The flood of words came so quick after her husband’s halting speech, and her accent was so strong, that John could not immediately understand what she said.

‘Your Majesty?’ He glanced towards the king for help. Charles made a brief dismissive gesture with his hand, which clearly indicated that John should go, so he bowed low once again, and backed from the room. To his surprise, the queen came with him. John pressed himself back against the wall as a footman flung open the door.

‘This way! Come on!’ the queen said, and ran prettily down the stairs and out into the summer sunshine of the king’s privy garden.

‘I want this garden full of scented flowers,’ she told him. ‘The king’s windows look out over it, I want the scents to blow up to him.’

John nodded, taking in the grand sweep of the walls around the court. The south-facing walls would provide extra warmth, the walls to the east would provide shelter. ‘I could grow almost anything here,’ he said.

‘It was the king’s mother’s garden,’ the queen said. It was evident from the slight movement of her head that she did not think much of her predecessor’s taste for low-growing herbs and knot gardens made of coloured gravel. ‘I want roses against the walls and lilies everywhere. Those are my flowers, in my crest. I want this garden filled with roses and lilies to remind the king of me whenever he looks from his window.’

John bowed slightly. ‘Any preference as to colours?’ he asked. ‘I can get some very handsome red and white roses, Rosamund roses. I have them growing at my garden in Lambeth.’

‘Yes, yes,’ she said, falling over the words in her haste. Even after five years in the country she still spoke English as if it was a strange and ugly foreign language. ‘And in the centre bed I want a knot with our initials entwined. C and H M. Can you do that?’

John nodded. ‘Of course …’

She suddenly stiffened. ‘Of course, Your Highness,’ she corrected him abruptly.

‘I beg your pardon,’ John said smoothly. ‘I was so interested in what Your Highness was saying that I forgot my manners. Of course, Your Highness.’

At once she smiled at him and gave him her hand to kiss. John bowed low and pressed his lips gently to the little fingers. His sense that he had served steadier, more intelligent and more noble masters did not show on his face.

‘It is to be a garden which expresses Love,’ she said. ‘The highest love there can be below the heavens. The love that there is between a man and his wife, and higher than that: between a king and a queen.’

‘Of course, Your Majesty,’ John said. ‘I could plant you some symbolic flowers around the roses. White violets for innocence, and periwinkle for constancy, and daisies.’