8
Paris, August 1949
It was cold in the Louvre. The days were chillier now autumn was on the way. Here in the vast draughty interior Jasmine was glad she’d remembered to put a sweater in her satchel.
Her first night at the Lutèce had passed without incident. When she’d returned after the evening with Stan at Chez Inez, she’d gone straight to bed, tolerating the rather lumpy mattress and grateful that there was no risk of Bernard Courbet pushing open her bedroom door.
She’d left the hostel that morning without seeing Corinne, who must have been still sleeping. The autumn term hadn’t yet started at the Sorbonne and Jasmine had no idea what Corinne’s movements were. Stan had told her that most habitués of the Left Bank fled every day to the cafés to seek warmth and company, rather than st
