Margo, companion in Limehouse

About Margo

Narrow Street runs along the water and stops being London for about four hundred metres, which is the stretch Margo would choose over anywhere else in the east. Slim, 166 cm. Dark brown hair, long, worn straight. Brown eyes that settle on a thing rather than dart about. One colour at a time, well cut and quiet, and she is the only woman on that towpath in shoes not bought for walking.

In her early thirties, with fluent English and the composure that comes from having nothing left to prove. Margo talks in complete thoughts and is comfortable with a pause. She is interested in boats, the working kind, and can tell you what came up the Thames to these wharves and when. She has a low, sudden laugh that catches people off guard because the rest of her is so measured.

The Grapes on Narrow Street is where an evening starts: a narrow old pub on the river with a balcony over the water and barely room to pass behind the bar. After that it is a table close by, or ten minutes over to the Wharf when your room is in one of the towers. She lives in Knightsbridge and does not pretend the distance away, forty minutes by road, longer if the Limehouse Link is busy.

Limehouse is two minutes from the DLR and c2c platforms, with Westferry five and the Wharf a stop beyond. Fares are unchanged and printed on rates. Ask booking for a date after her return and Nell will write it down.

Booking her

Margo is away until the middle of October and Nell is placing the evenings after that now. Send a date and an address and the desk will confirm it in writing once she is back.

Every figure she works to is public on the board, and the steps sit on the booking page.

An evening with Margo

Start on the balcony over the water if there is room, and there rarely is, so start at the bar instead and take the balcony when it frees up. The tide does something to the light here that Margo will not explain and clearly enjoys. She asks few questions early on and better ones later.

Dinner is close by and unhurried, and she is the rare companion who is entirely comfortable eating in near silence for a minute or two. The walk afterwards goes east along the front, past the old wharves and the dry dock, with the Wharf towers lit up ahead of you the whole way. With a room over there it is ten minutes on foot, and she picks the towpath over the road every time, which tells you enough about her taste.