She combed the new boutiques of Carnaby Street and the King’s Road, returning home with thigh-high leather boots, short skirts and bell-bottom trousers, or Indian garments embroidered with beads and feathers. Battles ensued as she discarded the cashmere sweaters, pearls and silk scarves that Marina hoped her daughter would eventually wear for her engagement portrait in Country Life. At the Lucie Clayton School she learned to apply make-up professionally, and to move like a fashion model on the catwalk – a kind of swaying motion with hips protruding forward and a pout on her lips that came naturally. The school said she had a face and figure that was ideal for the camera. They said she could wind up on the cover of a glossy magazine.

At first Camilla resisted the idea, afraid that it would distract her from her goal of a life in the theatre. But finally she agreed to pose for a fashion photographer she had met in a nightclub. Ricky Lane had stared at her across the room and then approached her, holding out a drink decorated with a paper umbrella and a smoking volcano. She had seen his photographs and she liked his infectious smile and his cockney accent. He promised to show the results of their session to a leading model agency, and he was optimistic.

‘Come on, darlin’,’ he said, grinning at her. ‘You ain’t going straight to stardom on the overnight express. With a face and a body like that, you can make a mint to tide you through the gaps. A few bob in your piggy bank will make all the difference on the way to fame. I might even be asking to borrow a quid or two.’