Roxi, companion in Bloomsbury

Lamb's Conduit Street is eight minutes from Russell Square and Roxi will tell you it is the best eight minutes in WC1. She is 168 cm and curvy, black hair worn long, brown eyes, and at 23 she has an unhurried, faintly amused manner that does not match her age at all.

Her English is fluent. She is a better listener than she is a talker and has the rare habit of asking a follow up question instead of waiting for her turn. She paints, works through the second hand bookshops methodically rather than romantically, and would take a quiet evening over a loud one every single time, though she can manage both when asked. She is also honest to a slight fault, which guests either love immediately or take an hour to appreciate. Either way, nothing she tells you about an evening turns out to be untrue.

Her recommendation is the Lamb on Lamb's Conduit Street: the snug bar, no music, the sort of room where an hour disappears while you are still on the first drink. Dinner is usually two doors down and the Bloomsbury hotels are four to seven minutes from the table. Roxi comes up from Pimlico, twenty five minutes on a normal night, and she asks for a start time rather than a window because she plans her evening around it. Bloomsbury suits her because nothing in it is loud, and she can walk from one end of the square to the other without being looked at once.

Her page here is the Bloomsbury one. Lengths are priced under rates. Three details in a booking message: the date, a firm hour, and where you are staying.

Roxi asks for a firm start time rather than a window and keeps to it exactly. Send Romilly the date, the hour and the hotel in one message.

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

An evening with Roxi is quiet in the best sense. A snug bar with no music, two chairs, and a conversation that starts slowly and then goes somewhere unexpected because she keeps asking one more question. She is not shy, she simply sees no reason to fill a silence that is working perfectly well on its own.

Dinner is small and nearby, and she has no interest in a grand room. What she likes is the last part of the booking: back to the hotel, lamps rather than overhead lights, and an hour or two in which nothing has to happen. Guests who arrive worn out by a week of talking tend to leave her company feeling considerably better than they expected to.