3
When Jasmine returned to the apartment building in Passy, the concierge let her in before she could ring the doorbell. The elderly woman had a tiny room beside the front door, allowing her to keep one eye on the street and the other glued to her copy of France-Soir. Jasmine gave her a bright smile but was offered only a curt nod in response. Why was everyone in Paris so hostile? Entering the inner gloom of the lobby beyond the courtyard, her spirits, raised by her encounter with Stan, plummeted. Avoiding the metal cage, she trudged up the stairs to the third floor.
Madame Courbet hadn’t offered a key, so Jasmine tapped gingerly on the large double doors. There was no response so, cursing her stupidity for failing to enquire of the maid about access, she knocked louder, only for the doo
