Constance

Oud-Zuid is where Constance lives, among the long avenues behind the museums, and it is a fair distance from the runways. A first-time guest who has only ever heard the place called Amsterdam Airport often assumes the hotels beside it are in the city, and she is patient about setting that straight. Dutch, French and English all come easily to her, so the signs outside a Schiphol window are never a puzzle she needs help with. Tantra and slow sensual work fill much of her diary, paced for somebody whose body still thinks it is in another time zone. At thirty she sets out her limits in the opening minute and keeps them exactly there. A trip out to the airport side is by arrangement, with the journey time agreed before the booking is fixed.

Constance 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.