It is time to commit himself. The thought leaves Philip depressed. He has to be back at Corsham the next day which at least gives him a chance to postpone the need to make things up with Elizabeth. She’ll get over it, whatever it is, he tells himself, but the stricken look in her eyes niggles at him and he is snappy all week. An attempt to distract himself with a darts competition at the Methuen Arms ends in humiliation when he can barely hit the board, to the jeers of the local team.

On Thursday, Philip rings Elizabeth. ‘Can I take you out for a drive this weekend?’

There is a slight hesitation at the other end of the line. ‘I think it’s better if you come here,’ she says. ‘We’ll have supper.’

He misses the joyful lift in her voice, Philip realises as he hangs up. He will have to try harder.

Her dresser’s criticism of his wardrobe lingers and he even finds his hand hovering over a tie as he gets ready to go to the palace, but why the hell should he follow convention? He is not going to change. Elizabeth will have to take him as he is.

It’s a relief to be shown into her sitting room and discover that Elizabeth is alone, apart from her precious corgi which bustles over to sniff at his ankles.

‘No Margaret?’

‘Crawfie’s taken her to a ballet. I thought it would be better if we were alone.’

‘I’m glad.’ Philip hesitates. Her hands are folded at her waist as if holding herself in. ‘Did I do something wrong last weekend, Elizabeth?’ he asks gently. ‘You left the party so abruptly.’

Her eyes slide away from his. ‘It wasn’t anything you did,’ she says with difficulty. ‘I was … embarrassed.’

‘Embarrassed?’ It is the last thing Philip has been expecting.

‘People are gossiping.’ Elizabeth takes a breath. ‘About you and me.’

‘I’m afraid they will,’ he says. ‘Do you want me not to come and see you so often?’

‘No … oh, I don’t know what I want!’ she bursts out. ‘I hate knowing that my private life, my feelings, are being talked about in pubs and shops and parties.’ She struggles to contain herself before she goes on. ‘I went to open a factory the other day and everyone was calling out “Where’s Philip?” as if you and I were … were …’

‘Lovers?’ Philip suggests when she trails off.

Colour stains her cheeks and she doesn’t answer.

‘Is that what you want, Elizabeth?’ he asks after a moment.

She turns away to the long window that looks out over the Mall, lit in the darkness by car headlights. A fretful spring day has thrown showers against the windows and the glass is still gleaming with raindrops, tiny silvery circles against the darkness.

Behind her, Philip studies her shimmering reflection in the glass. She looks mysterious, unknowable.

‘Do you remember the conversation we had that Christmas at Windsor?’ Elizabeth asks at last, still without looking at him.

‘Of course. We talked about marriage.’

‘We said we would see how things were after the war,’ she ploughs on, ‘but now the war is over, and I suppose … I suppose I’d like to know what you think now.’

‘About marriage?’

‘Yes.’

‘To you?’

She lets out a little breath. ‘Yes.’

‘It wouldn’t be straightforward,’ Philip says carefully, talking to her reflection. ‘It’s not just about what we want. I’m still seen as a foreign prince, and you need your father’s permission to marry. He’s not in favour of the match, you know that.’

‘But in principle?’

It’s now or never. He can practically hear Uncle Dickie’s voice in his ear.

Philip lays his hands on her shoulders and turns her gently to face him. ‘In principle, I think I’d like that very much,’ he says, ‘if you would.’

She swallows. ‘I would too.’

‘That’s settled then.’ Ignoring the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as the door to a gilded cage yawns ahead of him, he smiles down at her.

‘So what should we do now?’ Elizabeth asks.

‘I think I should talk to Uncle Dickie and to Uncle Georgie in Greece before I talk to the King.’

‘All right.’ Her shoulders have relaxed and she looks happier. Philip is conscious of a pang of contrition. It must be hard for her.

‘But before that …’ he begins, and she looks up enquiringly when he trails off.

‘Yes?’

‘There’s something else we should do. Something more important.’

Elizabeth looks faintly alarmed. ‘What?’

‘I think we should kiss, don’t you?’

His arms slide down her arms as her eyes widen and an adorably uncertain smile trembles on her lips.

‘Maybe we should,’ she says.

Chapter 21

Germany, Schloss Salem, April 1946

The driver pulls up outside the arcaded entrance to the Schloss and hauls on the brake. ‘This it?’ he asks dubiously.

Philip looks up at the familiar façade, pockmarked with artillery fire, its white paint peeling and stained with God knows what. At the decorative brickwork around cracked windows and the red roof tiles patched here and there. An image of the castle as it was before the war shimmers in his head and he tries to superimpose it over the bleak reality.

‘Yep,’ he says, twisting round to get his kitbag. ‘This is it.’

The Canadian studies the array of windows stretching to either side of the crumbling entrance. ‘Guess they’ll have room for you, anyway,’ he says and Philip grins as he drops his kitbag onto the gravel and swings down from the cab.

‘They should be able to squeeze me in.’ Thumping the door with the flat of his hand, he calls a farewell through the window. ‘Thanks for the lift!’

He watches the truck trundle away down the avenue before turning back to face the schloss. It is not a place of particularly happy memories for him. The year he spent at school here was not one he enjoyed and it was a relief to be sent back to England.

An even greater relief not to have to visit his mother sitting blank-faced in the sanatorium nearby.

Still, it’s sad to see the state the once great palace is in now. If Windsor Castle is looking tired and Buckingham Palace battered by the war, their dilapidation is nothing compared to the schloss.

It was an impulse decision to come to Germany. He is on his way to Monte Carlo to collect his father’s few effects. That journey is going to be hard enough without complicating matters with a side trip to Germany. But it is nine years since he has seen any of his sisters, and they are all gathered at Schloss Salem for Sophie’s wedding to Freddie’s brother, Georg, Prince of Hanover. How could he not make the effort to come?

Hoisting his kitbag onto his shoulder, he runs up the steps and into the great hallway. An ancient butler with watery eyes starts to confront him in distress at the intrusion, but Philip jerks his head to dismiss him.

‘Don’t worry, I’m family,’ he says, his German coming back without thinking. ‘Where are they all? In the salon? Don’t worry,’ he says without giving the butler a chance to answer, ‘I’ll find them myself.’