‘Thank you,’ said Chiddingfold in a voice of death, the corners of his lips struggling to rise to the occasion in their traditional manner.

‘But . . .’ said Nobbs.

But they were already on their way, all three of them, out of the booth and across the foyer.

‘We’ll take it right from the beginning,’ said Nunn, as they emerged into the open air. ‘You know what they say: in an emergency there are three things to remember – discipline, discipline and jolly old discipline. Now, imagine you’ve just stepped out of your car, Nobbs, and shake the Director’s hand.’

They shook. ‘Good afternoon, Your Majesty,’ said Chiddingfold hopelessly.

They inspected the guard of honour, collected the bouquet from Chiddingfold’s little girl, and bore down on Rothermere Vulgurian.

‘What’s going on?’ demanded Vulgurian nervously.

‘Must keep going as if nothing’s happened,’ urged Nunn in a low, commanding voice. ‘Queen’s plane diverted – visit cancelled – chap standing in. Just shake his hand as if nothing had happened.’

Vulgurian did not entirely understand. He extended his hand doubtfully. Nobbs seized it.

‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Vulgurian uncertainly.

‘Bloody hell,’ said Nobbs.

They passed on to Mrs. Vulgurian. She glanced at her husband feebly, then shook Nobbs’s hand and made a sort of compromise gesture in the direction of a curtsy. Nobbs groaned. Sir Prestwick and Lady Wining were next. Having seen Mr. and Mrs. Vulgurian do it, they shook hands and made obeisance without question.

‘And this is my Deputy-Director, Mr. Nunn, Your Majesty,’ said Chiddingfold.

‘How do you do, Your Majesty,’ said Nunn, bowing his head.

After that it went perfectly. Each guest could see someone else shaking hands, and bowing, and curtsying, and whispering ‘Your Majesty,’ and each submitted in his turn unquestioningly. No doubt some of them were not entirely easy in their minds to find that the majesty made incarnate to them was a shambling, bearded young man who groaned at their loyal homage and muttered ‘bloody hell.’ But he was accompanied by the Director of the Institute and the Chairman of Amalgamated Television, and supported by every circumstance of royalty. They could scarcely disrupt the highly organised sequence of a royal occasion to question the authenticity of the principal performer. Besides, they knew about the habits and appearance of royalty only from the newspapers, and no doubt the Press either distorted or greatly over-simplified the truth. And anyway, Nobbs was upon them, had shaken their hands, and departed, almost before they had time to think what they were doing.