When I read it, I am not ashamed to say I wept a little. So beautiful.

Sadly, you will surely hear those words for yourself, in the next few hours.

Your Tommy

Sandringham House, Norfolk, 20^th January 1936

Tommy woke to a cold morning, and his first thought was for the King. Had he survived the night? He checked his watch. Six thirty. The sun was not yet up and yet he could see that it was snowing. The lower quadrants of his window panes had collected small piles of the stuff and more flakes were joining them.

In the muffled silence, Tommy carefully shaved, washed and dressed. If the sovereign died today, Tommy would be ready.

With the snow showing no signs of stopping, the house took on a muffled atmosphere. The staff flitted through the rooms, adding logs to the fires, producing meals and hot drinks, but never speaking of death.

A few hours later, the Prince of Wales and Duke of York sent for Tommy to join them in the library.

The royal brothers were both smoking. The Prince was slumped by the fire, his thin legs crossed, an empty coffee cup and the day’s Times by his side. The Duke was at the window watching the snow.

Tommy bowed to them both. ‘Good morning, sirs.’

The Prince smiled weakly. ‘Sit down, Tommy.’

Tommy sat. ‘What news of the King?’ he asked.

From the window the Duke said, ‘He is asleep. The doctor has told us he will not wake up. It’s just a matter of time.’

‘I am very sorry to hear that.’

The Prince lifted his red-ringed eyes to Tommy. ‘I bet you are, knowing his successor is me.’

Tommy chose his words carefully. ‘Sir, I have always believed in the words of St John: “Cometh the hour, cometh the man”.’

‘Ha.’ The Prince reached for his cigarette case. He took a cigarette and lit it from the end of his previous one. ‘But as you know, I am no saint.’

Tommy looked at the man who would be king. A weak, unreliable man, wedded to a life of parties and pleasure. But he was glamorous and loved by the public. He had a heart and wanted to improve the living conditions of the poorest people. He had the common touch – an asset rare in this vaulted bloodline.

The Duke of York returned from the window and rang the bell by the fireplace. ‘I think we could do with our pre-luncheon whisky and soda.’

‘May I ask why you sent for me?’ Tommy asked the Prince.

The Prince picked a stray strand of tobacco from his lip. ‘I need some help, Tommy.’

‘I am here to help.’

The Prince coughed and looked slyly at his brother, who turned back to stare at the snow. ‘I want my friend, Mrs Simpson, here.’

Tommy blinked. ‘I see.’

‘I need her by my side when the …’ The Prince was close to tears. ‘When the time comes.’