Ben Elliott: An Englishman in New York

As a child, Ben Elliot wanted to be a magician. He toured the church halls, country homes and village fêtes of his native Dorset armed with nothing more than several packs of cards, a cape stitched together by his mother, and an exotic nickname: Merlin the Marvel.

"I used to buy the audience's loyalty by giving out sweets before my show," he recalls. "All sorts of people fell for it, including a guy called Roy Welensky, who was the former prime minister of Rhodesia. I was only 10 or 11, but I knew how to win people over."

Today, Ben Elliot still knows how to win people over. A peculiar kind of celebrity, who first achieved fame as a blue-blooded "It Boy" in the late 1990s, he's since morphed into a globetrotting, New York-based entrepreneur whose concierge firm, Quintessentially, boasts offices in 28 of the world's most fashionable cities.

If you're the sort of person who treats Tatler as a journal of record, you'll regard Elliot as an exotic superhero. Aged just 31, and now working "mostly" from Manhattan, his apparently booming business empire exists to service the needs of that rarefied international elite known as the "cash-rich-time-poor".

Blessed with a square-jaw, boundless charm, and impeccable breeding (protocol dictates that every interviewer must note around this point that Camilla Parker-Bowles is his actual auntie), Ben is also a social phenomenon. His former squeezes include the likes of Jade Jagger and Cat Deeley; close friends range from the Zac Goldsmiths and Sophie Dahls of this world, to Gordon Ramsay, and the former England footballer Les Ferdinand.

It's a vast, eclectic contact book that makes Elliot one of the foremost "fixers" on the market. One (omega) could also go so far as to describe him the most eligible Englishman in New York. He wouldn't be so vulgar as to agree, but you get the picture.

Like all good conjurers, Elliot owes his rarefied standing to an uncanny knack of being able to pull a rabbit out of the hat, just when someone needs it. Quintessentially does the same: it positions itself at the beck and call of high-maintenance clients, providing deals, discounts and contacts in every corner of the globe and helping them "access the inaccessible".

Famous members include Harvey Weinstein, Sienna Miller, Scarlett Johansson, Sharon Stone, and Richard Branson, most of whom Elliot also counts as personal friends. They are looked after via the speed-dial of his two constantly bleeping mobile telephones.

At the mundane end of the market, Quintessentially will take care of everyday travel arrangements, or look after spare sets of house keys; at the exotic, it will service a client's every (legal) need, getting tickets into sold-out events, or "invitation only" film premieres. It's an exclusive club whose members pay between £750 and £24,000 a year to be told where's cool, and to be got in there, particularly when travelling abroad. If you're a New Yorker visiting London (or vice versa), Elliot's staff will bag a table at the Ivy or book your room, with free upgrade, at the latest hip hotel.

No request is too big, either. They once flew a particular brand of teabags halfway across the world, so Madonna could have a cuppa; another time, they provided 12 albino peacocks for Jennifer Lopez's birthday party. When Jeffrey Archer was in prison, he used the firm to bid for stuff at a charity auction, on his behalf.

And while celebrity clients like Gwyneth Paltrow and P Diddy give his operation glitz, the global super-wealthy oil its financial wheels: Elliot allows them to command the privileges of global stardom. It's a democratisation of privilege for anyone who can afford it; a very American ideal.

"Everything we do is market driven. When there's a demand for something from our members, we'll do it," he says. "Concierge is from the Latin word for slave. Now we're 200 years on from the abolition of slavery, Guy, and I don't think we sell ourselves as that quite, but what I do is a modern manifestation of that."

I meet Elliot at his firm's Soho headquarters, a reassuringly slick set-up full of frosted glass and pine, where mineral water arrives in chunky glasses, on the sort of coffee tables you only normally see in men's glossies.

You hear him long before he arrives, thanks to a booming voice honed on the playing fields of Eton, and imbued with just a hint of mockney. He's a striking, energetic individual, decked out in a Savile Row suit and vintage Rolex inherited from his grandfather, Major Bruce Shand, who also stood at an imposing 6'3".

Everything about Elliot is done in a whirlwind. He's constantly in meetings, or in meetings between meetings, or checking up on staff in the few moments between that. He swears constantly, gossips endlessly, and has a wicked, almost camp, sense of humour.

My tape-recorder, he announces, looks like "a great big cock". Before I switch it on, he begs a few moments to "actually talk" and recalls precise details of a gossip we'd had at a party a few years earlier, before moving on the latest, semi-decent anecdote about a mutual friend.

Ben, you'll be starting to realise, is no chinless toff. Instead, he's razor sharp, with a potty mouth and an elephantine memory for names, places and details that must make working for him a faintly terrifying prospect. He loves to natter, about boxing, or theatre, or the England cricket team's World Cup prospects, and will casually charm people from every walk of life.

"My friend Piers Adams (the nightclub owner) has this phrase, that I think is brilliant," he explains, in a very rare moment of self-analysis. "Piers says that all his posh friends think he's wide, and all his wide friends think he's posh. Ha ha!"

