The help: dare you work for the super-rich?

A month on and the capital is still reeling from the Saatchi/Lawson drama, technically the fraud trial of their employees the Grillo sisters. The cause of this collective lurch has not been the allegations of the Domestic Goddess’ drug use; instead, we remain giddied by the insight the affair provided into the lifestyles of the super-rich, and of those mere mortals whose role it is to serve them.

For every swaggering being who demands burnt toast for breakfast and that their favourite brand of hair gel be bulk-bought, who is obsessed by permanent curtain closure, and wants someone on call to locate television remotes even if they’re on hols, so there will be an employee to satisfy this desire. From the Jack-or-Jill-of-all-trades PA to the impeccably starched butler, London’s high-net-worth elite pride themselves on having more people than a Renaissance pope.

In the world of celebrity, such human accoutrements have long been part of the show. Fonzworth Bentley, former ‘gentleman’s gentleman’ (the Jeevesian term he favoured) to US rapper Sean ‘Puffy’ Combs, was obliged to follow his master with a parasol in hot weather. On one occasion, he had to jump straight back on a flight to the States from the Côte d’Azur after neglecting to bring the rapper’s chosen ties. In 2005, the Beckhams outbid the Osbournes for a ‘super-butler’ whose duties included unwrapping the family’s Christmas gifts.

Increasingly, however, boasting the requisite support staff is becoming less an ostentation than a necessity (a term used loosely) for the ‘civilian’ rich. And they are legion. London hosts more than 4,000 individuals with over £20 million per head, making it the city with the highest number of multimillionaires in the world. Flocking to this rich man’s playground, these titans require minions to guide them through the demands of the day: be it sourcing the correct chia seeds for breakfast or answering the gold-plated Vertu.

In December, figures from the Inter-national Guild of Professional Butlers confirmed that there are 10,000 such staff working in Britain, some charging up to £300,000 a year. The average income of these ‘professional heads of household’ ranges between £60,000 and £100,000, but the ‘Downton effect’ has meant that some can earn more. Agencies are flourishing with British butlers prized across the globe, be it in New York, China or Kazakhstan. We Brits may like to think of ourselves as Downton-esque earl and countess types, but it is as humble Carsons that we shine.

Where once we were satirised as a nation of shopkeepers, now we are fêted as an army of exquisitely vowelled butlers. In a reversal of the conventional stereotype, it is the incoming foreigners who preside, we who serve them. The cream of this attentive crop is rumoured to receive over £1 million a year, plus food, board, lodging, transport and private healthcare.

Some would argue that they deserve every last penny. Butling is a 24/7 career, akin to becoming a human Swiss Army knife with acute OCD. Silver service, exemplary etiquette and the right sort of demeanour are a given. One may also have to embrace cooking, gardening, driving, child supervision, styling, art preservation, gun maintenance and minor psychiatric care.

Other roles may be more obscure. One soul of discretion confides that he has to ensure that guest bedrooms are stocked with tampons and condoms, and take care of their disposal once used. Another that one of her roles was to: ‘Keep wife and mistresses apart at house parties — difficult when the latter appeared in the plural. One has to psychically work out the current state-of-relations.’Sara Vestin Rahmani, director of the Bespoke Bureau, an elite domestic placement and training agency for Royals, celebrities and VIPs, tells me that the most unusual task one of her employees has faced was ‘having to source two nannies for a pair of meerkat babies’. Her star butler, 37-year-old Adam Dillon, recalls: ‘I had to locate a specific type of fine bone china for a dinner party for a friend of my principal who would not dine without it. We got there in the end, but it was horrific looking, cost a fortune, and we never used it again. Still, my lady said it was worth it.’

Dillon earns £90,000 a year, having worked his way up to head of household for a famous British family. ‘I care for my principal’s personal things — clothes, travel, bookings, reservations, fashion, shopping — and make sure she is always hydrated, vegetable juice to hand, looking pristine. I’m on call 24/7, but I get summers off to see my family, plus private jet travel, my own flat, and bonuses. I love the people I work for, but it is super-hard work. They are fair, but not generous, and they expect an awful lot — sometimes too much.’

The children of the über-rich may be treated like little emperors, or have a status below the family pets. Either way, they are required to reflect their parents’ loftier aspirations. The job description for the tutor of Gwyneth Paltrow’s offspring back in 2011 advertised a salary of £62,100 a year, plus perks; said paragon would teach Greek, Latin, French, Japanese or Mandarin, and be au fait with philosophy, the arts, chess, drama and sailing. Well might The Sun have declared any such a candidate a ‘genius’.

Phineas Pett, 30, of Mayfair’s Bright Young Things Tuition, has been teaching for five years. Charges are £50-£70 an hour in London, £250-£300 a day abroad. ‘Responsibilities range from tuition in order for the child to do well in a certain exam, to full-on mentoring, guiding the child through school, ensuring they make the right choices (often the case if both parents are unfamiliar with the British system). One of my students was studying Francis Bacon for her art history module. Her father gave her the option of a Bacon painting or a birthday party. She opted for the latter. I was rather impressed by her decision that fun overrules anything materialistic.’