Danielle, front row at the late screening

Old films, new poems and a long black coat that suits both. Danielle is the calm one on the rota, the companion you book when the day has been loud and the evening needs to be the opposite. Her presence works slowly. The hair is black, long and perfectly straight; the eyes are brown and steady, slow to look away; the figure, 170 cm and curvy, is always in something dark and well cut. She is in her late twenties and dresses for after dark, even at six o'clock.

Classic cinema is the great love. She knows the lighting of a forties thriller better than its plot and will happily watch a restored print on a rainy Sunday, alone, in the front row. Poetry is the quieter habit, a slim collection in her coat pocket that she rarely opens in company. Museums fill the gaps between, and in South Kensington she has three of the best on her doorstep. Her English is low and unhurried, and she never talks over anyone.

The perfect night, for her, starts on the South Bank. A late screening at BFI Southbank, something black and white with an orchestra on the soundtrack, then a walk back across Waterloo Bridge with the river lit on both sides. A drink in your hotel bar, one table away from everyone else. She asks what you thought of the ending, and she means it. The conversation lasts longer than the film did.

Danielle lives in South Kensington, close to the museums and the SW7 hotels. Late evenings are her hours, and they can run into an overnight; check the durations on the rates page and give Henrietta a date.