‘Ah. Major Buthlay.’ Tommy held out his hand. ‘Good to meet you.’ So, this was the little pipsqueak who had wormed his way into Miss Crawford’s life.

‘Sir.’ George was beaming. The cat who’d got the cream. Tommy made a note to have a word with him before he left.

George’s eyes goggled and gleamed as Marion took him up impressive staircases and treasure-lined corridors.

‘Might I bump into the King?’ he asked. ‘Or the Queen?’

‘Shh. Keep your voice down,’ Marion told him. ‘And no, because they are not here today.’

‘Shame. I think the King and I have a lot in common. Both servicemen. Where do they bank? Drummonds would be happy to look after them.’

Marion said nothing, but stopped outside the cream and gold door. ‘Here we are.’ She smoothed her dress and checked George’s regimental tie before knocking twice. The door flew open.

‘You are here at last.’ Lilibet and Margaret stood before them, two beautiful young women in pretty summer dresses.

George almost saluted them.

‘Major Buthlay, welcome,’ said Princess Elizabeth. ‘Do come in.’

‘We have ordered tea,’ said Princess Margaret.

For a moment Marion felt reality tilt. Her two worlds colliding almost made her dizzy. She had kept them separate for so long.

George was looking around the room, and Marion tried to imagine it through his eyes. It was certainly not ostentatious: two old-fashioned armchairs with a matching sofa, a desk from the time of Queen Victoria and a polished table covered in photographs of dogs and relatives. A large vase of summer flowers stood in the fireplace, and an ormolu clock struck the half hour on the mantelpiece.

‘Isn’t this a beautiful room, George?’ Marion asked, with obvious pride.

‘The Queen’s sense of style,’ Princess Elizabeth said with self-deprecation. ‘She is very clever at these things. I wouldn’t have a clue.’

‘Look out of the window, Major Buthlay,’ said Princess Margaret. ‘You can see all the way down to the lake.’

He walked over and looked, but said nothing.

‘Isn’t it lovely?’ Marion went to stand next to him, anxiously wanting him to show some appreciation of his surroundings.

‘Aye. It’s very nice. But not a patch on the Highlands.’

‘George!’ Marion said, with a small glare that only he could see.

Margaret laughed. ‘I quite agree. Balmoral is spectacular and we love being there – but don’t you think London is more exciting?’

Before he could answer, a footman and a maid came in with the tea tray.

‘Oh, strawberries,’ Princess Elizabeth said with delight. ‘You must try those, Major Buthlay. We grow them here. All down to Crawfie. She had us planting a little fruit and veg patch years ago. Now, do come and sit down.’

Cups of tea were poured and delicate scones, still warm from the oven, were handed around with clotted cream and the fresh strawberries.

When they were settled, Princess Margaret asked teasingly, ‘I hope you are going to keep Crawfie in order when you are married. She has been bullying us for the last sixteen years.’