Wavy dark brown hair, worn long and mostly unstyled, over brown eyes and a curvy 164 cm frame she is entirely comfortable in. Molly dresses for Soho in a way that takes about four minutes and looks like it took longer: one good dress, a jacket with weight to it, boots that have been resoled at least once. Mid twenties. She has the slightly rumpled confidence of somebody who has never once worried about being the best dressed woman in a room.

English, spoken quickly and with a lot of laughing in it. She is generous company, the kind who gets a whole table talking and then sits back to enjoy it. She cooks properly, eats out constantly, and keeps a genuinely encyclopaedic mental list of which Soho kitchens are on form this month and which have slipped. She will tell you the truth about a restaurant even when you have already booked it.

Her W1 evening tends to be counter seats at Barrafina on Dean Street, where you queue, you wait, and then you eat some of the best food in the neighbourhood standing distance from the people cooking it. She does not mind the wait at all. Soho is her home district, so she uses the queue to walk you round the block and show you three doorways you would otherwise have missed.

Anything from eight onwards, and the wait at the counter is part of the evening rather than a hold up. The Soho page explains W1 and lists the rest of the women there. Send the night you want and the hotel through booking for a quick yes or no.

Nothing has been written up under Molly 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.