“I won’t think ill of you. Just say it.”
“We don’t have time for a walk. In the morning you’re flying out, and who knows when we’ll meet again.”
“So, what then?” I stopped and looked at her stupidly. Our walk had taken us further away from the Riviera San Nicolò. Ahead of us was the Piazza Santa Maria Elisabetta, where the windows of the Hotel Panorama and the colorful sign on its façade glowed invitingly. From here we had an even grander view of the lagoon, the islands of Giudecca and San Giorgio, and Venice further off. The three-story hotel building with yellow walls towered over the waterfront near the jetty. The heavy black shutters on the windows gave the building a rather provincial, rural appearance.
“Where are your things?” Cindy asked. “I remember that in New York you had just
