Danielle, the midnight screening

Black and white film, black hair, black coat. Danielle has a monochrome instinct and it suits her: hair poured long and straight down her back, eyes a deep brown, a curvy 170 cm and a stillness that makes busy rooms lower their voice. She wears sequins only after dark and only one piece of them at a time. The rest is tailoring. Late twenties, living in South Kensington, and at her most magnetic when the night is already well under way.

Sophisticated does not mean distant. Danielle is calm in a way that relaxes other people, a listener who waits for the end of a sentence and then answers the question underneath it. She reads poetry on the Tube and admits it. Museums are her weekday escape, cinema her religion, the older the better, subtitles welcome. Her English is precise and low, a voice built for a dim bar, and she can quote a film line so well that you will want to see the whole thing again.

The West End gives her exactly what she wants after nine. Begin with a drink at your hotel, somewhere with deep chairs. Then cross Leicester Square to the Prince Charles Cinema, where the programme leans towards classics and late screenings, and share the back row with a paper bag of sweets she pretends not to want. Out by midnight, a slow walk past the lanterns of Gerrard Street, a nightcap upstairs, and a conversation about endings that runs longer than the film did.

She covers the West End well into the small hours. Look over the rates and send one message with your hotel; she likes bookings that begin after dark.