“And I’m Georgiana Rannoch,” I said. “Are you visiting Beverly Hills too, Mrs. Hanford?”

“No, honey. My husband and I are residents of this lovely city. We have a mansion up in the hills above Sunset Boulevard. My husband is a real estate developer and making more money than we know what to do with. I come down to the hotel to have lunch and meet friends almost every day. This is the place where everyone gathers. Everyone who is anyone, that is. Would you care to join us for lunch?”

I glanced back at my mother, who was now strutting around the room gesturing. “Why not?” I said. “Thank you.”

Several women were already seated around a table in the restaurant and Dolores produced me as if I were a prized exotic pet. “This is the young royal lady that Barbara was telling us about,” she said. “Cousin of the king. Imagine that. And wait till you hear her accent. Go ahead, honey. Say something.”

“I’m very pleased to meet you,” I muttered. “I’m Georgiana.”

They sighed as if I had just sung an aria. “Isn’t that just the bee’s knees?” one said. “So refined. So royal.” She patted the chair beside her. “So come and sit down and tell us what you’re doing in little old Beverly Hills and what it’s like at the palace.”

I sat. They peppered me with questions—about my mother, the Prince of Wales, rumors they had heard. I tried my best to be discreet and answer vaguely, but it was rather like being at an inquisition. They also consumed an alarming amount of alcohol and all of them smoked. They only picked at their food, of which there were huge portions, and I was fascinated to see one of them using her hands to eat a bun with beef in the middle. Lettuce and juices squirted out of it as she attempted to get it into her mouth. Not a pretty sight. I had ordered a chicken sandwich, which at home would be a thin slice of chicken between slices of white bread. When it came up I was horrified to see it was half a chicken sitting on a roll. After the initial grilling Dolores and her crowd forgot about me and lapsed into their usual gossip. They were noisy, witty and terribly catty. It was shocking to someone like me to hear them describing the bedroom behavior of various celebrities without batting an eyelid.

“Three of them, honey. No, of course they were men. He can’t stand women.”