Patricia, companion in Belgravia

About Patricia

Patricia is the companion guests describe afterwards as the most well mannered person they have met in London. She is slim and 172 cm, her auburn brown hair long, her brown eyes keeping still while she reads what you actually want from an evening. Her clothes are quiet and correct, a narrow dress in a dark shade, a coat cut to the knee, one bracelet. In her late twenties, she moves through the SW1 streets like someone who has always lived on them, which she has, and she never hurries for anything.

Her English is polished without being stiff, and she has an unusual amount of patience. She will let a story run to its end, and she asks the follow-up question that most people forget. Her subjects are gardens, old houses and the kind of history that is really gossip about dead people. She is affectionate in a restrained way that lands better than a display would. Nothing about an evening with her feels transactional, which is a hard thing to arrange and easy to notice.

Her Belgravia stays close to home. The Orange on Pimlico Road is the room she likes best, a tall Georgian corner, a fire going in winter, twenty minutes on foot from the SW1X hotels or five in a cab. She prefers to walk there through the back streets past the antique windows on Pimlico Road, naming the pieces she would buy if anyone were foolish enough to let her. Afterwards, home is a few streets away, so she is never the one looking at the time.

Her Belgravia, including the streets worth the detour, is on that page. The date and the hour go to booking, and Cordelia writes back with the arrangements set out in full.

Booking her

Tell the desk your hotel, the date and the length you want, and Cordelia will confirm Patricia the same day with the meeting arrangements written out. She is comfortable with long evenings and with quiet ones.

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 Patricia

The walk there is part of it. She collects you and turns immediately into the back streets, where the antique dealers leave their windows lit all night, and she gives you a running commentary on what is worth the asking price. By the time you arrive you have been talking for fifteen minutes and the evening has already started.

Dinner is at a corner table with a fire in the grate if the season is right. She is unhurried through all of it, and she has the confidence to sit in a silence rather than break it. Later she will walk you back the long way through the squares, or she will come up, depending entirely on what was arranged, and she makes either one feel like the plan all along.