The two women exchanged kisses, and then Dorothy Black was gone.

Marion was mentally and physically exhausted. She sat down heavily in an armchair, as George poured more praise on her and a large whisky for himself.

‘You have done it, Mrs Buthlay,’ he said with a smile. ‘Congratulations.’

Marion didn’t sleep well that night. She rarely slept well nowadays. Her most regular dream involved being handcuffed and thrown into the dungeons she had known so well during the war. George’s assessment of how badly she had been treated, by the Queen in particular, had a ring of truth, but it was so difficult to match with the reality she had experienced. She knew that she loved the royal family, and that they, in their way, had loved her.

She had to have faith that the articles being written, without her name attached, would be seen as positive.

She had so much to be grateful for, so much to trust.

Nottingham Cottage, November 1949

‘We bring champagne!’ Beatrice Gould, standing on the doorstep of Nottingham Cottage, held up a bottle of Pol Roger.

Bruce stood next to her, his arms opened wide. ‘Marion – my favourite author! You have a great big success on your hands!’

‘Really? I have been so worried.’ She stepped back to let them in.

‘Worried? What is there to worry about!’ Bruce hugged her. ‘Where’s George?’

‘In the sitting room.’

Bruce walked past her. ‘Hey George, you son of a gun, you have one hell of a wife!’

‘I know.’

George was not looking well, and Bruce was immediately concerned. ‘How are you?’

‘A bout of malaria. I’m fine.’

‘Poor you. Beatrice, hear this – George has malaria.’

Beatrice came in and put her bag and the bottle of champagne down, then embraced George. ‘You poor man! Have you seen a doctor?’

‘No,’ Marion said. ‘He hasn’t.’

George flapped his hand. ‘I am fine.’

‘You need a holiday.’ Beatrice smiled at Bruce. ‘Do you want to tell him, sweetie?’

‘Sure, OK. This is the big one.’ Bruce stretched his arms wide. ‘You can go on holiday to wherever you want, whenever you want, as soon as you have signed this.’ He dipped his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

George’s yellow tinged eyes gleamed. ‘The contract?’

‘That’s it!’ Beatrice was bouncing with glee. ‘Marion, get some glasses. You are going to sign this and then we will pop that cork.’

Marion went to the kitchen and brought back four tumblers. ‘I am so sorry, we don’t have any champagne glasses.’

Beatrice laughed. ‘Marion, you will have all the champagne glasses you want once you’ve signed this.’

George was reading through the two-page document. Bruce had his fountain pen ready.

George turned over the top page, leaving the second one to her. ‘Sign here, Marion.’

She put the glasses down and took the proffered pen. ‘Can I just read it all first?’

George pulled a face. ‘Darling, it’s a lot of legalese. Don’t worry. I’ve checked it and it’s all good.’