Tommy was on the phone to the Duchess of York, who was calling from her sickbed. ‘I shall deal with that immediately, ma’am.’

‘Tommy, dear, thank you. I know you have a lot to deal with over the ensuing week, but one of your quiet words would help me enormously. I don’t want to worry the Duke just now.’

‘Understood, ma’am.’

Tommy replaced the receiver in its cradle and cupped his tired mind in his hands. ‘Dear God.’ He sighed, then buzzed P-T, his secretary.

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Would you ask Miss Clara Knight and Miss Crawford to pop over from 145 and come to my office please?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And a tray of tea for three may be in order.’

‘Of course, sir.’

Thank God he had P-T – calm, efficient, never wasted words. He got up and walked to his window, surveying the neat yellow gravel within the palace gates and the traffic on Constitution Hill beyond. The past forty-eight hours had been a non-stop melee of meetings, orders and arrangements. He would give anything to take a walk up to Wellington Arch, along Piccadilly and into the civilized realms of Fortnum’s for a reviving lunch. Perhaps a fillet of Dover sole with slices of thin bread and butter, or an Omelette Arnold Bennett with a glass of chilled Pouilly-Fuissé? In the last few days since the King had died, meals had been scant and unpredictable.

His insides were feeling the lack.

He hoped P-T would show her usual foresight and bring some biscuits with the tea. In the interim he gave himself a swift pace around the room, then sat down to reread and absorb the complicated arrangements for the funeral.

P-T knocked and entered, bringing with her his two guests.

‘Sir, Miss Marion Crawford and Miss Clara Knight. Tea is on its way.’

Tommy stood, smoothing the strips of hair either side of his balding head. ‘Ladies, do take a seat.’ He indicated the two chairs in front of his desk. ‘Thank you for coming, and forgive me if I have interrupted your morning routine.’

The two women sat, looking equally composed – but, he noted, not at each other. This would clearly require all his diplomatic skills if no feathers were to be ruffled.

He plucked at the knees of his trousers and sat down.

‘As you know, the King is now lying in state at Westminster Hall. Princess Elizabeth is expected to attend so that she may pay her respects to her beloved grandfather, and also to see and understand the royal protocol surrounding such occasions.’

Miss Knight bent her head in agreement, then glanced sharply at Miss Crawford. She looked ahead, listening intently. The elder woman spoke. ‘The Duke and Duchess both agree that the Princess is old enough to attend. It is my duty and my pleasure to accompany the Princess.’

Tommy dipped his chin in agreement. ‘Yes, quite so. A car will take you and the Princess Elizabeth this evening, when the crowds will be thinner. It will be a special memory for her – she will go during the twenty minutes when her father and uncles will be holding their own vigil at their father’s coffin. The Duke of York, King Edward VIII, the Duke of Kent and the Duke of Gloucester, will attend in full uniform and swords reversed, as is the custom.’