Patricia, a paperback and a slow night

If rain on the window sounds like good news to you, Patricia is your companion. Slim and 172 cm, she has auburn brown hair worn long that warms to copper in lamplight and brown eyes that soften when she smiles. Her look is romantic and a little bohemian: a floral wrap dress under a long coat, a linen shirt on warmer days, a paint smudge on one cuff she has not noticed. Late twenties, living in Belgravia, and entirely at ease with a slower kind of evening.

Gentle and attentive, she is the sort of listener who asks a second question about the thing you mentioned only in passing. Patricia paints watercolours, small ones, mostly of windows and rooftops. Film noir is her private obsession, the darker the better, and she can explain why the shadows in those films make modern thrillers look overlit. Bookshops are her weakness. Her English is soft and thoughtful, and she has the romantic habit of reading aloud the first line of any book she picks up.

Her perfect West End evening starts at Hatchards on Piccadilly, among creaking floors and stacked tables, where she will choose a novel for you in under ten minutes. Then a short walk to your hotel, tea or a glass of red in the lounge, and upstairs with the book, an old noir queued on the laptop and the rain doing its work outside. She is attentive to every small comfort, the lamp angle, the cushion, the temperature of the room, and the evening feels like a hideaway rather than a hotel.

Quiet evenings across the West End suit her best. Look at the rates, then send the desk your hotel and whether you would like a book chosen in advance.