The crowd grew quiet and the band became rigidly still as they began the National Anthem. Everyone on the field stood and sang lustily until the last note faded. Then the applause rang out as the royal party moved towards their waiting cars. The people parted like the sea to let them through, and Marion saw that they would pass by so that she would be within touching distance. Her heart swelled with affection as the King and Queen passed. She curtsied automatically and felt her mother do the same beside her. Even her stepfather bent his head.

The Prince of Wales followed, nodding and smiling at the young women whose curtsies were deepest.

And then Marion heard the chirrup of two little voices chattering happily, and a familiar voice saying gently, ‘Come along, you two. All these kind people have come to see how well you can behave.’

A man wearing a tall hat pushed his way in front of Marion, obscuring her view. She gently nudged him aside. ‘Excuse me. Please. I can’t quite see.’

He looked down at her and took his cigarette from his moustachioed lips. ‘I beg your pardon. Of course.’

‘Thank you.’

As Marion shifted forwards to the front of the crowd, Lilibet spotted her and tugged at her mother’s hand. ‘Crawfie! Look, Mummy, it’s Crawfie!’

Marion waved and smiled. The Duchess passed by and raised her eyebrows with a small smile of recognition, but continued walking towards the cars.

Maggie had not noticed the exchange as she had been studying the Prince of Wales. ‘Not very tall, is he?’ she was saying to the woman standing next to her. ‘I thought he’d be at least six feet tall but I suppose it’s come from the old Queen’s side. Victoria wasn’t even five feet, was she?’

Marion remained in a world of her own. Lilibet had seen her and she was sure that the Duchess had too. She watched until all the cars were loaded with their royal passengers and lifted her hand to wave. When the wave wasn’t returned, Marion forgave them. How could they see her in a crowd like this?

She glanced around for her parents – they mustn’t miss their trains. She soon found them. They had retreated to some empty deckchairs, both glowing from the sun and beer.

‘Have you enjoyed yourselves?’ Marion asked as she reached them.

‘Oh, Marion dear, it was wonderful,’ her mother said. ‘And although I believe in an independent Scotland, I must say, seeing them like that … Well, they do a good job.’

Marion laughed. ‘Praise indeed! Now, give me your hand and I’ll pull you out of that chair, and then we’ll find a taxi to the station.’

Before they could get out to the road, Marion heard someone call her name.

‘Crawfie! Crawfie!’ It was a man’s voice, from somewhere behind her. ‘Crawfie! Hold up. I can give you a lift home.’

She turned to see Peter Jackson, the young chauffeur who had collected her that first night in Windsor, and since then had often driven her and the Princesses.