What a wild and wicked place the world was outside of Castle Rannoch and Buckingham Palace. Frankly I was rather relieved when I could make my escape and go back to the bungalow. We had dinner delivered as Mummy didn’t want to stop working on her lines. She was determined to be perfect on the first day on the set. Ronnie stopped by to see how we were getting on and told me that I’d be welcome to come to the set later in the day and he’d send a car for me. I was glad of this as I didn’t want to find myself alone at the mercy of Dolores and the catty women, or risk bumping into Charlie Chaplin again.

THE NEXT MORNING Mummy woke me up at five with all her banging, clattering, and swearing and departed before six. I found I couldn’t get back to sleep with the sun streaming in. I ordered breakfast, then wrote postcards to my grandfather and to Belinda. If she was still working at Harrods she’d need cheering up. Then I went for a walk to see if I could find Queenie a cooler uniform, but the only shops did not have clothing suitable for maids.

The car came for me at eleven and off I went to the studio, feeling very grand and rather excited. The gatekeeper saluted as we drove under the big sign saying GOLDEN PICTURES. People in strange costumes crossed in front of us. We passed what looked like an old-fashioned town square, then a European village. They were filming at the latter, with young men dressed in lederhosen and girls in dirndls. The car swung around into a narrow alley between buildings and stopped. Ronnie came out to meet me, carrying a clipboard.

“Great. You made it. Come on in. We’re about to start shooting.”

He led me into a big dark box. At one end was a set of a palace room and my mother, in a costume more sexy and revealing than Bloody Mary ever wore, stood at a table, while Juan, in tights and doublet, stood facing her. The first thing that struck me was how young and beautiful she looked and not for the first time I marveled that I could be her daughter and look so little like her. Ronnie put a finger to his lips. “And action,” shouted a voice from the darkness.

“How dare you, Philip,” she said. “You may be king in your country, but here I am the queen. Don’t ever forget that.”

He walked over, grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward him. “But you are also my wife. And the wife is at the mercy of her husband. Do not ever forget that either.” Then he kissed her—very passionately.

“And cut!” shouted the voice. “Great stuff, Claire, honey. Juan, we need less of an accent from you. Tone it down and don’t lisp.”