He bounds into the building – dark, glamorous, and wearing jeans. I’d guess they are the sort of jeans that cost as much as a small car. But jeans they still are, and the doorkeeper of the stuffy Pall Mall club where Maxim Vengerov is staying won’t bend the rules, even for one of the world’s greatest violinists.
Vengerov, however, doesn’t display even a flicker of artistic temperament, let alone a full-blown tantrum. It’s actually quite disappointing, but entirely in character. Instead he leaps up the plushly carpeted stairs and returns 15 minutes later, grinning, in a gloriously opulent suit, replete with fancy tie and even matching handkerchief in the top pocket. ‘Wow, thanks for dressing up,’ I say. ‘Anything for the press,’ he replies.
HE HAS LOVED LONDON, he…