When we were on our after-dinner liqueurs, Rena excused herself
for a moment and, after a few minutes, I spotted her standing by a
satin-draped window, looking wistfully out over a balcony. Gogarty
winked.
I got up and, a little unsteadily, went over to her. "Shall we look at
this more closely?" I asked her. She smiled and we stepped outside.
Again I was looking down on the Bay of Naples--a scene painted in
moonlight this time, instead of the orange hues of sunset. It was warm,
but the Moon was frosty white in the sky. Even its muddled reflection
in the slagged waters was grayish white, not yellow. There was a pale
orange halo over the crater of Mount Vesuvius, to our left; and far
down the coast a bluish phosphorescence, over the horizon, marked
Pompeii. "Beautiful," I said.