Michelle talks the way a good host pours: generously, attentively and without spilling a drop. Within ten minutes she will know where you grew up, what brings you to London and whether you have eaten properly today, and you will not quite remember telling her any of it. She is twenty-seven and lives in Chelsea, a short walk from the river, which matters to someone who sails whenever she can.
She is tall and curvy at 173 cm, elegant in the older sense of the word, her dark brown hair falling long and straight, her brown eyes creasing when she laughs. Her wardrobe leans towards navy and white in summer and deep red in winter, with flat shoes for the walk and a proper heel for the arrival.
Beneath the chatter runs a nurturing streak. Michelle notices a tired traveller, orders water before wine and quietly lets the evening find a gentler pace. Museums are her weekday habit; she has a favourite bench in Hintze Hall at the Natural History Museum and an opinion about the blue whale that she will share at the slightest encouragement. Mixology is the weekend one: she makes a very good negroni at home and a better one when someone is watching. She speaks English warmly and, it must be said, at length.
Her usual SW7 evening begins at the bar of The Kensington on Queen's Gate, a townhouse hotel with deep armchairs and bartenders who take a stirred drink seriously. Michelle orders for the table, keeps the conversation moving and, once dinner is done, walks you back to your hotel near Gloucester Road. Booking is one message.
