Elizabeth does not care about his inheritance, but she understands that Philip might. Niggling at the back of her mind is the fear that he might use his poverty as an excuse to back away.

‘Still?’ The Queen sniffs. ‘It can’t take that long to sort out his father’s affairs, surely? It’s not as if Andrea had anything to leave.’

‘Yes, still,’ Elizabeth says shortly. ‘Margaret, please could you pass the marmalade?’

Philip’s latest letter was from Paris. He stopped there on his way home and arranged to meet Hélène Foufounis or whatever she was called now. For reasons Elizabeth does not understand, Hélène, now divorced, has left her two children with her mother in London and is living on her own and working as a shop girl in Paris. Philip has told Elizabeth of the fun they are having, how they raced across Paris, he on a ridiculously small bicycle, while Hélène took the metro. Hélène won, of course, and was helpless with laughter at the sight of him pedalling frantically down the Champs Elysées, his knees practically up to his ears.

Hélène had actually dared walk into the Travellers Club where he was staying.

No women are allowed across its hallowed portals, so you can imagine the horror! I bundled her out pretty quickly and gave her a lecture on not intruding into an all-male sanctuary, though she didn’t seem to understand in the least.

He and Hélène lunch or dine together almost every day, delicious meals in marvellously cheap bistros where Hélène knows the owner, of course. They have taken a horse-drawn carriage across Paris. They have strolled over the Pont Neuf and under the lime trees in the Tuileries.

Elizabeth knows none of these places. All she knows is that Philip is having a good time without her and seems in no hurry to come home.

He kissed her, Elizabeth reminds herself again and again. It was her first kiss, and he would not have done it if he hadn’t been serious, would he?

She thought it was all settled, bar some complications to do with Greek politics, but then Philip disappeared. He told her he was going to collect his father’s effects, but he has extended his trip again and again, first to Germany and now to Paris. Elizabeth doesn’t mind him enjoying himself, of course she doesn’t. He probably needs some light-hearted fun after the emotion of going through his father’s things. And she isn’t jealous of Hélène, not really. She understands that Hélène is one of Philip’s oldest friends.

It’s just hard to convince herself that Philip is missing her as much as she is missing him.

‘He’ll be home soon,’ she tells her mother, praying that it will be true. She takes a bite of toast and waits until she has swallowed before adding, ‘I thought it would be nice to invite him to Balmoral this August.’

She is tired of waiting, Elizabeth realises. She wants things to be settled. There are too many distractions for Philip here in London. She longs to get away and take him with her, where they can think. The image of Balmoral rises before her: golden hills, clear air, the quiet broken only by the wind and the gentle rush of the Dee.