Jerry Hall has driven just a mile or so up the Côte d’Azur from her beach house in her new racing green Peugeot 206 coupe cabriolet, its leather interior the colour of a Riviera playboy’s permatan. “I lurve it. I am in lurve with it,” she says. “The leather is just a shade or two darker than my own skin. I look very good in it.”

The car was a birthday present from Mick Jagger, Jerry’s ex-husband. Now, what kind of ex-husband does that? She says, eyebrows raised, her voice intentionally slurred for innuendo, “The best kind of ex-husband, that’s who! I’ve always dreamt of getting a car for my birthday. I’m a very lucky girl.”

Jerry’s voice comes from the throat and percolates up - not a drawl exactly, more creamy than a drawl, though it’s punctuated with hard, curdled Texan moments that make even the most innocent sentence sound almost lewd.

It’s not just her voice - her pose is pretty seductive too. But she’s trying very hard not to look like a model, because we are here today to meet the new Jerry Hall - not Jerry Hall the uber-mannequin, but Jerry Hall the actress.

Later this month, Jerry will be reading from Eve Ensler’s The Vagina Monologues at the New Ambassadors theatre in London. After that she takes the show to Broadway for two months. “I lurve the whole magic of the theatre,” she says. “I think it is an ancient, sacred thing, you know. I really do.”

For the full story and pictures of Jerry Hall, see this week’s HELLO! magazine, on sale now.