Steve glanced sideways through the window at the Rue Lanneau. The man in the raincoat was huddled under the eaves across the street ostentatiously examining a map. The rain had let up, but still fell lightly on the slick street. The empty outdoor tables of the restaurant were pushed against the ivy. They were by the wall opposite the window. Nearby, a flickering orange fire struggled with the gloom from outside. Despite the dark afternoon, the heavy mantle and dark beams supporting the low ceiling seemed to exude a cozy atmosphere of warmth and cheer. “That was delicious and I thank you.” Lisa folded her napkin and placed it neatly beside her plate. “Now perhaps we could discuss my problem.” “Our problem.” Steve grinned, but a shadow of concern darkened the corners of his eyes. She leaned back, considering. She had just met this man, had no idea who he was, or who Rossignol was, for that matter.
