The kitchen was homely with a pine table and an old dresser on which antique china had been arranged. The back door led to the walled garden that Camilla had looked down on from her bedroom. There was a small patio area, not visible from upstairs, with a trestle table and chairs.

‘Perfect, isn’t it?’ Marina said. ‘I love coming here. There’s a fruit cake in that tin, if you’re hungry. You’ll never believe this, but I made it myself when I was here last weekend. I think it will still be all right. There’s milk in the fridge, and you’ll find everyday crockery in the cupboard above the sink.’ Camilla made the tea and poured two cups.

‘Let’s take this in to the fire,’ Marina said.

They sat down in silence, listening to the hiss and crackle of the firewood. There was nowhere to begin, nothing but uncertainty between them.

‘Leukaemia is the ugly word,’ Marina said at last. ‘A malignant disease of the bone marrow and the blood. Nothing to be done. I feel like some character in an opera, wasting helplessly away. Except that I can’t sing of course.’

‘How long have you known about it?’

‘Just over a month.’

‘Does he know?’

‘Yes, your father knows. He’s been with me as much as he could since the doctor told us the news. It was after he came back from Nairobi the last time. Just after you saw him there. He told me how wonderful you looked, from being down at the coast.’ The words were full of sadness.

Camilla could not find anything to say. She drank her tea, staring into the cup, unable to meet her mother’s eyes.

‘He said you were in love and glowing with it. And I wished that you’d told me about it,’ Marina said. ‘He’s been so kind and attentive. Bringing me my breakfast in bed, taking me to dinner or to the theatre on good days. I’ve been coming down here most weekends, and he’s cancelled most of his other plans to stay here too. But he had to go to the Netherlands last week. Prince Bernhard is a patron of his organisation, and you can’t really turn down appointments with royalty.’