Cindy, companion in Sloane Square

About Cindy

At 168 cm and slim, Cindy has the long, uncomplicated line that makes simple clothes look expensive. Her blonde hair falls in loose waves she does very little to, and her eyes are a pale, clear blue. She dresses in one colour at a time: a column of navy, a column of cream, flat shoes at lunch and something higher after dark. She has never owned a handbag large enough to hide behind, and she does not check her reflection once an evening has started.

Her manner is cool at first and then unexpectedly funny. English is all she has and she uses it lightly, with a dry aside every few minutes that you will either catch or miss entirely. She is a reader, which shows in her patience, and a very good listener, which shows in what she asks next. She dislikes being hurried and says so plainly, which most people find refreshing rather than difficult.

Sloane Square is her chosen ground for an evening. She will suggest Colbert on the square itself, taking the window seats where the awning frames the plane trees, and she will stay through two coffees after the plates have gone. Chelsea is home, so the walk down the King's Road afterwards is one she can narrate shop by shop and year by year. She knows to the minute when the theatre crowd spills out, and she times the walk to miss it.

The Sloane Square page carries the other women who keep those streets, and the lengths sit exactly where you would expect them, at rates. A single line to booking begins it.

• 168 cm, slim, one colour head to toe
• Blue eyes; long blonde hair left in its own waves
• Twenty six; English, dry and quietly funny
• Chelsea based, at home on the King's Road
• Long dinners, late coffee, no clock on the table

Arranging her evening

Cindy prefers the later sitting, from half past eight, and asks for a little warning so the window seats can be held. Delphine takes the date and the address and confirms once.

Her figures are the house figures, set out in full on the rates page, and the whole arrangement runs in one written exchange from the first line to the confirmation.

An evening with Cindy

She is seated by the window before you arrive, coat over the back of the chair, reading something she will put away without marking the page. The first ten minutes are unhurried on purpose. Cindy does not fill a silence and she does not expect you to, so the conversation tends to start somewhere more interesting than the weather.

Dinner runs long. She orders modestly and then steals from whatever you chose, which she considers entirely fair. By the time the coffee arrives she is at her best: quick, dry, and generous with the things she actually thinks. Afterwards she likes the King's Road when it has emptied out, walking west as far as the conversation lasts. Where the evening goes from there is your decision alone, and she is easy with any version of it.