Victoria

In her own hours

Nothing about Victoria's arrival draws attention: the plain coat, the small bag, the lift taken alone. Warmer behind a shut door than a corridor suggests.

She turned twenty-eight this year and has the patience of a woman a good deal further along the road than that. English she is fluent in, and she is who you want when you would rather not explain yourself twice. She begins slowly and builds, so the hour feels short, the ninety minutes feels right, and the night feels like the correct answer. Who you are does not interest her in the least beyond how you would like the evening to go, and how long.

Victoria 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.