But all this matters little to the woman in black as she vamps her way to the couch, mouthing the lyrics to an Annie Lennox song. She eases down to the cushions as the music swells around her, and crosses her legs in a slow, langourous motion. Her every movement demands to be noticed; she is almost aggressive in her sensuality.

As the song draws to a close, she holds her pose while the small audience in her living room watches, enraptured. Then she tosses her head back demurely and laughs, the too-deep voice at once surprising and familiar.