The curtains to the interior of the third were open but there was no light inside. A lantern on the promenade illuminated the deck where deckchairs and pots of herbs cast deep shadows across its planks. Elektra paused to take it in, looking for signs of human life, but, unlike the one before, there was no washing strung on a line, just a pair of women’s running shoes by the door; they were not shoes she recognised. She turned and looked back towards the Pont des Arts but determined that this houseboat was too close to the bridge and there was no view of the Notre Dame.
Elektra walked on, stumbling again and cursing her wet shoes that were rubbing at her heels. She passed another two houseboats and, although each was in the right position, they were too modern or too old.
At a bench besid
