Mark Birley was the doyen of upper-crust nightclub owners in London’s West End. From the outset, Birley’s approach was summed up by the phrase “only the best”: no expense would be spared, either by himself as owner and investor or by members, who were charged the highest prices for membership, meals and drinks. For this, they received impeccable service, obsessive attention to the tiniest detail of decor, presentation, and exclusivity. The basic qualification for membership was money, preferably old money; but Birley had the commercial sense to allow in new money as well – provided there was plenty of it – discreetly enabling the nouveaux riches to rub shoulders with the louche end of the establishment, while lightening the wallets of all. But a life informed by, and dedicated to, luxury was no protection against sorrow. The face of his younger son, Robin, was terribly scarred at Aspinall’s zoo when he was allowed into a tiger’s cage at the age of 12. His elder son, Rupert, vanished without trace off the coast of Togo in 1986.
Mark Birley
