She cried even harder, then held the letter out to me. I took it from her and I first looked at the heading, it was from a recording company Panafonic....The thought that came instantly to mind was, “Wow, someone wants to record us.” but just as quickly I realised that Dawn wouldn’t be crying if that were the case. So, I read lower.The gist of the letter was that they were offering Dawn a one-off recording deal, with an option for further recordings dependent on how the recording went and on. " Wow, that makes a hell of a lot of sense," she said. "Maybe what they said about the IT department wasn't totally true. But what if I already knew that there wasn't anything wrong with my monitor? What if this was all part of a dastardly plot to get you up here so I could ask you a question?" I guess it must be a hell of a question for you to go through all of that trouble and risk." I said. "So what's the question?" I turned and looked at her for the first time, and almost fell over. She was. But it is just behind the Palais de Justice, and from the front windows of the apartment she could see the spire of the Sainte Chapelle. It was an extravagance, in a way, but one she treasured and never regretted.Today, she walked to the Pont Neuf and crossed to the Cité, climbing the narrow, dingy stairs to the office."Good morning," she called as she entered the sunny front room. There were several workstations, and in front of one, her project architect, Marie Dutoit, a handsome, sturdy. The debate was beer or no beer. That was easy. Beer was for the lawn. The bar was for liquor and additives. Water, both flat and sparkling was already planned. I suggested coffee instead of beer. Also a version Irish Cream, along the lines of Carolans liqueur, would be well received. That would make for authentic Irish coffee. I went into the Kitchen, though we were not planning on serving food from it. None-the-less, it had been thoroughly swept and dusted. When I saw kindling in the box, I.
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