My secret dinner date with President Peres
When an invitation came, Kinvara Balfour could never have predicted what would happen next
It was just another day in Hollywood for me – another meeting with another production team to talk about my idea for a show they might want to work on but couldn’t say for sure. As the team was ushered out of the vast office, the producer closed the door firmly behind them and pulled me aside.
“I am inviting you to a dinner about which you can tell no one,” he said in a whisper. “Do not speak about it. Do not communicate about it via email or text. 6.30pm at the Beverly Hilton this Saturday. Dinner with Shimon Peres. Don’t be late.”
It was 2012 and Mr Peres, president of Israel, was in Los Angeles for one night following a much-publicised trip to the Facebook HQ in Silicon Valley. He had described the social networking platform as a tool for peace, a way for citizens to bypass the failed efforts of controlling governments and to seek peace across boundaries. And I had been asked to meet him.
He would most certainly want to discuss the Balfour Declaration, I thought. In 1917, foreign secretary Arthur Balfour – my great-greatgrandfather’s older brother – declared the British government’s support for a Jewish homeland in Palestine.
The publication of a letter between Balfour and his friend Walter Rothschild, a leader of the British Jewish community, helped change public opinion about a Jewish state and laid a foundational stone for modern Israel.
Would I know enough about the contents and consequences of Balfour’s letter to hold a decent conversation about it with the president of Israel? I had homework to do. A Google search would not suffice.
My father Roderick, the 5th Earl of Balfour, was quick to help, as did my dear friend Sophie Winkleman, who arranged for me to Skype her father, Barry, a retired publisher and keen historian. During the call, I took several pages of informed notes. I revised these hourly. I recited dates and quotes to myself on countless hikes up canyons and traffic jams on highways.
My cerebral prep done, next I needed to sort myself out on the sartorial front.
I had brought little with me in the way of formal attire, so I contacted a PR friend in LA, Marilyn Heston, who had a rail of Bruce Oldfield cocktail dresses to hand; I borrowed a nice navy beaded number. Dolled up in my cocktail frock and ready to jump in my Prius on the dot of 5.30pm, I got a text from the producer. “6.30pm. Casual. Don’t be late.” When I arrived at the Beverly Hilton – now in jeans – I announced my arrival at the reception desk and stated, in a whisper, that I was here for dinner with Mr Peres… at which, three armed guards appeared from dark corners to inspect my passport, frisk me and lead me down to the vast restaurant that had been taken over solely for our dinner. Everyone was in flip-flops, T-shirts and shorts, except me and the president. The large, grand gathering I had anticipated was, in fact, an intimate one. The party consisted of Mr Peres, film producers Arnon Milchan and Steve Bing, a leading Israeli actress and a couple of other dignitaries. There were also four young Russian girls in short, tight, sequined dresses and high, high heels. I did not catch their names. We sat around an oval table. Uniformed bodyguards lingered behind us. There were several Alsatians in the room. During dinner, a calm affair, I discussed the business of showbusiness with Milchan’s son and daughter-in-law.
Towards the end, one of the Russian girls stood up and ordered everyone to stop talking. “Excuse me,” she announced, cocking her head to one side and turning to Mr Peres, “I would like to sing song for the Mr President.” She proceeded to sing “Happy Birthday, Mr President”. It was not his birthday.
At the end of dinner, it was my turn for an audience with Mr Peres. We were introduced and he was told I was related to former British prime minister Balfour. He was much more interested in the fact that I worked in the tech industry, in the process of developing a tech-based TV show where one could buy the clothes featured on screen on your mobile phone.
Did I use Facebook, he asked. Did I use Twitter? Did I have an iPhone? How did I stay in touch with my family in England? You could see the excitement in his eyes. It was infectious. I said I used an iPhone, Skype and everything else, and that it was an unbelievably exciting time to be alive. “Yes,” he said, “for me, too.”
I said that I thought all this technology, however, didn’t guarantee success, and that, no matter how efficient the world’s computers, hard work was still needed.
“You will succeed because you are young, and a woman. And a brave one, to be working in Hollywood,” he said. I chuckled at how the president of Israel, who had seen much conflict in his own homelands, could regard Hollywood as a snakepit.
It was one of the most memorable dinners I have ever had. Alas, I did not have much of a chance to show off the fruits of my hours of schooling about the Balfour Declaration, but I shall always remember the Alsatians sat behind me. There can be no harder job for a dog than to sit still during dinner – tongue-hangs and tail-wags forbidden – without getting so much as a Bonio for reward. I respected those dogs as much as I did the president.
When, at the end of dinner, the Russian contingent asked Mr Peres if he would pose with them for a photo, he excitedly obliged. They said they wanted to put it on Facebook. Within a millisecond, a stern female aide appeared from nowhere and promptly put an end to the photo opp. Mr Peres waved a brief goodbye and was escorted out of the room to bed.
My life changed a little that night. Every time I arrive in Hollywood – which is where I am right now, editing a film series I have made with iPhone about the visionaries of the world – I am reminded of two things. That the late Shimon Peres thought what I am doing is “brave”. And that technology can give us the power to implement change from the bottom, rather than waiting for the people at the top to do it for us.
Dolled up in my cocktail dress, I got a text: ‘6.30pm. Casual. Don’t be late’