‘She hasn’t gone to bed, has she?’ she asked Alah.

‘A little under the weather. She will be fine in the morning.’

Bobo put the tray down. ‘Did she tell you anything about …’

Alah held her palm up as a stop sign, and Bobo was quietened. ‘I believe Sandy Powell is on the wireless tonight. Shall we listen as we eat?’

Crawfie spent an anxious night.

The moment she had turned off her light, the anxiety and worry that had gnawed at her brain exploded. Why hadn’t George come? He might be injured or, God forbid, dead. No one in London knew him. How would they identify him? Who would the hospital contact?

Or had he even come to London at all? Maybe he had missed the train. Or cancelled his ticket. Perhaps he’d changed his mind about coming at all. The more she thought about what might have happened, the more anxious and mystified she became.

A horrible thought chilled her. It was her fault. She had so stubbornly stuck to her determination to care for the Princesses that she hadn’t made enough room for George in her life. When he had said he was looking at jobs in London, had he expected her to offer to stay in Scotland? How must he be feeling? He must see her as cold – unfeeling, unavailable, uncaring. He must think she wasn’t interested in him, that she was a selfish, work-obsessed woman. The kind who emasculated men.

For all the time she had known him, more than a year now, she had never once put him first. She remembered the night of the non-proposal with shame, and how the thought of being married had terrified her. What kind of person was she, that she was so afraid of marrying a man she loved?

All these thoughts agitated until eventually she fell into a fretful sleep.

At 2.00 a.m. she woke filled with powerful indignation. How could he just leave her waiting for him? It was a shabby thing to do and he must know how much she was worrying.

By 4.45 a.m. the flames of anger licked in her lower gut. How dare he? How could George treat her like some lackey? He had used her to find him a place to stay. He had humiliated her.

Well, he wouldn’t get a second chance. How could she have been so gullible and foolish? If she ever saw him again, she would tell him exactly what she thought of him. Nobody would ever take her for a fool again.

As the glimmer of dawn began to lighten the London sky, Crawfie’s thoughts and emotions had gone full circle – back to the certainty that George must be lying injured in a hospital bed. He had amnesia and couldn’t tell the kindly doctor and nurses who were quietly checking his pulse and attending to his bandages who he was or where he had come from. She would have to find him. She didn’t care if the Duchess wouldn’t let her go. She would go anyway. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and then jumped at a knock on her door. Was it the police? Had they found him?