Danielle keeps a notebook of single lines. A sentence from a poem, a scrap of dialogue from a black and white film, something a stranger said on the District line. She rarely quotes from it. It is simply evidence of how closely she pays attention, and within a few minutes of meeting her you will feel that attention turned your way.
Her presence matches the habit. She is twenty-nine and 170 cm, curvy, with black hair that falls straight and long and a steady brown gaze she can hold without effort. The calm is not shyness; it is composure, the sort that makes a crowded hotel bar feel less crowded. After dark she favours black, cut simply, with one piece of jewellery chosen for the occasion and nothing that competes with it.
South Kensington is home, which makes her a natural guide to it. She knows which museum galleries open late, which bench in the V&A garden holds the last of the sun, and where to find a film worth an evening. Her favourite plan begins at Ciné Lumière, the cinema inside the Institut français on Queensberry Place, where the classic seasons are programmed by people who plainly adore the form and the audience stays for the credits. Supper follows around the corner, and the conversation usually outlasts it.
She speaks English in a low, even voice and is happiest with guests who enjoy a real exchange of ideas, including the ones they disagree about. Danielle is based in South Kensington, and the booking page explains the one message it takes to reserve an evening with her.
