Vanessa, companion in Piccadilly

Burlington House is open late on Fridays and Vanessa has the habit of arriving at nine. She is 173 cm and slim, sandy brown hair worn long with a balayage that catches the light, hazel eyes. At 25 she has a clean, modern style and the sort of poise that survives a crowded room without any visible effort.

Her English is fluent and thoughtful. She is genuinely interested in art rather than decoratively interested, which becomes obvious about ten minutes into any exhibition, and she is good at explaining what she likes without turning it into a lecture. She swims, writes a little, and is good at long evenings because she does not need them to be constantly eventful. She is quietly funny rather than loudly so, and her enthusiasm never tips into lecturing, which anybody who has been walked round an exhibition by the wrong person will appreciate.

The Royal Academy of Arts on Piccadilly is her suggestion for the first hour: a late view, a glass in the courtyard, then dinner somewhere on Swallow Street. The Piccadilly hotels are three minutes from the gates, the St James's ones five, Park Lane about eight by car. Vanessa comes in from Paddington, fifteen minutes at that time of the evening, which makes her one of the quickest names here for a night decided late. Swallow Street is two minutes from the courtyard gates and stays open later than most of Piccadilly.

She is listed on the Piccadilly page. Figures per duration are on the rates page. A booking note with the hotel and the hour is answered inside the quarter hour.

Vanessa is quick to reach W1J and SW1Y and comfortable with a late decision. Tell Romilly the hotel and the hour and she will confirm within the quarter hour.

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

Vanessa's evening begins with something to look at. A late exhibition, forty minutes at most, and a glass in the courtyard afterwards while Piccadilly does its evening traffic on the other side of the wall. She talks about what she has just seen with real enthusiasm and then drops the subject entirely, which is exactly the right instinct.

Dinner is nearby and deliberately unfussy, and the rest of the night is unhurried. She is comfortable with long silences, good at the part of an evening where nothing in particular is happening, and entirely unbothered about filling it. Guests who book her once for dinner tend to book her the second time for the whole evening. She would far rather have a longer booking than a crowded one.