A night and a handshake to remember

It was not the kind of invite you casually toss out with the junk mail:

“The Master of the Household has received Her Majesty’s command to invite Mr. Tom Hundley to a Reception to be given at Buckingham Palace by The Queen and The Duke of Edinburgh.”

Normally, I’m not one for cocktail parties or small talk with strangers. I don’t like wearing a tie and I’m naturally leery of dress codes that say “uniform optional.” Also, as the great-grandson of Irish immigrants, I have a genetic ambivalence toward the British monarchy.

But still, Buckingham Palace. What the heck.

The reception, I learned, is an annual event for Americans working in Britain.

Arriving at the palace gates, I was ushered inside without passing through a single metal detector. I stopped to pick up my name tag and quickly scanned the others waiting to be collected. A few names jumped out: Don Johnson, Ashley Judd and Tim Howard, one of the goalkeepers for the U.S. national soccer team. This could be fun.

No one seemed to know anyone else at the reception, or why he or she had been favored with an invitation, all of which created a pleasant aura of mystery. So we stood in the reception room beneath the immense portraits of the royal ancestors, sipping champagne, gazing out over the palace’s manicured gardens and wondering what comes next.

Many of us had seen Helen Mirren’s portrayal of our hostess in “The Queen,” and we recalled in particular the scene in which a newly elected Tony Blair is given detailed instructions on how to shake the queen’s hand, how to address her -- Your Majesty or Ma’am -- and how to back out of the room so as never to show his back to her.

Were the women supposed to curtsy? Was I supposed to bow? No one was telling us anything.

Suddenly, and seemingly out of nowhere, Queen Elizabeth II and Prince Philip appeared, and the guests were gently herded into a reception line.

The queen was dressed in a shimmering lemony suit and sensible shoes. She carried a black handbag. On her right hand she wore a long black glove for hand-shaking purposes.

As my turn approaches, I can see that a simple handshake will suffice.

A servant takes my guest card, hands it to another servant who announces my name and affiliation. The queen utters a faint sound that is part “ahhh,” part “oooh,” and extends her gloved hand for the briefest of clasps.

“Pleased to meet you, Ma’am,” I blurt. Her smile is genuinely regal.

My card is passed to another servant, who announces my name and affiliation to Philip.

“What are you, a correspondent?” he asks, taking my hand and expertly releasing it after a single downward pump.

He’s on to the next customer before I can formulate a clever reply.

Afterward, the royal handlers assemble small groups of six or seven guests for a few moments of chitchat with the queen. Alas, I was not among the lucky few.

But the champagne flowed, the finger food was excellent and the celebrity-watch fulfilling.

As the clock struck 8, the party ended, and we were shepherded toward the exits with the realization that we had just been given something quite special: a story to tell our families and friends about the time we met the queen at Buckingham Palace.

Hundley is the Chicago Tribune’s chief European correspondent.