by Rachel Corbett
Naturalist painter Walton Ford
bustled around a party last night in the penthouse of the Mondrian Soho
like a bald fireball. “Have you met Daphne?! Oh my god, you have
to meet Daphne,” he said throwing one arm around a suited man and the other around a rather conservatively dressed Daphne Guinness
, the brewery heiress and couture collector, who wore a little black dress, striped stockings, platform “gravity” heels and an updo with a fan of black combs sticking out of it like a peacock's tail feathers.