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It’s 10.30 on a grey London morning in 1992, and two women are speeding towards Knightsbridge in a black Jaguar XJ6. “You going straight to the office? Past Harvey Nicks?” asks magazine editor Patsy Stone, exhaling cigarette smoke. “Could we? It is nearly lunchtime.” Her publicist best friend Edina Monsoon – hungover, and organising a fashion show that evening – doesn’t take much persuading. “Well look, we can do Harvey Nichols quickly.”
Like many an SW1 woman in the…
