Daylight suits Cindy best and she has arranged her whole diary around the fact. She is 168 cm and slim, built for walking rather than standing still. Her blonde hair falls in loose waves that she is forever pushing out of the way, and her eyes are a clear blue that gives away her mood a beat before she does. Twenty six, she dresses for a pavement as much as for a dining room: flat shoes she can genuinely cross a square in, a linen dress, sunglasses pushed up into her hair and forgotten there for hours.
Cheerful is the honest word for her, though it undersells how easy she is to spend an afternoon with. Nothing has to be filled with chatter, and a long silence in a gallery does not make her restless or apologetic. She speaks English fluently. Yoga happens most mornings, photography happens on a camera older than her phone, and sailing happens whenever somebody with a boat remembers to call her, which she says is never often enough.
A matinee afternoon with her works beautifully in Bloomsbury. She will collect you from the hotel, walk you through the Great Court at the British Museum with firm opinions about the Assyrian rooms, then find a table outside on Museum Street while the light is still worth having. An early supper follows if you want one, usually somewhere small enough that the waiter recognises her, and she will happily stretch the afternoon until the streetlights come on.
Chelsea is home, and the ride across to Bloomsbury takes about half an hour in the middle of the day. Afternoons and early evenings are her open hours: name a date to booking and the desk will confirm within minutes.
Her home stage is Chelsea, and she travels from there to the venues this house covers. Her full listing sits with the rest of the company on the companions page.