“It’s a bad night all right.”
“I’m glad I’ve an umbrella,” Catherine said.
We walked down the hall and down the wide thickly carpeted stairs. At the foot of the stairs by the door the porter sat behind his desk.
He looked surprised at seeing us.
“You’re not going out, sir?” he said.
“Yes,” I said. “We’re going to see the storm along the lake.”
“Haven’t you got an umbrella, sir?”
“No,” I said. “This coat sheds water.”
He looked at it doubtfully. “I’ll get you an umbrella, sir,” he said. He went away and came back with a big umbrella. “It is a little big, sir,’ he said. I gave him a ten-lira note. “Oh you are too good, sir. Thank you very much,” he said. He held the door open and we went out into the rain. He smiled at Catherine and she smiled at him. “Don’t stay out in the storm,” he said. “You will get wet, sir and lady.” He was only the second porter, and his English was still literally translated.
“We’ll be back,” I said. We walked down the path under the giant umbrella and out through the dark wet gardens to the road and across the road to the trellised pathway along the lake. The wind was blowing off-shore now. It was a cold, wet November wind and I knew it was snowing in the mountains. We came along past the chained boats in the slips along the quay to where the barman’s boat should be. The water was dark against the stone. The barman stepped out from beside the row of trees.
“The bags are in the boat,” he said.
“I want to pay you for the boat,” I said.
“How much money have you?”
“Not so much.”