In the classless melting pot that is New York, this sort of charm counts for a lot. Yet Elliot denies that his peculiar brand of blue-chip Englishness, and his minor royal credentials, provided an easy route to transatlantic success.

"In England, its very easy to say everything's like that Working Title film where a Brit goes to America and gets laid the whole time," he says. "There may be some mild fascination there, but it's a myth, an absolute myth, that simply being British will guarantee success."

These days, Elliot commutes between an apartment in New York's Chelsea, and Quintessentially's US headquarters in the fashionable Meatpacking district (he claims they got there before the area "exploded"). He also keeps a home in London "on the corner of Notting Hill and Bayswater".

"New York is built on pure commerce. It's the commercial capital of America, and if you are good at what you do then that is how you're judged," he says. "When I went out there, nobody knew who I was, but now they certainly do, because we're the number one at what we do. When it comes to business, Guy, and success, you are judged in America on whether you do a good job. Everyone says that service was originally a British thing, but the Americans stole it and now do it better. I don't necessarily agree; I think there are examples of good and bad on both sides. But I'd like to think Quintessentially is the best, wherever you are."

A bystander might reckon it a topsy-turvy world, where an upper-class Englishman is making his fortune as a sort of batman to the global nouveaux riches, but Elliot comes from a topsy-turvy background.

He was born in London, in 1975. Father Simon was a property developer (Elliot describes him as a "builder and joiner"), mother Annabel is a posh (omega) interior designer. His grandfathers were military men: Air Chief Marshal Sir William Elliot on his Dad's side, Major Bruce Shand on his Mum's.

Home was a rambling pile in Dorset, where he returns as often as possible. A picture of the view from his bedroom window travels with him constantly. School was Eton. University, the toff's favourite of Bristol, where he read Economics and Politics.

Elliot does not fufill public school cliché, though. Friends from his Eton days have described him as "spivvy." He regards that as a badge of honour, confirmation of his very un-aristocratic entrepreneurship. In person, he can be hugely defensive if his background or work ethic are questioned.

At university, Elliot worked for Sir James Goldsmith; afterwards, he went to Business for Sterling, an anti-EU lobby group that he still supports strongly. "Employment law in this country is just fucking wrong," he says at one stage. "It can be crazy; most of it's come from Europe and its a complete nightmare."

Elliot began popping up in gossip columns during his early 20s as marketing director of K-Bar, a group of bars and nightclubs that for a brief period in the 1990s commanded the status of today's premiere celeb-meets-Sloane nightspot, Boujis, but then went under, to widespread crowing.

"In the UK, we've got a tremendous stigma attached to failure, and I think that's wrong," he says. "People who try to achieve something should be supported. The whole banking community and way business is set up, is much more opposed to risk here than it is in America. If I hadn't gone to the US and dared to fail, or succeed, I would have had a completely different attitude to life. America is very hard-working and enthusiastic. In Britain, we've got over resenting success, but we still have this thing about failure."

Quintessentially was started in this spirit by Elliot and a film producer called Aaron Simpson in December 2000. At first, cynics described them as a smug posh boys' club (Tom Parker-Bowles was also on its start-up team), and predicted its imminent demise.

Certainly, they had a tricky start: it launched as an internet firm, on the cusp of the dotcom crash. After 9/11, they hit choppy waters, and reported an £800,000 loss. Rumours of wider financial trouble abounded.

Elliot weathered the storm, though, and in 2003 decided to move to the US to oversee expansion there, in the world's biggest luxury-goods market. Gradually the tide turned, membership began to rise.

Today, it boasts around 800 employees operating in places like Moscow, Shanghai and Hong Kong, and there are aggressive expansion plans for Houston, Panama, San Francisco and Las Vegas later this year.

There are spin-off businesses, too. There's Quintssentially Events, which recently organized a headline-grabbing £1,500-a-head fundraising dinner for Unicef. Quintessentially Wine helps you build a cellar; or you might have heard of Quintessentially Estates, and Quintessentially Driven, a car business.

The formula appears to be working, too. Although the firm's financial affairs are opaque - they're based across several continents, and file accounts under 17 companies in the UK alone - it seems in decent shape, and last year its parent company reported a £800,000 profit. Elliot, by all accounts, is a hard-but-charming man to do business with.

Further expansion is being funded without outside investors, and Elliot and Simpson retain roughly 35 per cent of the business each, making them paper multi-millionaires. They claim to be constantly offered gargantuan sums for the business (Simpson tells me an investor recently bid $120m) but won't sell. Maybe its because both are workaholics; maybe it's a matter of pride, at having proven critics wrong.

"The toff thing came from some of the people we know, but it was always exaggerated," says Elliot, with admirable modesty. "I've always felt we've done a really good job for our members."

Elliot spends his free time in New York playing tennis, watching sport, and hanging out in all the clubs and restaurants that cool people are supposed to patronise. He's also a big theatregoer, and talks intelligently about David Hare's new Broadway show, The Vertical Hour.

