Why had she told him that? Elizabeth cringes inwardly. Philip has been fighting. He has seen the reality of war. He is hardly going to be impressed by a silly girl yearning for soap.

But he doesn’t sneer, which is kind of him. ‘We all need a dream for when the war is over,’ he says.

Realising that she is still fidgeting with the cap, Elizabeth drops it onto the table behind her. ‘I’m awfully glad that you’ll be joining us for Christmas,’ she says bravely.

‘Not as glad as I am,’ Philip says. ‘Dickie and Edwina are away and I have nowhere else to go. It would have been a very sad Christmas for me otherwise.’

Elizabeth doubts that. She is not a fool. She is sure Philip has lots of girlfriends who would be delighted to invite him to share Christmas with them. She knows he is only here at Mountbatten’s bidding. His uncle’s plans for an alliance with the House of Windsor are common knowledge but what Philip thinks of the idea is less clear.

Elizabeth knows what she wants.

‘Well, we’ll be a very small party so it’s lucky for us that you’re not at sea,’ she says, willing the stiffness from her voice.

‘My ship’s being refitted so I’m on shore duty for a couple of months.’

So he has been around for several weeks without coming to see her, Elizabeth notes dully. But then, what was she expecting? Yes, he writes sometimes, but they are not friends. They hardly know each other. He has filled a large space in her life, but whatever he may plan for the future, for now she occupies only a very small space in his.

Elizabeth may not know how to flirt but she has not been hosting lunches for the Guards officers at the castle without learning how to make conversation, and she has her pride, after all.

‘How do they keep you busy?’ she asks Philip.

‘Instructional courses mostly.’ If Philip notices the coolness in her voice, he gives no sign of it. ‘Deadly dull, to tell you the truth. I can’t wait to get back to sea. It feels all wrong to be kicking my heels here when other chaps are still out there fighting.’ He stops. ‘I’m sorry, that sounded rude and ungrateful. I didn’t mean that I’m not glad to be here,’ he says. ‘Here at Windsor, I mean. With you.’

There is a tiny moment of silence. With you. Elizabeth is very conscious of the stickiness of the greasepaint on her face. The satin tights have become crumpled and twisted at one ankle and the collar of the jacket is chafing her neck.

‘I understand,’ she says, achieving a stiff little smile. Crawfie is hovering and the babble of overexcited voices from the cast behind them is growing louder and more boisterous. Her parents must have left.

She gestures down at her costume. ‘I’d better change,’ she says, hardly knowing whether she is glad or sorry to bring the conversation to a close. There is something about Philip that makes her nervous. She is drawn to him almost against her will. He reminds her of a stallion, alluring and dangerous at the same time, a horse she longs to ride but one which might easily bolt.