Lilibet and Margaret had joined them.

‘Good God! What on earth is this?’ Margaret had pulled a woven piece of cloth from its wrapping.

‘Who is it from?’ asked Lilibet.

‘Hang on, I’ll read the label.’ Margaret peered at it. ‘It says: I have woven this tray cloth with my own hands, in the hope that it will be useful and bring you pleasant memories of your wedding day. With sincere best wishes, Mahatma Gandhi.’

‘Goodness!’ Lilibet said. ‘What an extraordinary gift. How thoughtful.’

Margaret held the cloth up to the light. ‘It’s very fine work.’

‘Hello, you two.’ Prince Philip strode into the chaos. ‘What’s that?’

Margaret explained.

‘Well, if anyone asks, I shall tell them it’s Mr Gandhi’s loincloth,’ Philip said.

Margaret rolled with laughter, while her sister tutted. ‘Don’t you dare!’

Lilibet was alive with happiness and was the still centre of a storm that whirled around her. Philip knelt amongst the discarded wrapping paper to help. ‘Now, these are useful.’ He held up three pairs of nylons.

Margaret made a grab for them. ‘Can I have a pair?’

Lilibet got there first. ‘Excuse me.’ She turned the packets over in her hands. ‘These are lovely. Aren’t people kind, spending their rations on me? I have so much. I do feel very guilty.’

Margaret scoffed. ‘Darling, give them to me if it will make you feel better.’

‘I think they should go to someone more deserving.’ Lilibet held them out in front of her. ‘Crawfie?’

Marion was carefully folding some brown paper. ‘Yes?’

‘Please have a pair of these stockings, to wear at the wedding. And there is a pair for Bobo too.’

Crawfie couldn’t believe it. ‘That is so kind. I haven’t had new stockings for a long time.’

Bobo, almost crying with joy, took them and held them to her heart. ‘Oh ma’am. They are much too good for me.’

Lilibet flashed her a happy smile. ‘They certainly are not. Enjoy them. Oh, and Crawfie, I would like you to make a list of things you might like for your little cottage?’

‘You have already given me a beautiful coffee set as our wedding present, and Margaret, the bedside lamps you gave us look perfect.’

‘What about a complete dinner service?’ asked Margaret, pointing to seven such things placed on a table. ‘Lilibet can’t need all those.’

‘Thank you, but Queen Mary generously sent me a most attractive dining service.’

‘Did she?’ Lilibet asked. ‘Well, that was jolly nice of her. But honestly, we have so much here. Make a list of anything that could be useful.’

Before Crawfie could object, Mr Norman Hartnell arrived, sweeping into the room as grandly as any Duchess.

‘Your Royal Highnesses.’ He delivered a theatrical bow.

‘Good morning, Mr Hartnell,’ Lilibet said, beaming. ‘Another fitting?”

‘Indeed, ma’am.’

He and his young assistants were endlessly appearing, carrying heavy boxes spilling with tissue paper, raining pins, scissors and tape measures.

Bobo never stopped providing them with refreshments, while trying to get a good view of the dress – without much luck.