He threw open a set of heavy brocade curtains, wincing as light flooded through the windows and lit up the room. Knox hadn’t paid much attention to the small suite when he’d checked in—he’d been too tired to notice anything but the bed—but he now saw that whoever had decorated The Empress’s bedchambers had seen fit to cover every surface in them with rich patterns and clashing embroidery. He didn’t like it.

He straightened his jumper and ran his hands through his thick mop of black hair as he walked over to the door and prepared to hurl some very strong words at whoever was on the other side of it.

‘I asked for a wake-up call at four,’ he told the teenage bellboy he found waiting for him in the corridor in a stiff, maroon uniform.

‘Yes, sir,’ the starched young man replied. ‘The manager sent me up when no one answered.’

‘Well, you took your time.’

‘Excuse me?’ The bellboy was too young to mask his confusion. ‘The manager tried for ten minutes, then I came straight up.’

That didn’t make sense to Knox, until his still half-asleep brain reminded him that it was March, he was in Canada, and it was still light outside.

‘What’s the time difference between here and Ottawa?’ he asked.

‘Three hours,’ the young man replied without having to think about it.

‘That sounds about right,’ Knox said. ‘Sorry for being short with you. And thank you for checking on me.’

‘No problem at all, sir,’ the bellboy replied, both his voice and shoulders noticeably relieved by the abrupt change in Knox’s tone.

Knox felt a pang in his stomach. If it was just after four o’clock then he’d still slept for fourteen hours. He was hungry.

‘Where can I get some food?’ he asked.

‘The lobby lounge is open. Or I could arrange room service.’

‘The lounge will be fine.’ Knox had never enjoyed eating in the same room he slept in.

‘If that’s everything, sir?’ the bellboy asked.

‘Yes, and thank you again,’ Knox replied.

They stared at each other in silence for an awkward moment before Knox realised the teenager was probably waiting for a tip for being his human alarm clock—and for putting up with his short temper. But by the time he retrieved his wallet from the coat he’d flung across the desk next to his bed the bellboy had disappeared.

Twenty minutes and a cold shower later, Knox walked into the lobby lounge in a fresh pair of dark trousers and a muted olive green jumper, with his wool coat over his arm.