Patricia, a watercolour kind of evening

There is often a trace of blue paint on Patricia's left hand, and she stopped apologising for it long ago. Auburn brown hair, long, catching the light the way wet paint does. Slim, 172 cm. Eyes a warm, attentive brown. She dresses in soft, romantic fabrics that move when she does: a floral dress in muted colours, a cardigan around the shoulders, fine gold at the throat. People tend to lower their shoulders around her without quite knowing why.

Gentle, romantic, attentive to the small details you mention once and forget. Late twenties. Her English is warm and low, and she prefers conversation to performance. Watercolour is her discipline, practised most mornings at a small table by a window. Her favourite colour to mix is the grey of a London sky before rain, which she insists contains at least four blues. Film noir is the secret indulgence, the more rain and shadow the better. Bookshops are the refuge, and she can lose an afternoon among secondhand crime novels without noticing the light change.

Her St James's evenings start at the Mall Galleries, on The Mall near Admiralty Arch, where the painting societies hang their shows and watercolours finally get the walls they deserve. She walks slowly, studies the brushwork, then suggests supper somewhere quiet enough to talk about what you both saw. First, if the weather is kind, a slow walk up The Mall towards the palace, the plane trees dark overhead.

Patricia lives in Belgravia, a pleasant walk across the park from Green Park. Hourly from £600; longer evenings on the rates page. Octavia arranges it once you send the details.