Joan stepped off the train and Tommy took his hat off to kiss her. ‘Darling, thank you for coming.’

‘It’s rather an honour to be invited,’ she said, smoothing down her skirt. ‘Do I look all right?’ She was wearing a neatly-fitted powder-blue suit, belted at the waist, with a fox fur thrown around her shoulders.

‘You look perfect. And I love the hat.’

‘Is it all right? I was worried it might be too much. Do you think the Queen will approve?

‘Most definitely.’ He picked up her small valise and put his arm around her waist. ‘I have a taxi waiting.’

The garden of Royal Lodge was already busy by the time Tommy and Joan arrived. Crawfie spotted them straight away, weaving amongst the many beautifully dressed people there. What a handsome couple they made: Tommy tall and distinguished, his wife effortlessly chic and wearing the smartest little hat. They seemed so right together that it made Crawfie’s heart jump a little. She was still dizzy from the unexpected turn of events with George earlier that week.

Two nights ago, he had taken her for supper in a small French café in Victoria. George had been attentive and kind, showing more interest in her work than usual. He had asked so many questions about the behind-the-scenes stories of the coronation, wanting to know every detail.

‘Now you must tell me about you,’ she had asked. ‘How is the bank?’

She noticed that he puffed out his chest a little as he sat back in his chair. ‘It is going very well. Its reputation speaks for itself. Landowners, aristocrats, members of the world’s royalty – they have heard how rock solid it is.’ He leant forward to pick up his glass of wine. ‘But if you wanted an account with them, I can swing it.’

Crawfie’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Goodness. I don’t really have enough to warrant that kind of banking.’

‘You never know. You are young and hardworking. You deserve to do well.’

‘I am happy with everything I have.’

‘You’re only what, twenty-seven?’

She pulled a face. ‘Twenty-eight next month.’

‘And are you saving for your future?’ He looked serious.

‘I save a little.’

‘That’s good.’ George stretched his hand across the table to take hers. His fingers were warm and strong. ‘I do admire you, Marion. A working woman, independent, strong and loving.’

With those few words, Marion forgot all about their disastrous New Year’s Eve, and the scant communication they had had from then until now. She looked at her watch to hide her flushed cheeks. ‘My train to Windsor is in an hour.’

‘Let me take you,’ he had said.

He called a waiter over and paid the bill. Once they were outside, he hailed a taxi.

‘Save your money.’ Marion tried to stop him. ‘We can take the bus.’

George picked up her bag and took her arm. ‘A bus? You deserve a cab.’

The initial weekend rush for the country had thinned out by the time they got to Paddington. George led the way down the platform, looking for a quiet compartment.