10
Paris, November 1949
Jasmine was in the Luxembourg Gardens with Stan. For the past few weeks she’d been down in the dumps, and had been avoiding Lachlan and her fellow students, slipping away whenever someone suggested going to a bar after their studies ended.
It was a crisp Sunday morning in November, and traces of frost lingered on the lawn where the watery sun hadn’t yet reached. She was only here with Stan now because he’d come to the Lutèce, hammered on her door and convinced her she’d feel better if she joined him for a walk.
‘You can’t stay in bed all day feeling sorry for yourself, Jasmine. Come out and see the world.’
So she’d flung on some clothes and walked with him through the streets to the park. Under the now russet-red chestnut trees, men wrapped in scarves and coats
