And look, dear: Sir John Mills! Isn’t he wonderful? Where? Over there, behind Moyra Livesey. You remember her – she was Miss May in the nude Women’s Institute calendar.At Simpson’s, Japanese and American tourists look on in wonder as the caravan of blood-filled flesh is hauled to their tables: boiled silverside in gravy; steak and kidney pudding thickened with suet; calves’ liver and bacon And to follow? Treacle sponge with custard. You wouldn’t miss the chance to go there once, but would you return for seconds?Well, nothing lasts for ever. When King and Corbin took over Le Caprice, in Piccadilly, it was tired and fading, still attracting the same aprÿs-show clients who had come there during its Fifties heyday. The relaunch saw it jump back 60 years, and into the future, as a Thirties-style theatre restaurant, complete with photographs by David Bailey.The Ivy underwent the same make-overin 1990.

Out went Lew Grade and the fagged-out theatrical agents; in came modern art by Allen Jones and Joe Tilson, a seating plan that separates the lamb’s wool from the cashmere, and a kitchen that, while not making a statement, at least illustrates a clear point of view.Sheekey’s, the most recent addition, was not so much gutted as filleted by the designer David Collins, who gave it a new panelled wood appearance that – and this was the trick – looked as if it had always been there. Today, it is one of the most successful fish restaurants in the capital, patronised by the likes of Harold Pinter and Antonia Fraser, Brian May and Roger Taylor of Queen, Salman Rushdie, Stephen Fry and magazine queen Tina Brown.The secret, however, goes far beyond mere style. At these establishments, the maitre d’ can earn as much as £80,000 and is expected to remember customers’ likes, dislikes, quirks and birthdays. He must also keep up to date, for reasons of tactical seating, on who is feuding with whom and who has recently separated or divorced. Finally, since real fans of King and Corbin alternate between the three restaurants, they need to know the intimate details not of a fixed list of diners, but of a repertory company shifting their stage each evening.King and Corbin, meanwhile, treat favoured guests as if they were their personal hosts, gliding from table to table to exchange gossip and put all at ease. Here, money talks, but it is conversation in which everyone can joyfully engage.So successful have King and Corbin become that they have even been satirised in one of their own customers’ plays. Harold Pinter’s one-act piece, Celebration, set in a thinly disguised Ivy, dared to poke fun at King, who was in the audience on the first night.

But, a luvvie himself, the great restaurateur took it in good part and still welcomes the playwright to his usual table at Sheekey’s.Quite a performance. But could it work at Simpson’s? On the face of it, there is no reason why not. This ornate eating palace is, after all, next to the Savoy Theatre and opposite the Adelphi, and half-a-dozen other theatre venues are within a bread roll’s throw.A start has already been made (though not necessarily the one King and Corbin would have chosen). Simpson’s, long supposed to be an institution, or temple, rather than a restaurant, is moving at speed into the 21st century.Part of the Savoy Group, now owned by US investment bank Blackstone, Simpson’s recently opened a second, less overtly carnivorous upstairs dining room, Simply Simpson’s, and added Knight’s, a piano bar for the city’s cocktail set.That said, the customer list is less Debrett’s People of Today and more Who’s Who.

Speaking volumes for its image is the fact that it has become the unofficial canteen of the country’s best-known magazine for the elderly, The Oldie, which hosts literary lunches there under the rheumy gaze of editor Richard Ingrams, formerly of Private Eye. He no doubt approves of the inclusion on the menu of the politically audacious Roast Rib of Beef on the Bone.But can Simpson’s really hope to attract King and Corbin? Money is not the issue. Profits at the Savoy Group – owners of the Savoy, Connaught and Berkeley hotels, as well as Simpson’s – were revealed last week to have risen 18.2 per cent in 1999, to a healthy £47.4m. King and Corbin – whose sale to Luke Johnson two years ago of The Ivy, together with its sister restaurant, Le Caprice, and fish mecca Sheekey’s, netted them the £13.1m – would thus be affordable, if pricey.Johnson, an entrepreneur featured in this month’s Vanity Fair for his devotion to his mobile phone, is already resigned to their departure. The one-time owner of Pizza Express, whose Belgo Group is in the painful throes of expansion into the US, has known for some time that they were set to go. His hope is that they will remain as non-executive directors – in effect, customer interaction consultants.

But, while this remains an option, Simpson’s would be the greater challenge.Insiders suggest that K&C are giving the idea serious thought. At the moment, they move between their three existing restaurants by motorbike, checking that standards are being upheld and that – most important of all – key customers are being indulged It is a frantic life, rewarding in every sense. But it has gone on for a decade now and cannot last for ever.Should they jump ship, the next question must be, will the customers jump with them? Can we expect to see David Beckham and Posh Spice in Knight’s, waiting for their table to come free in the Grand Divan? Will Kylie Minogue and Geri Halliwell ever bring themselves to order devilled kidneys or a kipper? Conversely, might we expect to see Alan Whicker entertaining Vera Lynn over thinly sliced veal at The Ivy? It is an intriguing prospect.. The best efforts often go unrewarded.