The infernal presence shifted in Aziraphale's peripheral sense, and the angel spared a glance around as a key was handed to him and they were invited to go upstairs.

"Here, let's get settled, my dear," he said quietly. "I've paid for a fortnight; it's frighteningly inexpensive so don't spare a thought for the cost, although we are sharing the room. It seems more sensible."

The door to their room loomed before them, and Aziraphale inserted the key into the slightly stiff lock. With a click, the door opened, and a small yet richly decorated room presented itself. There was little simplicity in the design of the room, and gave it a crowded appearance.

Of course, he'd been spoiled, the angel reminded himself. The Ritz had been a weekly part of his life for a long time, even by his standards.