Margo, a candle and the river at Narrow Street

Margo gives very little away at first, and that is precisely the attraction. Slim at 166 cm, dark brown hair falling long and poker-straight, she keeps her brown eyes steady while everything else in the room moves. Her style borrows from old lounge bars: a bias-cut dress, a slim trouser with a silk shirt, a vintage clasp bag, a red lip kept immaculate all evening. She is in her early thirties and carries the particular calm that comes with it.

Refined and composed, Margo speaks fluent English in a low, even voice and never fills a silence simply because it is there. The mystery lifts slowly, over hours rather than minutes, which is why she prefers longer bookings. Contemporary art is her particular subject; she visits new shows in their first week to see them before the crowds. She plays piano late at night and keeps a small garden she describes with unexpected tenderness.

In Limehouse she chooses The Grapes on Narrow Street, a slim riverside pub so old that Dickens knew it, with a small dining room upstairs and a balcony almost touching the tide. She asks for the table by the window, orders simply and lets the evening settle. The river is black and busy with lights, and Canary Wharf glows downstream like something she has decided to ignore. Afterwards it is a short cab to your hotel and the rest of the night.

Margo is resting until 21 September; from then, evenings and overnights open again. She lives in Knightsbridge, roughly forty minutes away by cab. Look through the Limehouse page for riverside hotels, study the ladder on rates, and ask booking to hold her first night back.