Tea for two

Afternoon Elegance: High Tea at The Savoy

You can’t go wrong with a scone, jam, and cream. When a client invites me for a leisurely afternoon tea and conversation in one of London’s most iconic hotels, it’s an invitation I always accept. Today, I found myself stepping through the grand revolving doors of The Savoy at precisely 3 p.m., ready for an intimate tea for two. As only a top London escort knows, presentation is everything. So I dressed to captivate: a figure-hugging 1940s wiggle dress in midnight blue, accentuating every curve, paired with glossy black Mary Janes that clicked elegantly across the marble floors.

The mood was pure retro glamour—think Rita Hayworth making her entrance onto a film set. To complete the look, I swept on a dramatic cat-eye, added a pop of crimson lipstick for that irresistible va-va-voom, and pinned my hair into soft vintage waves. The result was a look that commanded attention and promised a memorable afternoon.

The plush surroundings of The Savoy’s tea lounge, with its sparkling silver tea service, crisp white linens, and the gentle murmur of conversation, set the perfect stage. The scent of freshly baked scones mingled with the delicate aroma of steeped Darjeeling as I settled in, ready to savour every moment—both the culinary delights and the sparkling conversation that make these afternoon rendezvous so uniquely enchanting.

Making an Entrance

I was fashionably late (five minutes, my maximum), and Bobby was already seated in the restaurant, framed by the soft clink of china and low murmur of conversation. A crisp white napkin was draped across his lap, and a leather-bound menu rested in his hands. He stood up immediately as I approached, looked me over with a slow, appreciative smile, declared me “delicious!” and then, with a playful flourish, pulled out my chair. We sat, knees almost touching under the table, as the waiter hovered at our elbows to take our order for tea for two.

A silver pot of Earl Grey soon arrived and was placed on one side of the table, sending up a fragrant curl of steam, while a delicate glass teapot of “Whole Lemon Verbena” was set on the other, its pale green leaves drifting lazily in the water. Tiered stands followed—gleaming and precariously full—piled with scones, pastries, and tiny, perfectly cut sandwiches. With everything laid out before us, we finally relaxed into our date, cups in hand.

You’d think that, as an elite escort in London, I’d be an old hand on the hotel circuit and remember exactly how much food they insist on feeding you. Apparently not. After your fourth cup of tea, you feel like you could water the surrounding foliage—though I behaved myself. I sat there suffering, sucking my stomach in while my eyes stubbornly remained bigger than my tummy. Bobby was in his element, happily munching on his third scone with an unapologetic mound of clotted cream. At the same time, I delicately nibbled on an éclair and exhaled as discreetly as possible, the zip of my dress feeling a little too snug. By the end of that first tea round for two, the idea of getting my second wind seemed less like a figure of speech and more like a necessity.

From Tea Room to Boutique

As it was only a one-hour sitting, we decided to quit while we were ahead, before we both had to be rolled out. We wandered out of the restaurant and into the hotel shop, where gleaming glass counters displayed rows of jewel-like chocolates and shelves were lined with immaculate tins of tea and neatly wrapped biscuits. After our feast, the delicacies looked a whole lot less tempting and a little more intimidating. For once, I could browse without drooling. I watched the chocolatiers at work behind the glass, their movements precise and almost hypnotic, swirling molten chocolate and decorating each piece like a tiny work of art.

That’s not to say we didn’t put a considerable dent in our credit limits. Freed from immediate appetite, I turned my attention to the gift section with renewed purpose. I made the most of it, choosing tins of tea, boxes of truffles, and pretty preserves for the family, piling them into the assistant’s waiting arms. We finally stopped only when our shopping bags were full, our wallets noticeably lighter, and we were perilously close to being quite broke—but with plenty of treats to show for it.