Today we’re having Tea with the Knightsbridge Wife; she is high society complete with all the trimmings, she only speaks Birkin when it comes to handbags and rolls around town in the back seat of her Bentley, as the Birkin must travel. She is the “who” the rest have to catch up to, and her ridiculously high standards. Her residence is down the road from Harvey Nicks, as she so fondly refers to the luxury department store, in chichi Belgravia, but she will get chauffeured in because Blahniks were not made for walking. She is addressed and Mrs “Millionaire” by the chivalrous doormen, who know what protocol to observe upon her arrival and would have been informed prior, he tips his hat to her in greeting and she returns the courtesy with her own perfectly rehearsed smile that hardly touch her eyes, which are shielded behind Yves Saint Laurent sunglasses and which she insists on pronouncing Yves Saint Laurent NOT YSL, because that’s just how she speaks; appropriately and also because she’s just so damn superior. She makes her way up the express elevator to the Terrace cafe where her subjects await her arrival at her regular table, because she is their entree into high society. And along with everybody else, they drink her in as she approaches; from the top of her perfectly styled mane, that bounces with every sway in her step, to the top of her perfectly pedicured Daniel Hersherson’d toes. All the while she maintains that aloof air that wards off any unwelcome approach with the sunglasses still firmly in place. They don’t leave her face until she is with her guests, whom she has deemed worthy of her eye contact. Only just.

Her tea of choice will be Green Tea and topic of conversation is either the new wife on the block, husband’s art collection or the next gala they will all be attending…She’s the queen bee. Best believe.