Chestnut hair, cut long and kept straight, frames a face that gives very little away until she decides otherwise. She is slim, 167 cm, brown eyed, and dressed out of roughly eight well chosen pieces she wears in rotation without anybody noticing. Late twenties. She carries the composure of somebody who has been the steadiest person in a difficult room more than once and expects to be again.

She speaks English and she is precise with it. There is nothing cold about her, but she is measured, and the warmth arrives in increments across an evening rather than in the first handshake. She cooks seriously, follows the wine list with real knowledge and no snobbery, and has a weakness for long recital programmes. Ask her about food and you will get twenty minutes of the most interesting conversation of your week. She is not competitive about any of it, which is what makes her easy to sit with for four hours.

Her Marylebone evening is a dinner, and usually at Orrery on Marylebone High Street, the long first floor room with the arched windows that looks over the churchyard. She likes the window end. Marylebone is her home district, so the walk afterwards is one she can improvise: the village streets, the garden behind the church, or straight back to whichever W1 hotel you are in.

Book her for dinner and give her a day, and the evening runs the way she has planned it. The village, the hotels and the rest of the W1 names are on the Marylebone page. A date and a hotel in a note to booking comes back answered within a few hours.

Nothing has been written up under Liana yet, which is usually what discretion looks like. A note goes on the board only when a client sends one in writing, she agrees to it, and the office has checked that it reads as a first name, a month and nothing private.