Angelika, companion in Marylebone

About Angelika

Angelika arrives ten minutes early and puts them to use: a look at the room, a word with the host, a seat picked where she can watch the door. She is 172 cm and athletic in the way of someone who still plays her sport rather than talks about it, with long black hair kept straight and brown eyes that hold a look a moment past the point you expect. She dresses for the street she is standing in, not for a photograph. A dark column dress, low heels she can actually walk in, one piece of gold at the wrist.

In her mid twenties, direct without ever being blunt, she asks better questions than she answers. She has English and nothing else, and she uses it carefully, which makes her easy to place at a table where two conversations are running at once. She listens with a musician's patience and her humour arrives late in the evening, dry and quiet. Nothing about her performs. If a subject bores her she will move the talk somewhere better so smoothly that you will take the credit for it.

Marylebone is where the desk sends her most weeks, and she keeps an order she trusts. Drinks first, close to your hotel, twenty minutes and no longer. Then the short walk to Wigmore Hall for a recital, where she sits very still and applauds in the right places. Supper afterwards on Marylebone Lane, late enough that the room has thinned. Her home is in Mayfair, fifteen minutes north on foot, so a seven o'clock start costs her nothing and gives you the whole evening.

Everything she covers in Marylebone, hotel by hotel, is set out on that page. Fix your date first, then message booking: Cordelia answers the same day, yes or no.

Booking her

Her name, your date and the hotel go to the desk on WhatsApp or Telegram, and Cordelia replies in writing, usually inside the hour. Angelika starts at seven on weekday evenings and reaches most of Marylebone twenty minutes later.

Her figures are the same figures every companion here works to, printed on the rates page, and the order a booking runs in is on the booking page.

An evening with Angelika

The version she would choose runs like this. You meet in the hotel bar at seven, one drink, no menus. At half past she walks you round to Wigmore Street with ten minutes in hand, because she would rather wait in the foyer than hurry across a lobby. She takes the aisle seat and says nothing at all for an hour.

Afterwards she has opinions, and they are worth hearing. Supper is a small room on Marylebone Lane where the kitchen is still awake, one plate each, a glass of something red. By eleven the plan is yours to set. She will walk back with you through the quiet streets behind Wigmore Hall, or she will let the evening close there, and either answer is given plainly and without any fuss.