Discretion, in a hotel, means an evening arranged in writing that leaves nothing behind in the room; every reservation is planned around it.
Every hotel promises discretion in its brochure, usually meaning that staff will not repeat what they see. The house means something more practical: arranging a visit so that there is nothing to see in the first place. It is less a promise than a set of habits applied to each stage of the evening.
The reservation is made in a written thread, with no call to overhear. The office asks for the area, the length and the time, and does not need the hotel's name. The guest's reason for booking is never requested. Payment details appear in that thread and nowhere else, so nothing about the reservation passes through a hotel's systems. The discreet booking guide takes the steps one at a time.
The therapist dresses for the building and the weather and carries one plain bag. She arrives as any visitor to a guest would, and whatever the hotel asks of its visitors applies to her too. Where lifts are locked or visitors are met in the lobby, the guest says so when booking and comes down for her. In the corridor, voices stay low and the door closes promptly. Curtains are worth drawing, a point the journal answers directly in can anyone see into my hotel room.
Linens, towels and everything used leave with her. Furniture is back in place. The room the cleaners find the next morning is a room one guest slept in. On the house's side, the thread holds what was needed to deliver the reservation and little else; how the site treats visitor information is set out on the privacy page.
It is not secrecy about terms. Prices, the deposit and the cancellation position are published openly, because a guest ought to know exactly what he is agreeing to before anyone sets out. Discretion concerns the evening itself: who sees it, and what it leaves behind.
Tonight
Name the room, the hour and how long you would like her there. The reply comes back in the same thread with who is free.