Call girl

It seems that in quiet sleepy middle England, we have a high class call girl living next door to us. She's very stunning in a tall leggy blond haired sort of way. She drives a smart convertible. She never goes to work. Her fence is very high and you can't see into her garden even if you lean out really far with a mirror on the end of a stick.
After a few weeks we've begun to see a pattern. She has three early evening customers. I can't vouch for others during the day as I'm at work. But we have Mr Jaguar, Mr Porsche and Mr Chevrolet 4 wheel drive. They all turn up on different days and stay for a couple of hours then leave, once maybe twice a week.
Rory wanted to knock on her door and ask her "how much?" I suggested that maybe bartering would be better. He could fit her up with a new satellite system and she would fit him up by return.
"So what can you offer her?" he asked me.
"Oh I can give her a packet of bags for her vacuum cleaner."