![]() But Hermès was not quite enough of a challenge for Mark, and he longed to have his own project to throw his energy into. There were suitcases, luxurious lather handbags and briefcases, ties, scarves, all at exorbitant prices. ![]() In 1961, he was invited to launch and run the London branch of Hermès, and from the small shop at the corner of Piccadilly Arcade and Jermyn Street he supplied his customers with the ultimate in impeccable taste from France. I had seen the enviable decorative flair with which he transformed our homes on Halsey Street and at Pelham Cottage, and he could draw beautifully, a gift that he passed on to our three children, as both Rupert and Robin won the arts prize at school every single year, and India Jane became a distinguished artist. Mark was unquestionably his artistic father's son, and his energy was prodigious. Unfortunately, in his haste he bought two males by mistake, so the project was rather short-lived. His mother, Rhoda, used to describe how he had shown signs of enterprise from the age of 10, when, during the war, someone told him how quickly rabbits breed and he set about selling fresh rabbit meat to the ration-restricted locals. He is far too independent and creative, and I knew he was a mass of talent waiting to burst out. Mark was never going to be happy as an employee. Though we didn't immediately realize it, the perfect opportunity for Mark to develop his entrepreneurial gift had arrived. There was no discotheque, and the Daily Express described the discreet establishment as a place where "a Duke could be devilish and a Marquess could manage a misdemeanour." But people were tiring of the Four Hundred and were ready for a sophisticated place that reflected the youthful spirit of the new decade and the more upmarket end of flower power. A group of musicians would play songs such as "Love Is Like a Violin" and Cole Porter medleys, and then, in a small concession to the new popular music, a Beat group would take over after midnight. It had no real competition, and we were certain it would never close. In London, the Four Hundred, in Leicester Square, was the only nightclub we really knew, and we had all conducted our early romances there. ![]() Everything seemed geared to the celebration of youth, and, still in our 20s, my friends and I were intoxicated by it all. The spirit of Elvis had crossed the Atlantic, and here the Beatles were beginning to top the popular-music charts. But above all it was the new music that symbolized the revolution that was taking place. Twiggy, an ultra-thin London teenager with spiky eyelashes, was modeling the indecently short skirts that Mary Quant was designing Vidal Sassoon was giving us his bouncy pageboy haircuts and we all started driving Minis and taking the pill. The capital, emerging from the great gray hangover of the Second World War, which had continued to linger through the 50s, had started to dazzle with a new and magnetic color. Having a nightclub named after you is much better than being immortalized as a rose, which, unlike Annabel's, does not necessarily survive very long.Īt the beginning of the 60s the fashionable world was turning its attention to London. Now I look back on his decision with pride and consider it the most tremendous compliment he could ever have paid me. I suppose there must have been discussions, but although I have never particularly liked the name myself, Mark thought it was a good one for a club, and I agree with him. I do not remember the exact moment when my first husband, Mark Birley, decided to name his nightclub after me.
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