No hurry, ever, about anything. Vanessa is 173 cm and slim, with sandy brown hair lightened through the lengths and hazel eyes that make her look permanently mildly amused. Twenty five. She dresses in soft, unhurried things: a long knit, a slip skirt, a coat that has been worn properly rather than kept for best, and flat shoes because she will almost certainly suggest walking part of the way. Nothing about her arrival announces itself, and that is entirely deliberate.
Sweet is the first read and curious is the lasting one. She asks questions in a wandering, genuinely interested way and is content to let an answer take ten minutes. Her English is fluent, and she is collecting two more languages slowly and without much system. Fragrance is the other collection, sniffed at properly rather than bought on a whim. Cycling is how she gets everywhere, which is why she knows the shortcut through every garden square in this part of town.
Her Bloomsbury evening belongs to the Palm Court at the Kimpton Fitzroy on Russell Square, a huge pale room with a glass ceiling where nobody has ever been asked to hurry up. She likes a pot of tea before a drink, which she recognises is an odd order. Afterwards the square itself, then a walk through the quieter streets towards Lamb's Conduit while she works out where dinner is going to happen.
Paddington is home and Bloomsbury is twenty minutes on the Circle line. Midweek suits her best of all, and booking will confirm an evening without any fuss whatsoever.
Her home stage is Paddington, 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.