The horses are fresh and they let them have their heads, hooves thundering as they gallop over the veldt. The sky is flushed an unearthly pink, and Elizabeth can smell horse and dry grass and dust as they race towards a lone acacia tree in the distance. She can feel the bunch of the mare’s muscles, the easy power of her stride. For so long she has held herself tight, but in the hush of that African dawn, Elizabeth feels her chest loosen and unlock, and she lets out a whoop of exhilaration.

The mare responds to her excitement and powers ahead, leaving Margaret and Peter behind on their more sluggish mounts. A broad smile on her face, Elizabeth crouches over the horse’s mane, her thighs clamped tight around the saddle, and her hair blown anyhow. She doesn’t care what she looks like: she just wants to gallop forever towards the horizon, faster and further.

When they reach the acacia tree, Elizabeth pulls the horse up reluctantly to rest while Margaret and Peter catch up. Easy in the saddle, she surveys the empty horizon while the mare snorts and tosses her mane, well pleased by the run.

It is like being at sea, Elizabeth thinks. The same space, the same light, the same sense of being untethered. It makes her realise how confined her life has been until now. Oh, there is Balmoral, of course, and Sandringham, but for most of the war she was at Windsor Castle, where the horizon is constantly interrupted by towers or stone walls or shrouded in grey clouds.

There is nothing to break up the emptiness here, just this tree, stark against the great bowl of the sky. Elizabeth can feel herself changing, filling up the space. This trip has been eye-opening for her. She didn’t want to come, didn’t want to leave Philip, but it has been good for her, she can see that now. It has not just been about seeing a new country, interesting though that has been. These weeks with her parents and Margaret have given her a new insight into their family and what it means to be royal.

She has watched her parents and understands now what is expected of them, and what will be expected of her in the future. In particular, Elizabeth has a new appreciation of her mother. The Queen is unfailingly charming. Her smile never falters, no matter how tedious the dinner or how long the reception. She sits through displays of dancing and accepts bouquets with an expression of lively interest. And she always looks immaculate. Her hats are things of beauty, and her shoes designed to boost her height, although they are not always the most practical footwear.

Elizabeth has been watching and learning. She has seen how her mother makes every single person she talks to feel special, but she has seen, too, the harried expressions of the officials responsible for moving the royal party along and keeping to the punishing schedule. On more than one occasion Elizabeth has had to prod her mother’s heels with the point of her sunshade to hurry her up.

This will be her future. It is less daunting than it once seemed. South Africa has given Elizabeth a new confidence. Her genuine interest in the country has helped her relax and it is easier now to talk to people. She will always be shy, but sitting on the horse under that acacia tree, Elizabeth feels a sense of purpose click into place, as if for the first time she fully understands the destiny that awaits her.

It will not be easy, Elizabeth thinks, her eyes on the far horizon, but she will be able to do it. She is nearly twenty-one, nearly an adult. She will accept the role that fate has given her, she vows. She cannot bear to think of a time when her dear Papa will be gone, but she will be Queen one day, and she will make him proud.

Chapter 32

The King’s nerves are so frayed that in the end it is a relief to return to Cape Town in time for her twenty-first birthday. Elizabeth wakes on 21st April to the sound of unfamiliar birds peeping and whistling in the lush garden of Government House and she lies for a while, wishing she could escape for a gallop the way she was able to from the train. But the programme for her day has been agreed months in advance and Elizabeth will do as she is told.

That evening she is to broadcast a birthday message to five hundred million of her father’s subjects across the British Commonwealth and Empire. The speech has been written for her, but it is so much what she wants to say that Elizabeth has tears in her eyes when she reads it. Now, on her birthday morning, she picks it up from her bedside table and reads it again, murmuring the words to herself: an unwavering faith, a high courage, a quiet heart.

That morning she is overwhelmed by gifts and congratulatory messages from all over the world, so many that Margaret has to help her open them. The coffee table in front of her is littered with diamonds – earrings and badges and brooches and necklaces – all glinting in the sunlight between the opened telegrams. One gift though she keeps to last: something small and heavy that Philip has sent.

‘Aren’t you going to open it?’ Margaret asks.

‘Not now,’ says Elizabeth, turning it between her hands, smiling at the thought that Philip has remembered her. She wants to keep it until she is quite alone. ‘I’ll take it upstairs with me.’

Leaving the diamonds on the table, she carries Philip’s parcel upstairs and sits on the bed to open it. It is beautifully wrapped with a ribbon and a small card that she pulls out to read first.

Darling Elizabeth, this is for you on your birthday. There is only one piece of jewellery I want to give you, so until I can offer you a ring, the enclosed is a token to let you know that I am thinking of you with all my love, Philip.

Elizabeth opens the box and lifts the tissue paper to release the sweet smell of roses, lavender, and lily of the valley. Inside lie three perfect bars of soap, and she smiles as she lifts each to her nose, remembering how she had told him how much she longed for soap during the war. He has remembered. He hasn’t forgotten her. He is thinking of her. That is all she wants.

Darling Elizabeth … with all my love. They are just the things people say in letters, Elizabeth knows. It doesn’t mean anything. But still, her heart lifts.

At six o’clock, she sits alone with Margaret and an engineer in a small, quiet room to read her message. Her heart bangs against her ribs as the engineer counts her down and then points to indicate that she should begin. Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth starts to read. Her voice sounds high and rushed at first, and she steadies herself for the second paragraph. ‘Let me begin by saying “thank you” to all the thousands of kind people who have sent me messages of goodwill. This is a happy day for me, but it is also one that brings serious thoughts, thoughts of life looming ahead with all its challenges and with all its opportunity.’

The speech lasts for six minutes but it feels like much longer to Elizabeth. She keeps thinking of all those people, millions and millions of them, listening to her, to her, and when she makes her final declaration, the truth of it resonates through her.

‘I declare before you all that my whole life, whether it be long or short, shall be devoted to your service and the service of our great imperial family to which we all belong.’

The words feel momentous. As she sits in front of the microphone, she realises truly, perhaps for the first time, what her life will be. When the speech is over, the engineer grins and gives her the thumbs up, and Elizabeth relaxes with a rather shaky smile. The broadcast is done but her task is just beginning. Her duty, her purpose, is to serve the country and the Commonwealth.

It is a vow she intends to keep.