Behind his new but antique desk, he ran a finger inside his tight wing collar and surveyed his new office: one large-paned window looking over Constitution Hill and Green Park beyond, two walls of bookcases, and a door leading to a corridor which led to his new and not-so-antique secretary, Miss Pepper-Thynne.

‘Good morning, Sir Alan. May I get you a cup of tea?’ she asked brightly

‘That would be splendid, thank you.’

‘How do you like it?’

‘Strong, splash of milk and two sugars, please.’

On her return, it seemed she had added two biscuits to his order.

‘There you are, sir. If you need anything, just give me a buzz.’ She pointed to a machine on the desk. ‘One buzz for anything. Two buzzes for emergency.’

He smiled. ‘Emergencies, eh? Are we expecting many?’

‘You never know, sir.’

He liked a woman with a sense of humour. ‘Very good. Thank you, Miss Pepper-Thynne.’

‘Please call me P-T. Everybody does. It’s so much easier.’

Tommy nodded.

‘And one more thing, sir – the blue file on your desk is the latest briefing for today. Underneath that is the schedule for the rest of the week.’

‘Very efficient of you, P-T.’

‘You will see that His Majesty has asked you to meet him at 11.30 for thirty minutes.’

‘Right.’

‘And remember, one buzz for anything, two buzzes for emergency.’

She closed his office door quietly behind her.

For a moment or two, Tommy absorbed his situation and bit into one of his biscuits. The traffic outside was busy but thinning as the rush hour slowed. The quiet of his office and the corridor outside was soothing. He took a sip of his tea, which was perfectly made, and checked the time: 9.20. He had two hours in which to focus his thoughts on his meeting with the King and acquaint himself with P-T’s well-typed schedule.

At 11.28, Tommy arrived outside the King’s office. At 11.30 on the dot, a footman, acting on an unseen signal, opened the King’s doors.

Tommy entered and performed a perfect neck bow, then waited for the King, who was signing a document, to acknowledge him.

‘Ah, Tommy.’ The King stood and came round his desk to shake hands.

‘Your Majesty.’

‘How are you? Good to see you again.’

‘Glad to be back, sir.’

The King indicated two brocade sofas, one either side of a glowing fire. ‘Take a seat. This place is always so damned cold. But I expect you remember that.’

‘After four years of Canadian winters, London feels quite warm.’

‘Quite so.’ The King took a cigarette from the table beside him and lit it. ‘So, Tommy.’ King George V inhaled deeply, leaning against a cushion. ‘Why have you agreed to come back to the Old Firm?’

Tommy uncrossed and crossed his legs, hitching his trousers at the knee lightly. He was prepared for this. ‘It is a privilege to be asked to serve one’s monarch, sir.’

The King smiled slowly. ‘Hmm. Even though you resigned as APS to my son? The Prince of Wales? The future King?’