Patricia, romantic outcall company from the Jordaan

The Westerkerk bells mark the hour over the Jordaan, and the Prinsengracht holds a reflection of every lamp along its banks. Down narrow streets lined with bookshops and tiny galleries, Patricia gathers her things, glances at the drizzle through her window and heads out towards you, umbrella left behind on purpose because she rather likes a few raindrops in her hair. Romantic in the old-fashioned sense, she loves handwritten notes, slow songs in hotel rooms and that moment when a car turns a corner and the whole city opens up in the windscreen, wet and shining.

Her hair is long and auburn brown, her eyes a gentle brown, and at 28 her slim 172 cm frame suits soft romantic bohemian style: floral dresses, loose linen, relaxed yet quietly polished. Attentive to the smallest things, she remembers how you take your coffee after hearing it once, notices tiredness before you mention it and always asks about the song playing downstairs. Watercolour painting is how she slows time down. She paints canal houses from memory and lets the colours bleed into each other, the way the city looks through rain on glass. Film noir is her guilty pleasure: fedoras, long shadows, a detective under a single streetlamp, all that delicious anticipation. Bookshops are her sanctuary. Give her an hour in a secondhand shop and she emerges with three novels and an old city map.

Fellow browsers might like Violetta, who loses whole afternoons among the shelves herself. Patricia's journeys begin in the Jordaan, and she speaks English softly, with real care. Now and then she arrives with something small tucked in her bag, a quick watercolour of the view from your street painted while she waited for the car, never grand, always thoughtful. Her knock is gentle, like the first page of a story you have both been waiting to read.