Her own heart was suffering from the absence of George. She hadn’t seen him since the Copper Horse meeting – she liked to call it that in her mind; it sounded so romantic – and the weeks apart from him were causing her pain. They had been writing to each other since then, but his letters weren’t as easy as they had been and when he mentioned her work he seemed to do it grudgingly. She did her best to write cheerful, newsy missives, but the very real problem of when she would leave the royal family and commit herself to their friendship (she daren’t call it a relationship) was not discussed and he seemed to have withdrawn from her. Unfortunately, his work at the London office of Drummonds bank was postponed until the following spring, and he would be in Aberdeen continually until then.

But she was definitely going home for Christmas. She hoped George might make his intentions clear by then, so that she knew for certain where her future lay.

Lilibet’s voice broke into her thoughts. ‘James says we can see the Ravens. Come on, Crawfie!’

Eventually, the history tour was over. Outside, Jackson slid the car towards them, hopping out to help them in.

‘Got something for you, Miss Crawford.’ He passed a folded newspaper to her. ‘Thought you might like it.’

She glimpsed the photo of Mrs Simpson on the front. ‘Thank you, Jackson,’ she said sharply. ‘I am sure Alah would like to read it.’

Buckingham Palace, October 1936

Tommy stood in his office, clenched fists by his side, the newspaper on the desk in front of him. The details in the later edition of the London Evening News were worse than the earlier one.

‘Where the hell did they get that photograph?’ he exclaimed. ‘And who is leaking this stuff to the paper? The entire situation needs to be handled with extreme diplomacy if the King has a hope in hell of marrying her. It could take years. But of course, he has always wanted things now. Always now.’

P-T, the only other person in the room, knew to let her boss expend all his anger before offering him a cup of tea.

‘I need a whisky. Large. Ice and soda.’

When she returned with his drink, she found him smoking his pipe furiously. She handed him the whisky.

‘Sir.’

‘Yes?’

‘The King has asked to see you.’

‘What does he want? Other than to finish me off before my time?’

‘Apparently there is rather a flap on in Downing Street.’

He snorted. ‘Oh, you do surprise me.’

‘Yes, sir. The PM wants to speak to you.’

‘Before or after I see the King?’

‘Now, sir. He’s on the line.’

‘Let me finish this drink and then put him through.’

Tommy was unsurprised to find the Prime Minister furious. ‘The man has no sense,’ he said down the telephone. ‘He cannot marry that woman.’

‘Yes sir, I do agree, sir.’ Tommy put a finger underneath his winged collar.