TWENTY
DEBBIE FEINSTEIN AND I decided to take our breakfast upstairs in the executive lounge—access to which came with our rooms. At 6 AM the space was mostly empty, save for a few early risers like us.
I loaded my plate with turkey bacon, scrambled eggs and some pastries, before filling the largest cup of coffee that I could find. To my surprise, Debbie Feinstein almost matched the amount of food in my plate. I didn’t say anything, she didn’t strike me as the kind of woman that cared about things like that.
We installed ourselves in an empty cubicle overlooking the northern part of the city. More importantly, we were semi-isolated from any of the other people in the lounge. Save for the occasional Filipino waiter.
On the table I set up the tablet we used to talk with Diana in Portugal
