‘Oho,’ he says, his eyes gleaming with amusement. ‘It’s a good sign if you’re talking about me with your dresser. What else does Bobo say?’

Elizabeth laughs and shakes her head. ‘I’ve said too much already!’ She mimes zipping her mouth shut. ‘Bobo would never tell my secrets, and I would never tell hers.’

‘I wish I could say the same about Uncle Dickie’s butler who looks after me when I’m staying in Chester Street,’ Philip leans closer to make himself heard. ‘The man never stops talking! He’s a marvel, though, I have to say. I turn up with a razor and a pair of spare shirts, and John shakes his head and whisks everything way. He washes and irons – and even darns my socks.’

His voice is swallowed up by a new record blaring out from the gramophone and Elizabeth cups a hand to her ear. ‘He does what?’

‘It doesn’t matter. It’s too noisy to talk. Let’s dance instead.’

Elizabeth lets him take her hand and lead her into the middle of room where a small space has been cleared and a few couples are dancing, although there isn’t room to do much more than sway together. They have to do the same. She is very conscious of Philip’s solid body and the firm clasp of his hand. He’s holding her close, but then, he doesn’t have much choice, she reasons. It might not be because he wants to … but he might.

He still hasn’t said anything of his feelings. Elizabeth just doesn’t know. Gossip has started about his frequent visits to Buckingham Palace. It’s inevitable, her mother says. Someone has noticed his car coming and going, or perhaps one of servants has been indiscreet. It could even be someone within their social circle.

Ignore it, is her mother’s advice but the Queen doesn’t want there to be a story. She wants it to be a rumour that can just be dismissed.

It’s different for Elizabeth. It might be easier if she were sure of what Philip felt, but as it is, she feels exposed and raw. Only a week earlier, she was asked to open a factory. As soon as she got out of the car, she could see the public lined up to watch her walk to the entrance, their faces alight with avid curiosity.

‘Where’s Philip?’ they yelled.

Elizabeth was horrified. Her feelings for Philip are her own. She kept her expression blank with an effort but inside she was shaking with a mixture of horror, outrage, and disgust. How dare they ask her something so personal? How dared they?

‘Crawfie, it was horrible!’ Nearly in tears, she had told her governess what had happened when she got back to the palace.

Crawfie tried to convince her that the crowd wasn’t aggressive or rude or as threatening as they appeared. ‘I know it seems intrusive, but they don’t mean any harm,’ she said. ‘They’re just cheerful and interested.’

It didn’t feel like that to Elizabeth. It felt as if the people leaning over the barriers and asking about Philip had pushed into her mind and smeared grubby hands all over her most private thoughts.

Her feelings for Philip are hers. They don’t belong to anyone else. Those insensitive questions about him have tarnished something precious to her. Now Elizabeth can’t bear the thought of going out and being exposed to similar questions.

She isn’t a fool. She suspects the reason she found the calls about Philip’s whereabouts so offensive is that she didn’t know the answer. She didn’t know where Philip was. She doesn’t know what he feels. He comes to supper at the palace. He is charming. He makes her feel happy.

But what does he feel?

Determinedly, Elizabeth pushes the memory of that disastrous factory visit from her mind. She is not at the factory now and there are no crowds shouting questions at her. She is with Philip and he is holding her close and that is all that matters. His cheek is almost, almost, resting on her hair and she can see the pulse beating steadily beneath his ear, where his jaw meets his throat. Elizabeth lets herself relax against him. The party has receded and it is as if the two of them are quite alone, dancing in a bubble of air.

When the music ends, Philip doesn’t let her go immediately. Slowly she lifts her eyes and they look at each other, still mid sway.

She is sure Philip is going to say something but someone catches his eye and she turns her head to see David Milford Haven, his eyebrows raised in amusement and a knowing smirk on his face. Philip returns his cousin’s look

All at once, Elizabeth sees herself as he must do, a lovestruck nineteen-year-old mooning over a handsome man. Humiliation stabs at her. Is that what the factory crowd see too? Are they all laughing at her?

Snatching her hand out of Philip’s, she steps back as if slapped. ‘Thank you,’ she says with a brittle smile, and ignores his puzzled look as she turns away.

‘I’m ready to go home,’ she tells the policeman assigned to accompany her out in the evenings.

Chapter 20

Philip curses under his breath as he watches Elizabeth leave. What just happened? She is upset, obviously, but he has no idea why. Everything seemed to be going so well, too, he thinks in frustration. One minute they were dancing, and she was warm and supple in his arms, the next she was rigid and her face was closed.

The coolness in her eyes has hurt him more than he expected. He has grown used to the warmth of her smile when she is with him. Perhaps he has become complacent, Philip thinks with a flicker of anxiety. He has been enjoying the knowledge that Elizabeth prefers him to other men. He’s not even worried about Porchey anymore. He is the one, Philip is sure of it. Princess Elizabeth, surely the most sought-after young woman in the world, is his for the taking. It is impossible not to feel an arrogant sense of satisfaction.

Unless she is not for the taking at all. The thought slides uneasily into Philip’s mind.

For all her warmth when she looks at him, there is an unreachable quality to Elizabeth, as if she is detached from the rest of the world. Even at a party like this, where almost everyone comes from an aristocratic or privileged background, she is alone.

And it’s true that he has been hesitating to declare himself. She is only nineteen. There is plenty of time and plenty of life to be lived, surely, before he has to settle down and toe the line.

Still, he doesn’t like the fact that Elizabeth is upset.

David wanders over and offers Philip a cigarette. ‘Lilibet gone already?’

‘Yes.’

David raises a brow at the curtness of Philip’s reply. ‘Had a row?’

‘Of course not,’ Philip says, bending his head over the lighter and taking a long drag of the cigarette.

‘Then why are you looking like thunder?’

‘God, David, I don’t know,’ Philip admits, exasperated with himself more than with his cousin. ‘What am I doing? I’m fond of Elizabeth but do I really want to tie myself down for life?’

‘Only you know the answer to that, but you’d better make up your mind soon,’ warns David. ‘I don’t know if you really believe you’ve been discreet, but the gossip columns are linking your name with hers and all sorts of rumours are doing the rounds. If you don’t want to go ahead, you should back off now,’ he says, adding for good measure, ‘and good luck telling Uncle Dickie that!’

Uncle Dickie. Philip needs no reminding of Mountbatten’s interest in the affair. He doesn’t want to alienate his uncle who would be furious if Philip backed off now. He has already lost one father. He cannot afford to lose another.