George got dressed, and he and Marion left with a blood test form and directions to the phlebotomy unit.

They walked in silence until Marion spotted an arrow pointing to PHLEBOTOMY.

‘We go left here, George.’

‘I am not having a damn blood test. We’re going home.’

‘But George!’ The anxiety that lived permanently in Marion’s stomach rose up. ‘You have to. Please.’

‘I am going home. I need a drink.’

There was a furious row over George’s determination not to return to the hospital or give up drinking. Marion felt helpless. She wanted to help him, but his anger, resulting in her getting a black eye one Sunday evening, meant that she decided to ignore the problem.

It was a heavy secret to hold. It ate her up each day and night. The only thing that calmed him was talk of the Goulds and their money.

They had wired to say they were on their way and would be at Nottingham Cottage in three days. Beatrice’s friend, the stenographer who would type every word Marion said, was coming with them.

Chapter Sixty-Two

Buckingham Palace, August 1949

Tommy bowed as he entered. ‘How may I help you, ma’am?’

‘Tommy, I fear that I may have been misunderstood on something.’ The Queen dabbed her nose nervously with an exquisite lace handkerchief.

‘How may I help?’

‘I think Miss Crawford, in whom I had the utmost trust, could be selling stories about the children to an American magazine.’

‘Ah.’

‘It was suggested to me by Lady Astor. She mentioned that the Foreign Office were keen to improve our popularity in the United States. I talked to the King last night about it and, well, let us say we had words. I explained that I had done nothing other than to listen to Lady Astor and meet with Miss Crawford, but there was no talk of selling stories. I need you to explain to Miss Crawford yourself that it is simply out of the question.’

Tommy knew that the Queen was being a little economical with the truth and could only imagine the King’s fury. He himself had been on the other end of one of the monarch’s tirades and he knew how unpleasant they were.

After a moment’s thinking, he said, ‘Supposing I draft a letter explaining the mix up?’

‘Oh yes, that would be most helpful.’ The Queen looked reassured – and relieved.

‘However’ – Tommy coughed – ‘the letter must be signed by you.’

‘Me?’

‘Yes, it will send a much clearer view of things than if I were to sign it.’

The Queen thought for a moment. ‘I suppose it might.’

‘It would, most definitely. I can draft something today.’ He smiled. ‘Nip it in the bud.’

‘Dear Tommy. That is most kind and I would be grateful if you didn’t mention it to the King until it is posted. Then I shall tell him myself.’

‘Of course, ma’am.’

Buckingham Palace, the next day

The postman, a very inquisitive man, handed Marion the letter. ‘Still keep in touch, I see. That’s nice.’