‘Well, at least that solves the problem of selling seeds and plants,’ he said. ‘If I am making a new royal garden we will need all our stocks. We’re back in profit, Hester. Am I to go at once?’

‘I said you were on the road to Oatlands, before I knew what the message was. So you can go today or tomorrow.’

‘So our troubles are over!’ John exclaimed happily. ‘A new garden to design, and all our seedlings and plants bought by the king.’

‘I don’t think our troubles will be over that quickly,’ Hester said cautiously. ‘Take great care, John, when you meet the king and queen.’

When John got to Wimbledon the king and queen were not to be found.

‘Their Majesties are walking privately in the garden,’ one of the courtiers told him. ‘They said you were to go and meet them there. You may approach Their Majesties.’

John, accustomed to the ways of the court, expected to find twenty to thirty people with the king and queen walking privately, but for once they were indeed alone, just the two of them, with her hand in the crook of his arm and her embroidered silk skirts brushing against his legs as they walked together.

John hesitated, thinking that for once they might have chosen to be alone and might be enjoying their privacy. But when they turned at the edge of the grass court and saw him the queen smiled and the king beckoned him forward with one of his little gestures. Although they wished it to be always understood that they were very much in love, they preferred each other’s company before an audience. The queen liked to be seen publicly basking in the king’s adoration, even more than she enjoyed a private moment.

‘Ah, Gardener Tradescant!’ the queen said. John bowed low and dropped to one knee. The king flicked his finger to permit John to rise and John got up. At once he saw that they were not having a carefree stroll in the garden. The queen was flushed and her eyelids were red, the king looked pale and strained.

‘Your Majesties,’ John said warily.

‘The king has bought me this pretty house to take our minds off our troubles,’ the queen said in her lilting accent. ‘We are much troubled, Gardener Tradescant. We want to be diverted.’

John bowed. ‘It could be a fine garden,’ he said. ‘The soil is good.’