John Sandoe Books on Blacklands Terrace is stacked into every corner, up the stairs and along each shelf, and Violetta could spend a whole afternoon there without saying a word. Then she will buy one slim novel, look up at you and make a joke so dry you only notice it a moment later. That combination, the quiet and the wit, is the heart of her.
She is thirty and tall at 178 cm, slender, her sleek black hair long and perfectly straight, her brown eyes giving very little away until she decides they should. Violetta lives in Belgravia. Her style is evening glamour in black and gold, and she wears her height the way some people wear a signature scent: confidently, without comment.
Swimming keeps her calm; she swims long, steady lengths most mornings. Stand-up comedy keeps her sharp; she goes to small clubs to watch new acts and can quote the best lines for weeks. Mysterious at first and elegant always, she is genuinely funny once she relaxes, and she speaks English in a cool, low voice that makes every punchline better.
For dinner she chooses Launceston Place, a neighbourhood restaurant on a quiet Kensington street of pretty Victorian houses, where the dining rooms are small and softly lit and the cooking is quietly ambitious. She orders with confidence, lets you choose the wine and tells you, honestly, whether it was the right call. Afterwards a short taxi takes you to your hotel, where the evening continues at her unhurried, confident pace.
Violetta is often booked for evenings around Sloane Square and W8. The booking page explains how one message reserves her.
