving. Their cities were obliterated. They were feral, like animals. It was every man for himself.’

Philip thinks about his war, those moments of terror interspersed with, frankly, some bloody good times. He remembers reading Elizabeth’s letter about the euphoria on VE Day. The British have suffered during the war, undoubtedly, but not like Germany.

‘Come, enough of that.’ Reading his expression, Sophie smiles and pats his arm. ‘Let us talk of more cheerful things. Tell me about you, Philip. What are you going to do now the war is over?’

He hesitates. ‘I’m thinking of getting engaged,’ he says slowly.

‘We’ve heard the rumours, of course, but it’s hard to know how much to believe.’ She cocks her head on one side, studying him. ‘It would be a great match.’

‘Oh, I know, I know …’ Philip kicks moodily at the weedy gravel. ‘Uncle Dickie is being very helpful,’ he says, but not as if he is glad about it.

‘I can imagine,’ says Sophie in a dry voice. ‘You don’t sound very keen,’ she ventures after a while as they turn and walk up the shallow stone steps to the terrace. ‘What is Elizabeth like?’

‘She’s decent,’ he says. ‘One of the most decent people I’ve ever met, in fact,’ he adds, almost in surprise, realising it as if for the first time. ‘There’s no side to her. She’s shy, and she’s kind, and she thinks about other people, which is not something that can be said about the rest of that family,’ he adds humorously. ‘The Queen can be charming when she wants, but she never considers anyone but herself. Same for the King, but without the charm, and as for Margaret, she has to be the centre of attention. But Elizabeth … perhaps it’s because she doesn’t have to try to be the centre of anything. She just is.’

‘Your voice softens when you talk about her,’ Sophie observes.

Philip nods. ‘I like her.’

‘Not love?’

‘Come on, Tiny, you know the ropes. For the likes of us, marriage isn’t about love.’

‘I loved Chri,’ she says quietly.

Chastened, he squeezes the hand on his arm. ‘I know. I’m sorry, Tiny. Mama wrote to me about what a hard time you’ve had.’

‘Thank you.’ Sophie musters a smile. ‘But now I am to marry again,’ she says, determinedly cheerful. ‘I will be happy with Georg. I like him.’

‘Not love?’

‘Ah, touché …’ She lets go of his arm to lean against the stone balustrade and look out over the neglected gardens. In the distance, Lake Constance gleams in the late afternoon sun. ‘Georg is a gentle man, a good man. I will be safe with him. I can make a home with him. I want that more than anything. After all the upheavals, I want to stop moving around and making do and finding my way. And I want the children to have somewhere to belong.’ She slides him a glance. ‘I suppose you think that’s very dull?’