Angelika after the gallery lights go down

Cover line, if we had to write one: black silk hair, a serious backhand and a table saved for the second set. Angelika stands 172 cm with an athletic ease earned on the tennis court, usually before Mayfair has poured its first coffee. Her hair falls long, jet and glass-smooth, her eyes are a deep, amused brown, and her style leans towards easy Mediterranean glamour: a bare shoulder, a column of dark jersey, gold kept to one fine chain. She arrives already relaxed, which relaxes everybody else.

The confidence is the headline; the playfulness is the surprise on page two. She teases gently, laughs without calculating it and has an elegant way of steering a conversation when it starts to sag. By day she chases contemporary art, and she will cheerfully argue that the finest new painting in London hangs in a gallery you strolled past this morning. By night it is jazz, preferably live and preferably in a room with fewer than fifty chairs. Mid twenties and English speaking, warm and quick, she has zero appetite for small talk about the weather.

Because Mayfair is home, she plans evenings here like a resident. An hour on Cork Street while the gallery lights are still on, then dinner at Park Chinois on Berkeley Street, where the band starts after the first course and the room turns amber and velvet. She orders dim sum for the table, keeps one ear on the music and the other on you. If the night calls for less, she is equally happy with a nightcap in your suite and the window open to the square.

Angelika is based in Mayfair, close enough to the W1K hotels that a same-evening plan is rarely a problem. Her hour, her dinner and her overnight are priced on the rates page, and a single message to Bella sets the evening going.