“They look very nice,” I said. “Queenie did a good job. Why are you unhappy with her?”

“Because they were green suede,” she said. “And she has polished them with black boot polish.”

Oh dear. I didn’t dare laugh.

“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I’m afraid I have a very simple wardrobe and Queenie has not come across green suede shoes before. She meant well.”

Irmtraut snorted. “You English. You do not know how to train and discipline servants. This girl is a disgrace. Do you know what she called me?”

Oh golly. Nothing too rude, I prayed.

“She called me ‘miss,’ when she is told I am a countess. Miss. Like a common shopgirl. And then she insulted me even more by telling me I had an uncle called Bob.”

This time I did laugh. “She must have said ‘bob’s your uncle,’” I said. “It’s an expression Londoners use to mean that everything will be taken care of.”

“How can ‘Bob is your uncle’ mean that everything will be taken care of? It makes no sense. This English language is very stupid.” And she stomped back into her room and slammed the door.

I CHANGED MY clothes, wrote out the letter to Mummy, handed it to a servant to post and was just about to snatch a quick tea when the car arrived. Regretfully I put down my uneaten crumpet. I went to get my coat and hat and was soon being driven through rush-hour crowds as offices emptied out at five. I had no idea where we were going but it seemed to be in the general direction of Scotland Yard. However, we drove past the familiar black and white building and turned into a side street, stopping outside a row of Georgian houses like those on Downing Street not too far away.

The chauffeur helped me out, then led me to the front door. A bell sounded from within and the door was opened by Sir Jeremy himself.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” he said.

“This is your house?” I asked, stepping into a deliciously warm entrance hall.

“One of the perks of being a civil servant,” he said, smiling. “Come through to the sitting room.”

This was clearly a room of a man who liked his comforts. Thick Axminster carpet with a white bearskin rug in front of a marble fireplace. There were old prints on the walls and Chinese vases on a shelf. In one corner was a drinks cabinet stacked with bottles and gleaming glasses, and a glass-topped table displayed a collection of paperweights. To my delight a low table was set with a tea tray. I realized I hadn’t eaten all day (unless one counted the dry and unappetizing cheese sandwich I’d bought at Worthing Station).