‘Hmm.’

‘I have a likeness of George, Major Buthlay, to show you, if you would care to see?’

Crawfie handed over the small photograph that she had treasured ever since he had given it to her. It was an old one of him in uniform, looking young and very smart.

There was a long silence as the Queen surveyed it. ‘Why, Crawfie, that was a great sacrifice you made. I shall talk with the King.’

Buckingham Palace, 13^th July 1947

Tommy had become very fond of Miss Crawford. Over the years she had shown herself to be utterly loyal, discreet and courageous. But he had never much liked the sound of this George Buthlay, and if it looked as though Miss Crawford was now really going to marry him, he had to made some enquiries.

And he found some disturbing news. With friends in high places, it had been easy for Tommy to get someone in the war office to pull out Buthlay’s records. They were now sitting on his desk in front of him and told a sorry story.

George had indeed fought in France during the First World War but had come out as a captain, not major. In the last war he was not declined for poor eyesight; he had not attempted to enlist in the first place. It was true he had worked for a relief agency, but he had not been invalided out with malaria – he had been cashiered because an inordinate quantity of essential supplies that he was in charge of (including food, medicine and fuel) had gone missing, presumed stolen and sold on the black market.

In short, the man was a liar and a cheat.

How on earth was he to tell Miss Crawford?

Chapter Forty-Seven

Buckingham Palace, 24^th July 1947

Princess Elizabeth and Princess Margaret insisted on meeting George.

‘He can come here,’ Margaret decreed. Nearly seventeen now, she was always determined to get her own way.

‘To Buckingham Palace?’ Crawfie hadn’t thought of where they were to meet. Imagining George actually in her place of work made her feel uneasy.

‘Yes. He will be our guest,’ Margaret said airily. ‘Any guest of ours is always welcome.’

Ten days later, George was on his way down from Aberdeen. Crawfie met him at the station.

Several heads turned as the tall young woman with a large nose embraced the much older, shorter, moustached gentlemen.

A couple of busybodies passed them and muttered, ‘Every pot has a lid, I suppose.’

Crawfie heard none of it. She was too excited. At last she was able to show off her wonderful fiancé to the people she cared most about. If only Alah was still alive. She would have adored him, surely.

Arriving by taxi at Buckingham Palace, Marion swept George inside. Tommy was just on his way out and they ran into each other.

‘Good afternoon, Miss Crawford,’ he said, eyeing the small, dapper man next to her.

‘This is my fiancé, Major George Buthlay,’ Marion told him with pride.