in London didn’t turn up any relevant results: The pub was actually named Knight’s End. When I arrived at the pub that afternoon, Ashdown and Zoey were already there, having driven straight from Liverpool in the Chairman’s Grand Cherokee. During the four hours I’d spent driving to London last night, they’d gotten some much-deserved sleep at Hotel Indigo on Chapel Street a few blocks east of the River Mersey. Knight’s End didn’t offer espresso so I ordered coffee. “Black, no sugar, please.” When the waiter moved off, Zoey asked whether I’d gotten any sleep. “A few good hours,” I told her. “Ostermann lent me his suite at the Corinthia.” “Posh,” Ashdown said. “Since his corporate client was paying, Ostermann also insisted I take advantage of room service.” “Oh? What did you have?” “What didn’t I have is more like it. After that tremendous breakfast at Gilchrist’s and the Corinthia’s room service, I don’t think I can ever settle for my regular breakfast of an English muffin and jam again.”
