Follow a Stranger

She hesitated. She did not suspect him of any ulterior

motive, but she was wary of all men at the moment.

Then she shrugged. Why not? She, too, was too

depressed for sleep.

She followed Jean-Paul up into the old-fashioned lift

and they whined slowly upwards, coming to a stop with a

shudder of machinery. He unlocked a door along the dark

corridor and stood back to let her enter.

It was an elegant apartment, very obviously that of a

man, yet furnished, she suspected, with the help of

Marie-Louise. The curtains and carpets were of a

traditional French Empire style. There were delicate

pieces of porcelain along the white and gold mantelshelf.

But the furniture was solid and masculine and fitted

oddly with the more feminine furnishings.

Jean-Paul gestured her to take a seat, but she said

that she would help him make the chocolate. He led her

into the tiny kitchen and they companionably heated the

milk, talking very little.

“You were right, Kate,” he sighed. “She barely looked

at me. Well, I am finished after this. I shall ask Marc for

a job elsewhere—in England, perhaps.”

She stirred the chocolate. “Be more patient,” she

advised again. “Wait and see. Ring her in a few weeks

and ask her out. If she refuses, don’t make a thing of it—

wait and ask again.”

They carried their cups through into the sitting-room

and were just sitting down when the doorbell rang.

“Who can it be?” Jean-Paul said, staring in surprise.

“At two-thirty in the morning?”