‘Six months!’ Philip echoes in dismay.

‘Think yourself lucky I’m allowing it at all,’ the King says. ‘I’ll have to talk to the Prime Minister; he’s not going to be happy about this either. It will complicate the diplomatic situation considerably. So there’ll be no announcement, no ring, no wedding plans until I say so. Is that clear?’

Elizabeth meets Philip’s rueful gaze, and he nods. It is disappointing to have to wait, but this is clearly the best they are going to get. And the first hurdle has been cleared. They are committed to each other now.

‘Yes, sir,’ Philip says. ‘Thank you.’

‘Yes, Papa. Thank you, Papa.’

The King throws himself back in his chair. ‘We’ll have a small celebration with your mother and sister tonight, but that’s it.’ He points at Philip. ‘You’d better leave tomorrow before all the gossips get wind of this.’

‘Oh, Papa!’ Elizabeth protests.

‘Tomorrow,’ he says firmly. ‘You and Lilibet may meet in London, but you are not to even consider making the relationship public for six months and until I have discussed your marriage with the Prime Minister. Not a word to anyone, do you hear me?’

‘May I at least tell my immediate family?’ Philip says with studied restraint.

The King sighs irritably before giving a jerky nod. ‘No one else,’ he warns. ‘I mean it. Not a word, do you hear me?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Philip looks at Elizabeth who mouths sorry. What else can they do?

‘Lilibet?’

‘Yes, Papa. I understand. We’ll keep our engagement a secret for now.’

Chapter 29

London, October 1946

‘South Africa? For how long?’

Scowling, Philip paces around Elizabeth’s sitting room. Outside, as if mirroring his mood, a blustery, bad-tempered wind is swirling autumn leaves in eddies across the Mall.

‘We’d be away three months. The plan is to sail at the end of January.’ Elizabeth has her head down, petting Susan. ‘I’d be there for my twenty-first birthday in April. Papa says we’ll be able to announce the engagement once we get home.’

‘He said we’d have to wait six months. It’ll be nine months before you get home!’

‘I know.’ Elizabeth is clearly upset but Philip is too angry to comfort her.

He left Balmoral in high spirits. The King’s lack of enthusiasm for the engagement had galled, but on the whole Philip was pleased with the way things had gone. Elizabeth’s proposal had been a bonus, and her practical approach to the marriage frankly a relief. She made it clear that she isn’t going to expect any nauseating displays of emotion but at the same time, there is a sweetness and an innocence to her that Philip finds touching.

True, his own enthusiasm for the marriage has wavered at times, but now that he has committed to it, Philip sees no reason why they shouldn’t have a successful marriage. But he’s frustrated at not being able to enjoy his triumph to the full. First there was the King’s grudging acceptance of the engagement and then the demand for secrecy. Philip doesn’t buy the alleged concern about the political situation in Athens. When has Britain ever cared what is going on in Greece? No, they’re just hoping Elizabeth will change her mind about marrying him.

In the meantime, instead of shouting the news from the rooftops, he has to continue the absurd charade of pretending that he and Elizabeth mean nothing to each other. It’s not that he wants to hang over her and make a fool of himself, Philip reassures himself, but nonetheless she belongs to him now and it grates that he’s not allowed to show it. Oh, he is permitted to take her to the theatre occasionally and sometimes he takes her for a drive to Richmond Park but chances are that on any given evening he will have to stand by and watch one of her faithful Guards officers escort her to restaurants or out to one of the fashionable clubs.

‘I’d much rather be with you,’ Elizabeth assured him when she got back from Balmoral at the beginning of October. ‘I wish you’d been able to stay in Scotland,’ she added wistfully. ‘It wasn’t the same without you.’

‘Has your father forgiven you yet?’ Philip asked and she pulled a face.

‘Not really. He was livid when that Greek newspaper claimed that the announcement of our engagement was imminent.’

‘That was nothing to do with me.’ Philip has already been hauled over the coals by the King about that. ‘I told my mother and Uncle Dickie. He can be a gossip but he knows how important it is to stay on the side of the King right now, and as for my mother … she’s really more interested in the religious order she’s joined. If you ask me, it was Uncle Georgie indulging in some wishful thinking.’

The King had told Tommy Lascelles to issue a sharp denial of the story.

And now they’re proposing taking Elizabeth away to South Africa for three months!

‘He’s still hoping it won’t happen,’ Philip says bitterly and Elizabeth looks up.

‘It will happen, Philip. We just need to hold our nerve.’

‘Do you have to go to Africa?’

‘I asked Papa that, but he wants all four of us to go. With the war we’ve never had a chance to do a royal tour as a family, and Papa is keen for us to be together.’

‘More likely he’s keen to separate us,’ Philip says with a morose look.

It’s obvious what the King is planning. Elizabeth is to be taken away, entertained royally and given all sorts of new and exciting experiences. He is hoping distance will give her a chance to forget about Philip.

‘They want you to change your mind.’

Giving Susan a final pat, Elizabeth gets up. She is not a demonstrative person, but now she lays a hand on his arm.

‘I won’t change my mind, Philip, I promise you.’

He covers her hand with his own. ‘It’s going to be a long three months,’ he says.

There is nothing for it but to grit his teeth and do as he is told. Elizabeth’s father is the King and until she is twenty-five she needs his permission to marry. If they’re not careful, they’ll find themselves waiting five years, Philip thinks savagely. He’s sure her father would be perfectly happy to keep them waiting forever.

Indeed, the King seizes any opportunity to keep them apart. After being snapped looking into each other’s eyes at Patricia Mountbatten’s wedding to John Brabourne, Elizabeth and Philip find themselves plastered over the papers, and the king is incandescent.

‘I’d have thought as a serving naval officer you’d have understood the meaning of secret,’ he snarls, stabbing the offending photograph with his finger. ‘You might as well have sent an open invitation to the press to tittle-tattle about a possible betrothal.’ He scowls at Philip.

‘We were just looking at each other,’ Philip says, jaw clenched with the effort of not losing his temper.

The King had no such inhibitions. ‘Well, stop looking! I’ve told Tommy to deny everything and you’re not to see each other again until all these rumours have died down. Is that understood?’

So Philip is confined to a freezing Nissen hut in Corsham during the week and at the weekends he is allowed to stay at his grandmother’s dilapidated apartments in Kensington Palace, but no longer is he permitted to go to Buckingham Palace for cosy suppers, nor is he to escort Elizabeth anywhere.