Margo, back on the 21st, gallery first

If a room could be edited down to one object, Margo would be the one left in it. Slim, 166 cm. Dark brown hair, long and straight, parted with precision. Brown eyes, unreadable for the first hour. Her style is vintage lounge elegance: a bias-cut dress, a tailored jacket with a nipped waist, dark nails, a small evening bag that has clearly seen a great many good evenings.

Refined and calm, she carries a certain mystery without ever working at it. She is not a talker by default; she is a listener who speaks well when it matters. Her English is measured and deliberate. Contemporary art is the real enthusiasm, and she has a sharp eye for what will last. She has played piano all her life. Her balcony in Knightsbridge is crowded with pots, most of them thriving out of pure stubbornness.

Her Bermondsey afternoon begins at White Cube Bermondsey, the big white gallery on Bermondsey Street, where the rooms are vast and the crowds are thin. She walks slowly and says little until something stops her. Then she can talk about a single work for ten minutes and make you see it differently. She never reads the wall labels until she has made up her own mind. Dinner follows nearby as the street fills up, and the longer bookings suit her best, because she only truly unwinds in the final hours of an evening.

Margo is resting and returns on Monday 21 September. Long evenings and overnights in Bermondsey after that date can be pencilled in now through booking; the overnight figure is on rates.