There was no call for her to be so … cold.

I thought we had an agreement, she said. They did have an agreement. He has always been completely honest with her, Philip tells himself, aggrieved. Of course he didn’t pretend to be madly in love with her. She would have seen through that in an instant! And it isn’t as if Elizabeth has ever given him any indication she wants or expects any mawkish sentimentality from him. She made it clear from the start that an agreement was what it was, was what she wanted.

Still, he can’t stop hearing her voice, can’t stop seeing the shuttered expression in her eyes. I know you don’t love me. The memory squats inside him, a heavy stone in his chest.

Would she have preferred him to act a part? Philip can’t believe that, but round and round her words go in his head: I know you don’t want to marry me. You wanted the position. We’ll cancel the wedding.

They can’t cancel the wedding. What a ridiculous thing to suggest! It is barely two weeks away. But Philip has no doubt that if Elizabeth says she would ensure something was worked out, something would be. She is not given to making promises she cannot keep. She has held open the door of the cage, and there is a part of Philip that is uneasily aware he can have his freedom if that is what he really wants.

And he is tempted. He would be the most reviled man in the world for a while, true, but he has his career. He could make a decent life for himself without all the protocol and the starchy traditions and the trappings of royalty. What a relief that would be!

But it would be a life without Elizabeth.

The thought of it is curiously bleak. It’s not that he loves her, exactly – didn’t they agree that wasn’t what their marriage would be about? – but he would miss her.

Yes, he would definitely miss her.

Philip snaps himself out of it. There is no question of missing her. He is going to marry Elizabeth. Anything else is unthinkable. Why has Elizabeth even suggested it?

Unless she has changed her mind?

She wouldn’t do that, he reassures himself instantly. Elizabeth keeps her promises. She does what she says she is going to do, unwaveringly.

Unlike him, Philip realises with a wince of shame. He has wavered plenty. He has been losing his nerve and flailing out in frustration. He isn’t used to the relentless speculation and observation. He’s had a lifetime of being able to come and go as he pleases and all that has changed since the engagement.

His life is going to change completely.

Which is, he knows, an explanation but not an excuse. The realisation that he has disappointed Elizabeth clings to Philip’s shoulders like a monkey all week, impossible to shake off. It leaves him touchy and jittery, unable to settle. He sends Elizabeth a stiff note saying that as far as he is concerned, he wants the wedding to go ahead as planned, but he knows he should go and see her himself. If only he didn’t feel so confused and restless about everything. He’ll only make it worse if he goes to see her in this state, he decides.

Meanwhile, planning for the wedding is continuing remorselessly, inexorably, unaware of the fact that he and Elizabeth have stumbled. Sometimes Philip feels as if he is trapped in a nightmare, frozen like a rabbit in headlights. The knowledge that he has to do something leaves him frantic but still he seems unable to move. All he can do is go through the motions while his mind spins and spins without ever getting purchase.

When his chums at the Thursday Club originally suggested a secret stag do well away from any cameras, Philip thought it was a great idea. A more decorous event including Uncle Dickie has been arranged for the night before the wedding but the Thursday Club bash is supposed to be the real, relaxed event, a chance to let his hair down for the last time.

The occasion turns out to be as robust and ribald as he expected, and probably exactly what he thought he wanted at one time, but Philip is not enjoying himself. There is much drinking and guffawing and he is the butt of every lewd joke, which he expected too. But he feels disconnected from it all as he sits straight and white-faced as the reality of the situation he is facing crashes over him.

All the members of the Thursday Club are there. Philip hears the braying laughter, sees the drink slopping out of glasses as if from behind an invisible wall. Alcohol seems to shimmer in the air, distorting the room and the people in it. Debauched, dishevelled, they have all taken on the air of grotesques with red, glistening faces, their shirts straining over ample bellies. Philip’s eyes fix on the stained tablecloth as he struggles to keep the disgust from his expression, and at that moment the image of Elizabeth rises before him: cool, clear, composed. He clutches at the memory of her clear eyes with a kind of desperation, and the need to be with her is suddenly so acute that it takes his breath away as revelation washes through him.

It is not the princess or the position he wants. It is Elizabeth herself. Elizabeth, with her warm smile and her kindness, her straight back and steady spirit.

I know you don’t love me, she said. But she is wrong. He does love her, he just hasn’t realised it until now.

Philip hasn’t been looking for love, and he isn’t prepared for it. Now, he feels aggrieved, almost foolish, caught unawares by the way it has crept up on him when he wasn’t paying attention. His relationship with Elizabeth is supposed to be calm and practical. She is a princess, he is a prince. Their arrangement is not supposed to be about wanting or needing or loving.

Except now, somehow, it is.

He has been teetering on the brink of this chasm for months, Philip realises, and he has fallen over into love now that it is too late to do anything about it. And very uncomfortable it feels, too! He doesn’t want this gnawing sense of need, this ridiculous feeling that he is off-balance without Elizabeth by his side.

He’s been perfectly happy with the way things are up to now, Philip tells himself crossly. He doesn’t want to be in love, but now the truth of it has hit him like a train, there seems to be no unknowing it and he is left feeling edgy and empty and uncomfortably aware that he needs Elizabeth more than she needs him.

Which means he will have to do something about it.

I know you don’t love me. Elizabeth’s words drum in his brain throughout the long, wretched evening. It is a relief when he can finally leave and sink onto his bed, dropping his aching head into his hands. He needs to tell her how wrong she is.

He needs to know if she can love him back.

Only then, Philip decides, will the world which has tipped so abruptly out of kilter settle back into place.

First thing tomorrow, he promises himself, he will go to the palace and put his happiness in Elizabeth’s hands before he loses his nerve.

Chapter 48

Buckingham Palace, November 1947

Elizabeth is trying on shoes and hats for her going away outfit when Philip bursts in. Deeply discomposed by the interruption of someone so fiercely masculine and out of place amongst the array of frivolous accessories, Mr Hartnell and his assistants flutter ineffectually like hens confronting a fox in the coop.

Philip ignores them all. He looks angry and baffled and in spite of herself, Elizabeth’s heart leaps.

‘I need to talk to you,’ he says to her.

‘I’m rather busy, as you can see.’ Elizabeth forces herself to stay cool. All she has had from him since their row is a stiff note indicating that he wants to go ahead with the wedding. Does he really expect her to welcome him with open arms? Why should she change her plans just because he is suddenly ready to talk? ‘Can you come back in an hour or two?’