“I’m nice,” the Colonel said, and checked on the bridge that was coming up, and saw there was clearance. “That’s the first thing people notice about me.”
“I always use the wrong words,” the girl said. “Please just love me. I wish it was me who could love you.”
“You do.”
“Yes, I do,” she said. “With all my heart.”
They were going with the wind now and they were both tired.
“Do you think—”
“I don’t think,” the girl said.
“Well try and think.”
“I will.”
“Drink a glass of this.”
“Why not? It’s very good.”
It was. There was still ice in the bucket, and the wine was cold and clear.
“Can I stay at the Gritti?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It wouldn’t be right. For them. Nor you. The hell with me.”
“Then I suppose I should go home.”
“Yes,” the Colonel said. “That is the logical supposition.”
“That is an awful way to say a sad thing. Can’t we even pretend some things?”
“No. I’ll take you home and you sleep good and well and tomorrow we will meet where and when you say.”
“May I call the Gritti?”
