We have an entire corner of the Mandarin Bar to ourselves. The Mandarin Oriental Hotel in Knightsbridge has kept the three tables nearest us free, as a kind of demilitarised zone against selfie-hunters.
Michelle Yeoh sweeps in only a little late, back from the studios at Elstree. She’s a tiny vision in black: big boots, what look like leather leggings and a zippy fleece, topped off incongruously with a trilby-like hat. Meeting a movie star, you feel your every inadequacy. Even my suit trousers seem to have mysteriously shrunk.
We have booked tea for 3pm, and I was worried the Miss Malaysia turned action woman turned film star wouldn’t eat. When I interviewed her once at her home (well, one of them) in Geneva, she took me to the kitchen and fed me apple pie, but abstained herself. Today, happily for the FT, she has missed lunch, and enters proclaiming her appetite.