Liana and the art of the quiet weeknight

A worn paperback in the pocket of her trench coat is often the first detail you spot about Liana, and the second is how gracefully she carries everything else. Slim and 167 cm, with chestnut brown hair falling long and smooth and gentle brown eyes, she holds herself with the upright ease that years of Pilates give. She dresses in a classic romantic register, a silk blouse, a pencil skirt, pearl studs, perfume applied once and lightly. Late twenties, she brings a kind of hush to a room without ever silencing it.

Intuition is her quiet skill. Liana reads a mood before a word is said and adjusts to it, livelier when you need lifting, calmer when you need rest. Her English is soft and well chosen, and she loves French literature, particularly the short novels you can finish on a single train journey. Her other passions are practical and grounding: a Pilates class three mornings a week, and a small city garden where she grows herbs, sweet peas and more tomatoes than any one person could possibly need.

Tea comes first, and sweetly, at Maison Bertaux on Greek Street, one of the oldest patisseries in London, where the tables are tiny and the fruit tarts worth the squeeze. Tea there in the late afternoon, then a slow stroll to your hotel through Soho Square as the office crowd thins. She would rather dine quietly than loudly, room service at a candlelit table by the window, and conversation that wanders from Paris between the wars to the tomatoes she is trying to rescue.

Liana lives in Marylebone, a short hop from Fitzrovia, and keeps her diary for calm weeknights. A day's notice through booking lets her plan the evening around your hotel.