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Everything is a deep shade of green at the Green Bar: the floor-to-ceiling thick velvet curtains; the reflective-tiled walls; and the leather bound menus. Its lighting – or lack thereof – makes the bar feel rich, clandestine, and as though anything can happen under its seductive cloak of darkness. I am joined by my fashionably late friend, Phoebe Rolls, the society photographer who is a vision in red, in a dress she borrowed from her supermodel friend Fran Summers.
In Wilde’s honour, we…
