This tribute to Hugh is not well structured; we are all reeling from the idea that Hugh has been taken so cruelly and will not be with us any more.
 
I was introduced to Hugh by Nicky Sargent, a friend from school and university, who bravely agreed to read today. Hugh had been a partner at Withers for a year when we met. I was the last in a week’s-worth of blind dates Nicky had arranged for him, each one memorably worse than the last. Our date was a safe trip to the cinema with Nicky to see Sense and Sensibility, still a favourite film of mine. I nearly didn’t pass the Hugh-Devlin style-test, as he thought me hippyish, in my velour top and probably DMs. However….I soon after moved in to his lovely flat in Highbury, partly because my flat in Kilburn felt like the ends of the earth to someone who declined to go on the tube.
 
Hugh told vivid stories about his early life; with a huge extended family – he had more than 60 first cousins – there were coach trips to Blackpool and mass holidays. He helped in his aunt’s haberdashery shop from an early age – surely playing its part in developing his beautiful taste and appreciation of details. As Thomas has said, working in the hotel was an education. On viewing the property before purchase, Senga and her Snake was a memorable performer.
 
Our Lady’s High School was the largest comprehensive in the UK when Hugh went there. He was effortlessly one of the best pupils, loved by some teachers and probably loathed by others, no doubt correcting their errors. Hugh took his life in his hands when, standing in line in his neat school uniform, he called a rough, untidy boy a ‘peasant’: a flash of horror at what he had said but, very luckily, laughter all round. That knack (here probably by luck) of de-fusing a situation with wit and humour will be familiar to so many people who were advised by Hugh or worked with him. He was a star turn in the school’s production of The Marriage of Figaro, an unaccountably immoral tale for a Catholic school, in the role of Count Almaviva. Hugh kept his fine singing voice: if this was someone else’s funeral, Hugh and I would be singing out together. And we can all conjure up his lovely speaking voice, with the hint of a Scottish accent.
 
Hugh’s parents, Frank and Maureen, were very involved in community and church life. Frank’s father managed the creation of the Carfin Grotto, with its statues of saints, a practical response to employing former miners during the Depression.
 
Frank oversaw the grotto and Hugh recalled special trains bringing hundreds of pilgrims on Saints’ Days, who would walk in procession.
 
Frank, an engineer by training, was incredibly practical and handy, installing central heating in their house; Hugh would say that he went to university to learn to write cheques to cover such projects. But he was fantastically talented and skilled at so many things, all performed to the highest standards, in a matter-of-fact way. He made covers for the seats of his first Mini and for the couch in his flat in Edinburgh, piping and all, as well as the curtains; and much later he made a fantastic Tudor costume that served three of our nieces and at least one of their neighbours, the envy of their classmates. Every gift Hugh gave was immaculate in choice, generosity and presentation. He would remark that, if he could earn as much money wrapping presents as being a lawyer, that is what he would be happy doing.
 
Hugh was the cleverest, sharpest person I have known, with a fantastic turn of phrase, one of my favourites being his unabashedly harsh but completely true description of a young man looking like an ‘animated potato’. This was in Italy, in Puglia, on one of our very many wonderful holidays that Hugh arranged; again, every detail thought out.
 
And, as we all know, when the need arose for action and finding solutions, Hugh was supreme. There is no more profound example than our wedding. My mother died suddenly when we were planning this wonderful event. Hugh subsequently took on and steered all that had to be arranged, for the registry office ceremony and the blessing in my parents’ house, attended by a priest and a rabbi. He did everything, from the flowers – Hugh arranged the flowers for half a dozen or more family weddings – resolving the menu (tasty food, not Weddingy), overcoming my father’s suspicions he was a dipsomaniac when it came to ordering the wine, and creating the Order of Service for the blessing, which drew upon both the Jewish and Catholic Wedding Service, including typing the text in Hebrew. He was a brilliant magician.
 
Hugh also arranged the fantastic wedding party we had later, decking the venue in foliage and candles and arranging a ceilidh of Scottish country dancing: Hugh – of course – excelled at reeling.
 
All I had to resolve myself when we got married was what I wore, a Tracy Mulligan suit, glorious Deborah Milner gown and Philip Treacy hat and beautiful headdress.
 
Hugh was so happy with the results, as was I. But, in truth, Hugh was always my stylist, to the smallest detail and finish. His last purchases for me were items from his client–friend Clare Waight Keller’s collection for Uniqlo.
 
Hugh solved problems, great and small: Just before he went back into hospital for treatment, he was instructing a friend on how her disorganised sister could arrange her handbag, incorporating mini bags.
 
Hugh took pleasure in my rather noisy family, though early on exited the family WhatsApp group because there was too much chatter, with few conclusions. I could see he would have an out-of-body experience at our confused Seder nights, marking Passover; what he called a ‘Carry-on Seder’. He loved my father, a ‘real lawyer’, as Hugh would have it, who came with us to Italy, Prague and New York.
 
