A watercolour box travels in her bag, and it is not for show. Patricia is 172 cm, slim, her auburn brown hair worn long, her brown eyes settling on things a little longer than most people's do, which is what makes her good at drawing them. Late twenties. She dresses softly and without much structure: a long cardigan, a dress that moves, flat boots for walking, and a scarf she will end up lending you when the wind comes off the river.
Gentle is the accurate word and attentive is the one that matters. She is a romantic in the unfashionable sense, the sort who notices a detail about an evening and mentions it three hours later. Her English is fluent and soft. Painting is the daily practice, mostly small and mostly of buildings. Film noir is the obsession, the rainier the better. Second hand bookshops swallow entire afternoons of hers, along with a surprising amount of money.
Her South Bank evening belongs to BFI Southbank, tucked under the bridge approach, where four screens run restorations and seasons that nowhere else bothers with. She likes the bar beforehand, the one lined with old posters, and the riverside walk afterwards past the book stalls under the arches. If the tide is out and the evening is mild she will take the long way back along the water without mentioning that she is doing it.
Belgravia is home, and a quiet evening in Waterloo wants a day or two of notice rather than an hour. Put a date to booking and she will happily choose the film herself.
Her home stage is Belgravia, 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.