Chapter Forty-ThreeWhen Murielle knocked on Michel’s door in the morning, he scrambled out of bed and put on a robe. He was not used to visitors, preferring to meet friends somewhere more aesthetically pleasing, where they also might buy him lunch.
“Maman! To what do I owe this pleasure? I’m not sure you’ve ever come to my apartment!”
Murielle pushed past her son and looked around. “I see you keep it nice, just as I taught you.”
“Of course,” he laughed. “Your tutelage in dusting and vacuuming was quite exhaustive. Can I get you something to drink?”
“Yes, actually, something to drink would be exactly what I need.” She reached into her pocket to make sure the small packet was safe, and then perched on the edge of the cheap sofa. “There are a couple of things I need to talk to you about,”
