She is the tallest woman on this list and has been since school, which she says stopped being a problem at about nineteen. Violetta stands 178 cm, slender with it, her black hair sleek and straight past the shoulder, her brown eyes giving almost nothing away until she has decided to be funny. Thirty. She dresses long and clean: a column coat, a narrow trouser, flat shoes as often as heels, and absolutely nothing that competes with the height she already has.
Mysterious is what people write about her and dry is what they actually mean. She says little for the first half hour and then produces something so deadpan that it takes a second to land. Her English is precise and quiet. Swimming is the daily discipline, early and unglamorous. Stand up comedy is the genuine enthusiasm, the small rooms rather than the arenas. Bookshops are where she loses afternoons, and she reads a great deal more than she ever mentions.
Her evening belongs to the long stretch of Charing Cross Road, where Foyles still runs over several floors and the second hand dealers hang on either side of it. She will spend forty minutes in there without apologising for any of them, buy two things, and then want dinner somewhere with low light and a short menu. Afterwards, if something is on in one of the rooms above a pub nearby, she will suggest it.
Belgravia is home. She is away until the second of October, after which evenings around Tottenham Court Road reopen. Ask booking to hold a date for the week she lands and it will be kept for you.
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.