On a clear night above the rooftops of SW7 you can find Jupiter without a telescope, and Lucy will show you exactly where to look. The night sky has held her since long before she knew the names of anything in it, and she still stops mid-sentence on a pavement to point at something bright and give it a name.
Everything else about her is equally unhurried. Lucy is twenty-four and slender at 163 cm, her dark brown curls long and abundant, her brown eyes faintly amused by most things. She lives in Pimlico, runs beside the river most mornings and dresses in soft layers that suit a museum, a café or a hotel bar equally well.
Espresso is her other devotion. She can tell you which café on Gloucester Road pulls the most careful shot and will walk an extra ten minutes to prove it. There is something dreamy about her, and something artistic: she sketches constellations in the margins of menus. She is tender as well, noticing when a guest is tired and letting the evening slow to match. She speaks English in a quiet, thoughtful voice that makes people lean in.
Her best evening in SW7 is a Science Museum Late, the adults-only night once a month when the galleries stay open after hours and drinks are served among the great steam engines near the entrance. Supper is a short stroll away, and after it your hotel in SW7. One message through the booking page is all it takes, and she is just as glad to spend an ordinary evening in the hotel talking about stars.
