She looked at George, smiling at her across the kitchen and found the fear ebbing away.

Yes, her wedding day was going to be very exciting.

The only upset was that the royal family would not be attending. Engagements at Balmoral prevented them but the Queen had penned a lovely note and so had the Princesses.

Crawfie had popped the letters into a large biscuit tin, a souvenir for the upcoming royal wedding that she couldn’t resist. As soon as it was empty, she had begun filling it with all the small notes and childhood paintings that she hadn’t wanted to part with over the years – mementos from her life with the Princesses.

Chapter Fifty

Buckingham Palace, 19^th September 1947

‘Good morning, sir.’ P-T, juggling an overflowing letter tray and a cup of tea, welcomed her boss as he arrived for work. ‘Good weekend?’

‘Very good, thank you.’ He hung his jacket on the hat stand. ‘Those for me?’

‘Yes, sir, plus a letter from Crawfie to all the girls in the office. I thought you might like to read it.’

He took his cup from her and sat at his desk. ‘Why would I wish to read a letter that wasn’t mine to read?’

P-T put the letter tray down and stared at him. ‘She’s got married.’

Tommy ignored P-T and the letter, and rifled through the post beneath.

P-T stood her ground. ‘You aren’t happy for her?’

‘Women get married every day. Do you expect me to do a cartwheel?’

P-T took the chair opposite his desk and sat down. ‘What happened?’

‘What on earth can you mean?’ He sipped his tea. ‘Stone cold.’

‘I have only just made it.’

‘Well, make me another.’

‘Someone got out of the wrong side of the bed this morning, sir.’ P-T remained where she was. ‘I thought you and Miss Crawford were friends.’

Tommy sighed in exasperation. ‘She’s a colleague. That’s all.’

‘No, she is more than that. You have been good friends.’

He lifted his eyebrows and stared. ‘What are you insinuating?’

‘Nothing like that, sir, obviously not – but you have helped to guide her through and around royal tripwires, and she sees you as her … mentor, I suppose.’

He pushed his cup away. ‘Poppycock.’

P-T reached for the cup and said, ‘The master has fallen out with his pupil and it will do neither of you any good.’

‘I could have you sacked for insubordination.’

P-T smiled. ‘You can’t sack your own goddaughter. Daddy would never speak to you again.’

Tommy watched her go. She really was getting a little chippy. Perhaps P-T needed to get married herself; a husband would sort the chippiness out of her.

Tommy drummed his fingers on his desk and slid Crawfie’s letter from the top of his mail pile to the bottom. For the next two hours he worked his way through the rest, taking telephone calls or dictating notes to and from a decidedly cool P-T.

Finally, his desk was cleared and Crawfie’s letter sitting starkly in front of him. There was nothing to do but read it.