Bianka, companion in W1

Twenty minutes is the honest number from her door in Knightsbridge to anywhere in W1 after eight. Bianka is 165 cm and curvy, with light brown hair carrying its sun-kissed ends well past the summer and hazel eyes that hold a look a moment longer than most. At 23 she dresses simply and expensively, and the effect in a low-lit room is considerable.

Her English is fluent and she uses plenty of it, warmly, without ever making the evening about herself. She is a proper film person, the kind who books the repertory screenings and then argues about the ending on the pavement afterwards. She eats adventurously, swims in cold water in January because she claims it fixes everything, and asks better questions than she answers. She is also one of the very few people who will admit to liking a hotel bar, and she keeps a short list of the ones in this part of town where the seats are deep enough to stay in.

In W1 she likes the rooms that stay busy late. Her own suggestion is Hakkasan on Hanway Place: a long table, a slow first hour, the noise doing half the work of conversation. From there the hotels around Oxford Street and the Fitzrovia side are five to ten minutes on foot, which suits her, since she would rather walk than queue for a cab. She comes across from Knightsbridge, and on a normal evening the whole journey takes twenty minutes and no drama.

You will find her under W1. What every length costs is set down plainly on the rates page. Write to booking with a hotel and an hour, and the evening is hers.

Bianka works late rather than early and prefers a start time after eight. Send Romilly the hotel and the hour. Her fee goes to her directly, in person, once she is through the door.

Every figure she works to is on the board of rates, and the rest is one message away.

Bianka's evening likes a late start. Nine o'clock at the earliest, a long table, and a first hour spent entirely on getting to know each other rather than on the menu. She is at her best in rooms with noise in them, where you have to lean in slightly to hear, and she will ask about the thing you do all day until she genuinely understands it.

After dinner she is happy to keep moving or to stop altogether. A short walk south into Soho, a last drink somewhere small, or straight back to the hotel with the rest of the booking spent in one room, are all the same evening to her. What she will not do is make the quiet version feel like the lesser one. She leaves when the hour says so, cheerfully, and the room stays warm for a while afterwards.