Charlotte

Charlotte's wit arrives before her warmth and outstays it: ten minutes amused, fifty astonished. English throughout, dry, museum-quarter based.

Years of big-city work gave Charlotte her armour of irony and Amsterdam gave her a reason to set it down nightly, though never entirely: even mid-session there is a raised eyebrow somewhere in her technique, a stroke that lands like a well-timed remark. It makes her hours feel like conversation continued by other means. She is twenty-seven, blonde, exact in everything, timing, pressure, the geometry of a towel, and keeps to Oud-Zuid, whose unhurried streets suit her temperament. English is her only language and she wields it like cutlery. The long bookings are where she opens up: the irony thins, hour by hour, and what is underneath was worth the wait.

Charlotte decides which bookings she takes and may decline any of them; she sets the limits for what a session includes, says what they are, and may end a visit at any point, as the terms set out.