Nora buys flowers the way other people buy newspapers, every morning and without much deliberation. Peonies in June, dahlias in September, a single branch of something wild when the stalls are thin. The habit began on market mornings and never stopped, and it explains her better than any label could: she likes beauty that does not last, and she enjoys it fully while it does.
She is twenty-six, 166 cm and athletic, with long hair the colour of honey and hazel eyes that look almost green by candlelight. Nora lives in Paddington and dresses like someone who sketches clothes in her spare time: an interesting cut, one bold colour, a coat that makes strangers ask where it came from.
Her spirit is adventurous and her manner warm. She orders the one dish the rest of the table ignored, take the stairs instead of the lift to see the view, and ask the sommelier which champagne he drinks on his day off. She speaks English with a bright, quick energy that makes a quiet bar feel a little more festive.
Her favourite glass of champagne in this part of London is poured at The Cadogan on Sloane Street, an elegant hotel with a long and colourful history. Nora likes its bar in the early evening, when the light through the windows turns gold and the conversation is still fresh. Dinner nearby follows, then a slow walk back through the garden squares to your hotel, with at least one pause to admire a window box.
Nora is often booked around Sloane Square, and the booking page sets out the single message it takes.
