‘Have you had a good day, my darlings?’ the Duke asked, embracing one in each arm.

‘We have, thank you,’ said Lilibet. ‘Can we wait for Uncle David?’

‘If he’s here before eight o’clock, of course you can,’ their father said.

The Duchess laughed. ‘Such spoiled girls! Shall we have a quick game of Happy Families while we wait? I was expecting Alah, Crawfie, but perhaps you would like to play?’

‘I would like that, thank you,’ she answered. Despite herself, she really did want to see Mrs Simpson.

‘I will get the cards,’ said Princess Margaret bossily.

‘And I will shuffle them,’ replied Lilibet.

By eight o’clock – after several furious rounds of cards – there was still no sign of the visitors. The girls reluctantly said their good nights and headed for the stairs, a disappointed Crawfie chivvying them along.

As they crossed the hall from the drawing room to the stairs, the powerful roar of a motorcar speeding its way up the drive stopped everyone in their tracks.

‘It’s Uncle David!’ screamed the girls.

Ainslie appeared from nowhere to open the front door, where a huge and sleek American motorcar stood on the thick gravel.

‘Halloo!’ called the King, as he bounded out and around the endless bonnet, before helping Mrs Simpson to disembark.

The girls ran out to greet him, but stopped when they saw the elegant woman stepping out. She was clutching a small handbag and had a large diamond brooch on the shoulder of her effortless cocktail dress. She walked towards them in very high heels, clutching their Uncle David’s arm.

The Duchess stood inside the open portico of Royal Lodge and went no further. Crawfie noticed the charming smile arranged on the Duchess’s lips, but her eyes, usually so blue and twinkly, were carefully fixed on Mrs Simpson

‘Darling Elizabeth.’ The King, who had always been fond of his brother’s wife, took the steps two at a time to reach her. ‘Long time no see.’ He kissed her hand and her cheek, then turned to Mrs Simpson who was hanging back a little. ‘Wallis has been dying to see you again, haven’t you, my love?’

Crawfie saw the imperceptible curl of Mrs Simpson’s carmine lips as she answered, ‘Gosh, yes,’ in her East Coast American drawl.

The Duchess bent her head graciously but said nothing

The Duke stepped forward and shook her hand. ‘W-welcome to Royal Lodge, Mrs Simpson. Now, come on in, both of you. The ice in the cocktails is melting.’

His stammer was a little worse tonight – a sign of his anxiety.

Crawfie stood back in the shadows of the staircase, watching the scene. Not one of them seemed to notice her.

The Duchess made her way to her husband and held his arm. ‘David,’ she said, ‘you are very naughty keeping Cook waiting.’ She said this with a tinkling laugh, but underneath it lay annoyance, Crawfie could tell. ‘I Imagine you’ll be late for your coronation!’

The King shrugged his shoulders and swooped on to his two nieces. Mrs Simpson looked as if she were in the presence of zoo animals, as she watched the King tussle and wrestle with the giggling girls. Putting them back on their feet, he adjusted his jacket sleeves and waved his hand towards Mrs Simpson. ‘Girls, you remember Mrs Simpson. Say hello to her.’