Although the city has been de facto home for nearly four years now, he retains an outsider's view of the US, and has strong views on the country's chequered international profile.

"I personally think America's great when it opens its doors to everyone. That's very much what it was built on. Yes, you need controlled immigration or whatever, but people there are increasingly unwelcoming on the border. By and large they've done a great disservice in terms of their public relations over the past eight years, and I hope that will change."

He's also fascinated by US politics ("I read 20 papers and 40 websites before I get up") and regards Barack Obama as "a bright hope for America".

You get the feeling that, at some point in the future, he might turn his political attention closer to home. He is certainly a political animal, with right-leaning views that mark him as a natural supporter of Cameroonian conservatism.

"I've got very good friends on both sides of the political scene, and I hope at some stage I can play (omega) a part in it. I'm an old-fashioned liberal, a 19th-century one, and on many things I'm a big fan of Cameron."

During down-time, he's also a Tottenham Hotspur fan, and is mildly obsessed by cricket, which he plays half a dozen times a season, and talks about endlessly.

"This year I've been invited to play for the Getty XI against Old England," he says. "There's some shit-quick bowlers on their team. You remember this guy Sid Lawrence? A big black guy from Gloucestershire. When his knee went, playing in New Zealand, it sounded like a fucking rifle shot."

Outside of business, though, Elliot is only really serious about one thing: his family. "At the moment, they're very important to me. Last year, my grandfather died, and after that I decided to spend a lot more time with them. My sister had a child last year, too. For the past six months, I haven't spent a whole week anywhere, but as long as there is family in my life, I don't care if I'm in Timbuktu or Baghdad."

One final piece of the jigsaw, of course, is Mr Elliot's own marital status. Last week, the social columnist Richard Kay reported that he was stepping out with a "bewitching new girlfriend", a "24-year-old Portuguese beauty" called Ines Ferro Ribeiro, who studies at LSE.

In fact, the couple have been together for some time, although it's a long-distance relationship, and are as official as it comes. She's a stunner, needless to say, though Elliot very nicely insists: "I'm not fucking talking about this."

Ever the conjurer, then, he manages to leave my company having kept a few really important things hidden. It's hard to begrudge him this little bit of privacy but, as I experience his enormous handshake one last time, I can't help wishing I knew what else he might keep up that impeccably-tailored sleeve.

Friends of Ben: Who's who in Mr Elliot's high-flying world

Camilla Parker Bowles

The (probable) future Queen of England is auntie: Ben's mother, Annabel, is the Duchess of Cornwall's younger, and slightly more glamorous, sister.

Tom Parker Bowles

Ben's cousin was one of Quintessentially's four employees when it launched in 2000. Back then, TPB was the office whipping-boy, "basically doing the job of a really good hall porter". Today, he's a well-regarded food writer; Elliot was best man at his wedding to Sara Buys in 2005.

Sophie Dahl

Elliot never falls out with former girlfriends. Instead, he turns them into ambassadors for his brand. On the Quintessentially website Dahl is quoted as saying it is "fantastic at organising all the things that you don't have the time (or the inclination) to do yourself."

Zac Goldsmith

The headline-prone eco-socialite attended Eton with Elliot, and remains one of his closest male friends. Ben was Zac's best man in 1999, and they often play poker at Aspinall's casino. Goldsmith will contest Richmond for the Tories at the next election.

Jade Jagger

In 1999 Ben successfully sued the Sunday People for falsely alleging that he was the gentleman pictured cavorting, naked, with Mick Jagger's daughter on an Ibizan beach. Having met the comely Ms Jagger to discuss his lawsuit, Elliot ended up dating her anyway. You've got to admire his pluck!

Piers Adams

The nightclub entrepreneur, who is currently earning a small fortune through the modish Piccadilly boîte Mahiki, gave Elliot his first job after university, as marketing director of his ill-fated K-Bar chain. The two became firm friends, and have a shared love of Tottenham Hotspur.

Madonna and Guy Ritchie

Elliot met Mr and Mrs Madonna through Adams, who was best man at their wedding, and shortly afterwards signed the couple up as two of his first high-profile clients. His firm once shipped a batch of elm tea bags out to her in LA.

Les Ferdinand

The former Spurs player described by fans as "Sir" Les is a noted boulevardier, and client. In a recent profile for Vogue magazine, he announced "Ben is a seriously cool guy".

Harvey Weinstein

The rotund movie mogul calls Elliot "charismatic and energetic, with a remarkably engaging personality". Weinstein's firm, Miramax, and Quintessentially jointly sponsored a fund-raising event for Aids research.

Jemima Khan

One of Elliot's longest-standing female friends, the former Mrs Imran Khan poses for the cameras at most Quintessentially events (including last month's £1,500-a-ticket "Diner des Tsars"). As a return favour, Ben has accompanied Jemima to Greenpeace events supporting her brother's campaign against GM crops.