Elizabeth keeps her hands in her pockets and her eyes down. They haven’t all learnt the same thing from the war. It has taught her not about opportunity but the price of duty. The responsibility of leading a country at war has weighed heavily on her father. She has seen the hollow exhaustion in his eyes, the care carved into his face.

A lifetime of duty is not much to look forward to, but she has seen the cost of shirking duty too. Her Uncle David chose love over duty and was exiled not just from his country but from his family too. Elizabeth will not risk the same fate. She does not dare. Better by far to keep her feelings under tight control.

‘But one day,’ Philip says hesitantly, ‘after the war … if you’re still looking for a prince …’

‘I could keep you in mind, perhaps?’ she offers when he leaves the sentence dangling.

He looks at her seriously. ‘I hope you will,’ he says. ‘I hope, if nothing else, we can be friends.’

Elizabeth’s face relaxes into a smile. ‘I hope so too.’

‘Will you keep writing to me?’

‘If you’d like me to.’

‘I would. Real letters,’ he says. ‘Not polite ones. Let me know what you’re thinking and feeling.’

‘If you’ll do the same.’

‘I will,’ says Philip. ‘I’ll be a better correspondent, I promise, and after the war …’

‘We’ll see,’ Elizabeth finishes for him, and he grins at her.

‘Yes, let’s see.’

Surreptitiously, Elizabeth lets a long breath leak out of her. In the end, the conversation has gone better than she has dared hope. Philip was never going to make a dramatic declaration of love. He is too honest for that, and no vows have been made, but they have made a proper connection. He has not ruled out a future together one day. And in the meantime, she has something to hope for and her pride is intact.

That evening is an enchanted one for Elizabeth. In contrast to the quiet Christmas gathering, the King and Queen have invited a number of guests for an informal party. Normally, her shyness makes such events an ordeal, but tonight Elizabeth is shining with happiness.

‘You look very pretty, Lilibet,’ her father says fondly, and Elizabeth realises with a start that for once she feels pretty. It is because Philip is there, because they are friends.

The King is not the only one who notices. ‘You’re the belle of the ball tonight,’ says Margaret, a little miffed as she is usually the one everyone looks at, the one who makes everyone smile. ‘Is that a new dress?’ she asks suspiciously.

‘Of course not. Honestly, Margaret, where would I get a new dress?’ Still, Elizabeth knows her eyes are sparkling, her cheeks becomingly flushed.

Even stern Tommy Lascelles unbends to compliment her on her looks, only to break off with a frown when he sees Philip and David moving furniture.

‘Your Royal Highness,’ he addresses Philip, tight-lipped. ‘Is there a problem?’

Philip glances up at him. ‘It’s time the party got going. We’re just rolling up the carpet so we can dance.’

‘Have you asked the King?’

Philip actually rolls his eyes at Tommy. Elizabeth is both aghast and impressed at his daring. ‘I asked the Queen, who thought it was a very jolly idea. Is that all right with you?’ he asks, not even bothering to hide his sarcasm.

Clearly it is not all right with Tommy, who likes gatherings to be as decorous as possible, but he can hardly counter the Queen’s agreement. His moustache bristles disapprovingly. ‘In that case, get the footmen to do that.’

‘For God’s sake man, the footmen are all decrepit! David and I can deal with the carpet. Though if you want to help, you could ask if someone can bring down the gramophone from the Queen’s sitting room.’

Margaret is standing beside Elizabeth. ‘Golly, I can’t believe Philip dares to speak to Tommy like that,’ she whispers as Tommy moves stiffly off. ‘I suppose because he’s a prince, he doesn’t need to be deferential.’

‘I think it’s more about the kind of person he is,’ says Elizabeth, but she worries. It’s not a good idea, she thinks, to make an enemy out of someone like Tommy who is not only steadfast in his support of the monarchy but also a man of considerable power and influence.

But she forgets her concerns when one of the elderly footmen staggers in with the gramophone and another carries a box of records. Margaret claps her hands in delight and David drops the arm on the first record: ‘That Old Black Magic’. The song could hardly be more appropriate, Elizabeth thinks as Philip grabs her hand to pull her out and start the dancing, swinging her round until she laughs giddily.

Their gaiety is infectious. In no time everyone seems to be dancing, apart from Tommy who glowers from the sidelines. David puts on all their favourite hit tunes from the year, and from ‘Take a Chance on Love’ to ‘There Will Never Be Another You’ it is as if every record has been specially written for Elizabeth. She dances with other men, but it is Philip she keeps coming back to, Philip who makes her fizz with happiness when he takes her hand in his. His clasp is warm and he holds her just a little too close.

Two years ago he asked her to dance, but then he was just being kind to a young girl. Now it feels different. Now he is dancing with her because he wants to and she lets herself relax, laughing up at him as they sing along to ‘As Long As You’re Not In Love With Anyone Else, Why Don’t You Fall In Love With Me’?

When at the end of evening the King leads the traditional conga in and out of the rooms, Philip positions himself behind Elizabeth and takes firm hold of her waist. She can feel his hard hands burning through the satin of her dress, through her corset and onto her skin. The state apartments are all converted to offices, but they dance, feet stomping, the whole way along the Grand Corridor and back, and are all breathless and laughing by the time they have finished.

‘That was a wonderful evening,’ Philip says. ‘I’ll be sorry to go back to London tomorrow.’

Her happiness gives Elizabeth the confidence to say, ‘Why don’t you stay?’

‘I can’t, I’m afraid.’ He is smiling still, but he doesn’t meet her eyes. ‘I’ve promised to spend New Year in London with good friends.’

Friends? Which friends? Elizabeth longs to ask but knows she can’t.

‘Oh, I see …’ She swallows her disappointment. It is a salutary reminder that Philip has another life, one he has already admitted he is reluctant to give up. She is a new friend, that is all.

‘But I think Marina is inviting us all to a lunch at Coppins soon so I’ll see you then, I hope?’

She summons a bright smile. ‘Yes, of course.’ What else can she say, after all? Hasn’t she already decided not to embarrass him by making a fuss or demanding something he so clearly has no intention of giving? ‘That will be lovely.’

Chapter 12

Cairo, April 1944

‘Get out of the bloody way!’ Philip leans on his horn as a street seller veers his cart directly into his path. He is hot and dusty and dying for a beer, and at this rate he’ll never get to Shepheard’s.

Whelp put in at Alexandria four days earlier and Philip has been summoned to meet his uncle in Cairo. When the Supreme Allied Commander of the South East Asia Command himself requested Philip’s presence, his commanding officer could hardly refuse to let him go.