In Royal Service to the Queen by Tessa Arlen

Author:Tessa Arlen [Arlen, Tessa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2021-06-29T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

March 10, 1946

Buckingham Palace, London

Prince Philip of Greece, suntanned from weeks in the tropics, strolled into my sitting room with all the athletic élan of a Hollywood film star, and I understood for the first time what the Woman’s Own magazine meant when they referred to “chiseled features.”

No wonder Lilibet is walking on air. I fixed a severe expression on my face, determined to pay attention to the more important aspects of his character and not be submerged by charisma.

Lilibet performed introductions. “Philip, this is my dear Crawfie,” she said, and conscious of the need for a little more formality, she added, “Miss Crawford is my governess. Crawfie, this is Prince Philip of Greece.”

The Norse god in front of me extended his hand as I was trying to decide whether protocol required a half bob. The hand was warm and dry as it briefly clasped mine—a nice firm handshake said a lot about a man.

“Hullo, Crawfie, how are you?” A pair of intelligent, clear gray eyes gazed steadily into mine. “Friend or foe?” they seemed to ask.

“I am very well, sir, thank you.”

“Crawfie is coming to tea with us, Philip.”

“Good show, we need to mass our supporters.” I was used to the stiffness of foreign royalty when they were talking to those who serve, so I was struck by how at ease he was with me.

He continued to gaze at me. “Actually, I remember Crawfie quite clearly.” His serious expression softened. “Didn’t you come with Lilibet and her family to Dartmouth—years ago?”

Had she reminded him that was where he had first met me? I didn’t think so. His demeanor might appear to be relaxed, but his observant eyes were alert. Prince Philip of Greece was here to make a good impression.

“Yes, I remember it too. You rowed all the way down the river Dart when we left in the yacht. You almost put out to sea!”

“One way to escape the press-gangers.” He glanced at Lilibet’s beaming face to see if he had made her laugh.

“It must be wonderful to be home again,” I said to keep the conversation going, as clearly Lilibet was just going to stand there and smile.

“It most certainly is.” He glanced at Lilibet again. “But I forget how cold and orderly England is after the Far East.” He turned to Lilibet. “Do we have to wash our hands and comb our hair? It is getting on for half past four.” He laughed. “Ahem, sorry, navy punctuality.”

She laughed. “We are having tea with Papa and Mummy, not the nannies.”

“Same thing,” he teased. “I’m afraid I arrived a bit early,” he explained to me. I noticed that although his uniform was impeccably well brushed and pressed, it was far from new, and he had clipped the edges of his frayed cuffs. This shabby, postwar lack of vanity was endearing, as were the well-polished shoes that needed to be reheeled. Philip’s easy confidence made little things like an impoverished wardrobe seem of no consequence at all—at least to me.

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