Molly, warm credit at the Circus end of W1

About Molly

Molly runs warm. It is the first thing guests say and the last thing they forget, a 164 cm, curvy, wavy-haired warmth that makes a hotel room feel inhabited within minutes of her coat coming off. She is 24, confident without armour, playful without agenda, and her brown eyes carry a permanent suggestion that something enjoyable is about to happen. It usually is.

Her tastes have a pulse. House music followed properly, not nostalgically; cocktails as craft, she will tell you which W1 bars stir and which ones showboat; and vintage cars admired at length, show her a good one parked on Savile Row and lose ten minutes of your booking gladly. English fluent, laughter easy, energy steady until well past most bedtimes. Daylight hours she spends unglamorously and happily, markets, a lido when the weather dares her, one long phone call to her sister, which may explain why the evenings arrive so fully charged.

Her ground on this account is the Circus end, where W1J turns bright and stays up. Her evening starts at Bentley's on Swallow Street, oysters at the marble counter because counters beat tables for talking, then wherever the night points, a music bar if you are willing, the hotel if you are wise. She is at her best from ten onward and holds that form to whatever hour the arrangement names; late finishers and delayed landings are her natural clientele.

She keeps her file under Piccadilly Circus. Terms as posted on rates; a booking message after dark suits her rhythm perfectly.

How her evening opens

Molly happily takes bookings that start at ten or later, when most of the roster is winding down. Confirm before 8pm for the same night and the late hours are guaranteed hers.

Every figure she works to sits on the statement, and the rest of the account is one message away.

An evening with Molly

Molly's ideal evening starts where others peak. Ten o'clock, Bentley's counter, half a dozen natives and a glass of something cold while the theatre crowds thin out behind you. She talks easily and listens better, and by the second glass the day you had has been fully replaced by the night you are having.

Afterwards she reads the room, yours specifically. If there is dancing left in you she knows a basement where the music is right; if there is not, the hotel wins and she makes the shorter evening feel like the better choice. She keeps her warmth at full strength to the final minute, sees the booking out properly, and leaves you with the specific satisfaction of a night that ended too late and exactly on time.