‘Nothing to apologize for,’ she heard herself say. ‘I was suffering from the heat and had to lie down. That’s all.’

‘I rang you in the week. Several times. But your mother said you were resting.’

‘Yes.’

‘And are you feeling better now?’

‘Yes. I am so sorry about dashing off the other night.’

Marion held the phone, breathing hard, desperate for him to speak again. Was this the moment her life would change forever? When friendship became intimacy?

‘Marion, are you busy this evening?’

‘No.’

‘I could pick you up at five and have you home by seven. Maybe a little fresh air? We could stop at that little pub we like, the one that does jugs of Pimms. Remember?’

She held her hand to her throat. He had said we. The pub we like. She smiled. ‘Yes, I remember.’

‘Then you’ll come?’

She closed her eyes and took a leap into the unknown. ‘Yes, I will.’

Chapter Twenty-Three

Buckingham Palace, mid-September 1936

Darling Joan,

I am in a jam. Alas, I shall have to postpone my trip to join you for John’s fourteenth birthday celebrations. I will ring up on Saturday morning to wish him many happy returns. I am sure he won’t even miss me. You are so good at organizing parties and such like, he will hardly notice I am not there. I will put a postal order for £2.00 in the post.

Things have got a little heated here.

The King has announced privately that he wishes to marry Mrs Simpson. There are many reasons why he cannot. She is still married to Mr Simpson, for one thing, and even after a divorce, the King would be her third husband. It is unlikely that she would bear children and therefore any line of succession to the Crown would be impossible. And more pertinently, I believe the country would not take to her. Marriage to her would be disastrous for the country.

The Prime Minister, Mr Baldwin, came for a private luncheon yesterday to which I was also invited. The purpose was to discuss the King’s coronation and gauge his ability and sense of duty for the job. I also had the opportunity to watch Mrs S and scrutinize her motives.

She is smart, attractive and friendly, with a keen interest in the King’s future, but has a side to her that is too sharp. She and the King behaved very badly in front of the Prime Minister, me and the attendants serving our lunch. She laughed as she shared her opinion of the Yorks. She thinks the Duke dull and the Duchess plump and dowdy, calling her ‘Cookie’ and sneering at her taste in décor and clothes. The terrible thing is the King laughed too. And he used to be so close to his brother and sister-in-law. The King, I fear, is as weak and spoiled a man as he was when I worked with him as the Prince of Wales.

I felt I must defend the Yorks, and from across the table I laid my opinion bare. ‘They are people to admire,’ I said.