“But I’ve met David,” she said. “He seems delightful. Why should his father worry?”

“Because he refuses to marry someone suitable, like you. And an awful American woman has him in her clutches.”

“I did hear a rumor to that effect,” Marina said, glancing across at Irmtraut, who had looked up. “Isn’t she still married to someone else?”

“I believe so, but she wants to divorce him. And she’s been divorced before too.”

“Quite unsuitable,” Irmtraut sniffed. “Why was this man not brought up to put duty first? We all were.”

“So was I,” I said. “And so was the Prince of Wales, I’m quite sure. He just prefers to put himself first.”

“You’ve been out for a walk,” Marina said.

“Yes. I went to visit a friend of mine who knows all about fashion,” I said. “I asked her which designers she would recommend for you to visit. She suggested Norman Hartnell and Molyneux. Schiaparelli has a salon here now too.”

“Molyneux is designing my wedding gown,” she said, her face lighting up.

I must have shown surprise, having been told how poor her family was since they were ousted from Greece.

“I met him when he was in Paris. He said he’d be honored to design the gown for a royal wedding,” she said. “He’s sent me sketches, but I haven’t tried anything on yet. But he’s wonderful, isn’t he?”

I didn’t answer, having no idea what his designs looked like. So she went on. “I have to arrange for my fittings with him. But what I really wanted to do was to go to ordinary shops. I’ve heard about Harrods and Selfridges. I think shopping there would be such fun. I have most of the important items for my trousseau. It’s just the little things I still need. Cosmetics and undergarments and a sinful negligee, maybe?”

There was an intake of breath from Countess Irmtraut. Marina turned to her. “Traudi, don’t be so stuffy. I will be a married woman, after all.”

“I can certainly take you to look for those sorts of things,” I said.

“And a theater, maybe? I want to make the most of being an invisible person.”

“After all those pictures in the newspapers, I rather suspect you’ll be recognized,” I said. “But I’m happy to take you to Harrods. And even Selfridges, although my friend would say it’s a shop for housewives up from the country and typists.”

“Then I’ll pretend to be a housewife up from the country,” she said. “Mrs. Smith.”

We laughed.

“My friend suggests we start by lunching at the Savoy Grill,” I said. “It’s the sort of place one goes to see and be seen.”