‘I said to him’ – a young lady was talking to her friend – ‘you come home late again and it’ll be curtains.’

An older lady was talking to her son about supper: ‘Daddy doesn’t like liver so we’ll have sausages tonight.’

And a cabbie dropping a fare was saying, ‘Cheers, mate.’

The air grew chilly, and Tommy put the collar of his coat up to protect his ears. ‘I think we should head back now,’ he told Crawfie.

Crawfie was watching the girls, who were still intent on listening to the park below. ‘Thank you for showing us all this,’ she said softly to Tommy. ‘This garden will be such a secure haven for them.’

Tommy said quietly, ‘You care very much for them, don’t you?’

‘I have become very fond of them, yes.’

‘Wait until you have your own brood. How many children do you want?’

Crawfie was taken aback, and glanced around to check that the Princesses hadn’t heard. ‘Well, I hadn’t really thought.’ Keen to dismiss the conversation, she signalled to the girls that they ought to go, and to walk down the grassy slope.

‘Come, come,’ said Tommy, following her, ‘don’t all young girls dream about marriage, a home, a family? Or are you the exception to the rule – married to the job?’

Crawfie stopped and gave Tommy a hard look. ‘Of course I would like those things. In time. But now, my attention is needed here.’

The first flakes of snow descended. ‘Look, girls!’ Crawfie caught a snowflake on her hand. ‘It’s snowing.’

Margaret jumped up and down with excitement. ‘Can we build a snowman? Pleeese?’

‘You’ll be a snowman yourself if you don’t hurry up and get inside. Come on!’

Chapter Thirty-Six

Buckingham Palace, April 1937

Darling Joan,

It was so difficult waving goodbye to you last night. Thank you for dropping me at the station. The train was cold and the buffet car closed, which did not improve my low spirits.

Impressions of the new King: good! His Majesty took me for a long walk this afternoon. He talks to me and I to him, most naturally. I really like him awfully. After a hesitant start, he is adjusting well to his new duties.

The new Queen is a delightful woman, although underneath I detect a necessary strength to protect the family from any more scandal, particularly where the new Duke of Windsor is concerned. After the abdication, they remained close for a time but it has been weeks now since they spoke. This is mostly because the Duke kept telephoning the King, asking for more and more. The latest request was for Mrs Simpson to have some money, respect, dignity and position. I ask you! Apparently she loathes wandering around Europe, joining the other countless titles roaming the continent meaning nothing. She wants the extra chic of HRH.

It is simply not going to happen.

I bumped into Cecil Beaton this morning, here taking charming photographs of the Queen. He said that the last time he saw the Duke of Windsor, he noticed his ‘tragic eyes’ and the ‘weather-beaten hands of a little mechanic’.