Using his knowledge of the hotel, he timed his return to the Carlton for the beginning of their afternoon tea service, confident that he entered the lounge without her awareness and gained a seat sufficiently close behind her to easily overhear the waiter address her as ‘Madam Appleton’ and to detect the American accent when she ordered. He was also close enough to see that the book in which she was now engrossed was Pride and Prejudice. Jordan declined tea himself, needing to be in position in the lobby. He didn’t hurry selecting the right place, disappointed there wasn’t an unobtrusive spot from which he had a complete view of the room-key pigeon holes as well as a sufficient warning of her approach into the lounge. He settled for the best available combination and hid himself behind the Herald Tribune, raising it higher at the first sight of her before she actually came into the reception area. He was doubly lucky as she did precisely what he’d hoped by going straight to the desk for her key, which Jordan immediately recognized to be at the suite level upon which he had his own, five rooms further along the same corridor; an unexpected but welcome bonus. Because he was not working and sought recognition, rather than his usual anonymity, Jordan had ensured his immediate acknowledgement by heavily tipping upon his arrival the valet parking supervisor at the top of the hotel’s sweeping entrance into the underground facility, and so was greeted by name as he approached. Knowing from his previous visits that vehicle spaces were allocated by room number he gave that of the woman, not his own, shaking his head when the supervisor frowned as he looked up from his occupation list and said, ‘That’s Mrs Appleton’s suite? She doesn’t have a car here.’