‘And do the Duke and Duchess know this about you?’ he asked gently.

‘Certainly not.’

‘Do you have to be very stiff and proper around them?’

‘Maybe at first, but I think they like me to be me. They enjoy having someone normal around them.’

‘I’m sure they do. I would like to have you around more, too.’

Marion didn’t know how to answer that. So she took a sip of her wine and changed the subject.

‘Robert has been so good to us,’ she said. ‘My own father, John, died when I was three. I have a foggy memory of him – a feeling more than a memory, I suppose. Mother took it very badly and had what I think we would call now a nervous breakdown. Robert stepped in and has put up with us ever since.’

George lifted his glass of wine and took her hand across the table. ‘A toast to your father John and to your stepfather Robert Crawford.’

‘My two fathers.’ They clinked glasses and drank.

The band struck up and George grinned at her. ‘Come on, let’s dance.’

They danced all the way to midnight and as the countdown began, balloons, party hats and streamers were released from a net hanging high above the dance floor.

‘Happy New Year, Marion.’ George caught a bundle of streamers which he hung around his neck, and a sparkly, crepe party hat, with a feather, which he placed with humorous courtesy on her head. ‘I haven’t had this much fun in a very long time.’

He returned Marion to her home at 1.15 a.m., insisting on walking her to the door. For a brief, anxious moment, she wondered if he was going to kiss her. It would be her first ever kiss and she was not sure what the protocol was.

She glanced anxiously up at her parents’ bedroom window, which was open – she could imagine her mother’s ears straining to hear what was going on.

‘Goodnight, Marion,’ he said simply, then took her hand and kissed it as he had done the first time they had met. She closed her eyes and hoped that he would kiss her cheek but he didn’t. ‘Thank you for a wonderful evening, Marion.’

‘Goodnight, George. I had a wonderful evening too.’

He smiled. ‘By the way, do you like winter walks?’

She laughed. ‘Yes, I do.’

‘Good. I’ll ring you up.’

In the nineteen days since then, he had taken her on long frosty walks four times, and come for tea twice. Two days ago he had taken her to his place of work.

‘Welcome to HQ,’ he said, opening the main door to the motorcar showroom. And may I introduce you to the owner and my friend, Mr Christopher Bailey.’

A plump, red-haired man hurriedly took his feet from the desk where they were resting. He jumped up, his hand held out in welcome.

‘Miss Crawford, I presume.’

‘Good afternoon, Mr Bailey.’ She took his small and damp hand. ‘I have heard a lot about you.’