My extended family appreciated Hugh’s warmth, humour, thoughtfulness, efficiency at tea-making – and his fabulous cakes. At the reception after the service, there will be Mary Berry’s Apple, Cinnamon and Walnut cake, which Hugh truly perfected. This won’t surprise anyone but, when asked to make two cakes for a gathering, he would invariably make four, raiding his many recipe books for ideas. Hugh also took great pleasure in my parents’ friends, drawing the best from people, and retaining the smallest details about their lives.
 
As Thomas has said, Hugh was a voracious reader, his broad tastes extending across memoirs, history and a wealth of novels. There were books he read and re-read for comfort and familiar pleasure: Diary of a Provincial Lady, A Confederacy of Dunces, P.G. Wodehouse stories and Nancy Mitford’s sequence of novels among so many: funny books that spoke of other times and other places, which Hugh relished. As I said, he had broad tastes: one of the last books he read was about Jewish pirates. Similarly, Hugh’s love and knowledge of music was wide-ranging and very varied.
 
In the spirit of always doing things to the best of his abilities and in the best style, in 2008 he organised a timely trip to Israel, specifically holy Christian sites, for his parents and aunt Betty, before their infirmities made such a visit impossible. Hugh barely experienced Israel himself, he was so solicitous about their comfort and satisfying his dad’s limited culinary repertoire, all achieved magnificently, of course.
 
Hugh was endlessly thoughtful. At the beginning of the first lockdown, he sent bunches of wonderful FlowerBx parrot tulips and orchids to family and friends, giving so much pleasure. Even when he was in hospital, he arranged for Thomas, Antoinette and me to go to one of his favourite places in the world, the restaurant Spring in Somerset House. It will never to be the same without him, his look of contentment at being there and his informed discussions with the sommelier.
 
Just before Covid struck, we bought a house in Italy. While we were apparently discussing the pros and cons of buying the house, it was clear that Hugh had decided it was a project he wanted to take on: the house – a 1960s modern structure, not a traditional Tuscan villa – showed great potential but needed his vision to bring out its best qualities. The olive grove became a beautiful garden, with a long pool to indulge my pleasure in swimming – Hugh went into the pool precisely twice, it was not his thing – and he secured a wonderful array of paintings, furniture and objects from numerous small British auction houses, spending many lockdown hours browsing their websites. He would dash out to Italy when lockdown restrictions were eased to select bathroom fittings and inspect and select slabs of marble. A huge lorry with a similarly vast trailer was used to transport everything out, and, while I felt overwhelmed by the task, Hugh managed to sort and arrange almost everything in the house in a weekend. He was a focused whirlwind. As if by magic – but actually by design – everything fell into place. He could have been an interior designer.
 
Ever generous and thoughtful, he and we took pleasure in sharing this wonderful haven with friends and family, Hugh producing spectacular meals for all. The painful tragedy is that he had so little time to enjoy it. We shared only one year, last year, of seeing our olive harvest turn in to golden oil.
 
It has been said many times today, by Thomas and Kevin and Sarah and Anya in their beautiful tributes, but Hugh really was supremely and effortlessly knowledgeable about so many things. He had informed, stimulating discussions with experts in many fields: fashion and accessories – vintage, modern, current and, no doubt, future – art, the decorative arts, beauty and hair, 20th-century jewellery, furniture and product design, even historic perfume bottles: his encyclopaedic knowledge was remarkable, his tastes and opinions always expressed with clarity and conviction.
 
Kind, knowledgeable, forthright, funny, always and equally available to the famously established and those just starting on their careers. A titan in his field, or fields, he could be tough on behalf of others and did not mince his words when necessary. However, he believed in fairness and wanted to build working relationships for his clients that would last and flourish. People who had been on the other side of negotiations would subsequently seek Hugh out to become an ally.
 
Truly, to the end, Hugh was on call for so many people, willingly participating in Zooms and phone calls in hospital, and advising on contracts to the last – ‘don’t sign it’. Not his whole raison d’etre but an essential, stimulating part of who he was. A working life at which he excelled, from which he took pleasure (and frustration), from which so many benefitted. This is what he was effortlessly good at, and should still be doing.
 
I have received so many incredible cards, letters and emails from friends and family, and clients and colleagues who invariably became friends, all united in their appreciation, grief and disbelief. Love for Hugh has been expressed in the dedicated care so many have taken in preparing this day and this service.
Hugh was my rock, he truly cared for me and took care of me. I trusted his fantastic eye and taste, and his excellent nose for fragrances. My wardrobe is full of incredible clothes and more, made by his remarkable clients or bought at auction and from our secret vintage shop near Bournemouth, Hugh’s eagle-eyes always identifying gems. And I have fantastic jewellery to complement it all. But his love for me was expressed way beyond purchases and gifts. He organised and enhanced our lives in every way he could. Yes, we could drive each other mad, but our love and bond was true, deep and certain.
 
I hope you have gained new insights into Hugh, only increasing your sense of the breadth and depth of his qualities.
Hugh died on our 25th wedding anniversary. I’m not able to think too closely about my life without him – it is unfathomable that he isn’t here. I don’t want to be living on memories, I want Hugh here, now. In truth, I am bereft and cannot understand or believe he has gone, so vital was he, and so vital to me, to us.