Giles surveyed the room he had prepared for Anya's arrival. He'd chosen one of the smaller hotels just off the Champs Elysées and arranged for adjoining rooms. He had a feeling that Anya would be in need of company tonight and he had wanted to avoid putting unnecessary barriers in her way. At the same time, she needed to know that there was a lock on her side of that connecting door and that she had the option to use it.

There were vases of flowers on each of the bedside tables, on the dresser at the side of the room and on the low table between the two overstuffed leather armchairs near the window. He'd had them remove the bouquet of cream coloured roses that had originally been there, knowing they would be too much like the arrangements from the wedding. Instead, he had found a florist selling stem carnations in pale peach and white, nestled in clouds of baby's breath. The vases were spread around the room and Giles hoped they would help create the right welcoming atmosphere without making it look as... formal as the roses. He shied away from the word romantic. The room was decorated with dark replica antique furnishings, set off by the ivory of the carpets, bedding and drapes and the pale green walls.

He opened the double doors that led out onto a narrow balcony shared by both the rooms, allowing a gentle breeze to stir the slightly stuffy air. He checked the alcohol that he'd brought back to the hotel with him. A bottle of red wine waited on the dresser, the white was in an ice-bucket. There was a bottle of vodka in the mini-fridge, which was concealed inside one of the cabinets, alongside a bottle of peach schnapps and a variety of mixers. The whisky was in his own smaller room. It might be late afternoon here, but for Anya it would feel like early morning, probably with no sleep the night before, and if she needed sleep, then he wasn't going to have any other entertainment for the evening. Hopefully, he was covered for whatever she might want. The hotel had its own small restaurant and, though the menu was limited and they didn't accept orders after nine in the evening, room service was available.

He reached into the pocket of his jeans and took out the half-used strip of aspirin that had been full that morning. Perhaps last night's little drinking binge hadn't been his best ever idea. He opened the door into the bathroom that separated the two bedrooms and turned over one of the glasses that were on the shelf above the sink and pressed two of the tablets out into it.

Again, this room showed the signs of his afternoon shopping trip. Alongside the miniature toiletries that were supplied by the hotel, there was bubble bath, shower gel, shampoo and exfoliating body scrub with ground apricot kernels, (which to his eyes looked like it would amount to the same thing as using sandpaper instead of a flannel). All were perfumed with the green tea scent that he remembered filling his senses like a tantalising cloud during that enlightening kiss in The Magic Box. There was also a selection of items in lavender and camomile, which claimed to have relaxing properties. Giles considered the possibility that he had gone too far as he ran some water into the glass and swirled it around until the pills bubbled their way to the surface. Did friends buy each other bubble bath? Maybe if he hid the items the hotel provided, she would think that they had... No, Anya was many things, but stupid certainly wasn't one of them.

The phone in his room began to ring and he placed the glass back on the shelf. There was only one reason anyone would call at this time and he rushed to pick it up, reassuring the hotel clerk that he would be downstairs, waiting, when his taxi arrived.

"God bless tailwinds," he muttered as he checked he had his wallet and grabbed both room keys. His hand was on the doorknob, but then he dashed back to the bathroom. His fingers brushed nervously through his hair and he tugged at the hem of the hunter green cotton shirt he wore over his faded blue jeans, as if it had somehow become uneven in the twenty minutes since he had changed.

Anya was coming. She was almost here and, regardless of what he might give away about his own feelings, he was going to do his best to make this trip as special as possible for her. He made his way briskly to the outer door of the suite and when he saw someone getting into the lift at the end of the corridor, he called out to them and started to jog.

Back in the bathroom, the aspirin settled into a white scum on the surface of the water, as forgotten as Giles' headache.