Samanta, cover star of the Mount Street issue

The cover of this issue belongs to Samanta, and one look explains the choice. Consider the facts: 174 cm, slim, dark brown hair falling long and sleek, brown eyes steady and faintly amused. Her style is noir glamour pared to the bone: a floor-skimming black sheath, a tuxedo blazer with razor lapels, one diamond stud, heels like exclamation marks. She crosses a room the way a good bow crosses a string, smooth, deliberate and never hurried.

Composed and quietly magnetic, Samanta is the woman people turn to look at twice without being able to say why. She plays the violin with real seriousness, mostly Bach and Brahms, and she is always learning another language, collecting phrases from hotel menus and trying them out on waiters, who adore her for it. Beautifully designed hotels are her private obsession; she notices door handles, lighting schemes and the weight of a room key. In her late twenties, she speaks elegant, unhurried English with a precision that makes every sentence feel chosen.

Her perfect Mayfair evening pairs music with supper. First, an early recital at Wigmore Hall, a few minutes north of Bond Street, where the acoustics are so fine she swears you can hear the rosin on the bow. Then back into Mayfair for dinner at 34 on South Audley Street, a smart grill room of polished wood and good tailoring, where she orders simply and talks about the second movement until dessert.

Samanta lives in Mayfair, between Grosvenor Square and the park, and prefers dinner dates settled by mid afternoon. The four hour dinner and every other length are set out on the rates page.