Margo rarely answers a question straight away, and the pause is never awkward. It is the pause of someone deciding what she actually thinks. That habit, more than anything else on her label, explains why guests who meet her once tend to ask for her again. She is thirty-one, based in Knightsbridge, and prefers evenings that leave room to think. She has no interest in filling a table with noise; one good conversation is plenty.
Look at her and you see restraint done well. She is slim and 166 cm tall, her dark brown hair kept long and straight, her brown eyes giving away far less than they notice. Her clothes are dark, tailored and quiet; the single flourish is usually a ring bought at auction and never explained.
The mystery is real but not cold. Margo is calm, refined and, once the evening settles, unexpectedly funny about the art world, which she follows closely without taking it too seriously. She plays piano at home, mostly Satie and late Chopin, and tends a small garden in which nothing is permitted to be orange. She speaks English in measured, well-chosen words.
In Kensington she favours Clarke's on Kensington Church Street, a restaurant that has cooked seasonal food with the same calm confidence for decades and has never needed to announce it. A late lunch there can become an early evening walk to the Kyoto Garden in Holland Park before the gates close, and then a slow return to your hotel, where the booking continues at its own quiet pace.
Margo is booked most often for Kensington and the garden squares of W8. Read the booking page, then send the single message it takes.
