“I’m afraid it’s not on. Could you hook this for me, Bernie?”

“Uh, sure. Oh, sorry. My hand slipped.”

“Oh, I’ll just bet it did.”

“Well, an irresistible impulse drew it here. But if you don’t like the way it feels-”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Or if you want me to stop-”

“I didn’t say that, either.”

So we made do without Mel Tormé, and I can’t say his absence was much noticed. Afterward I collapsed like a blown tire, and the next thing I knew she had all her clothes on and one hand on the doorknob.

“Wait,” I said. “I can at least see you downstairs and put you into a cab.”

“No need for you to get dressed, Bernie. And I am in rather a hurry.”

“At least let me tell you what I had planned for the weekend.”

“All right.”

“Because we could always do it the following week, if I can manage to get reservations. Or, once you hear what I’ve got planned for us, you might want to cancel your own plans.”

“Well, tell me.”

“Cuttleford House,” I said.

“Cuttleford House.” She frowned in thought. “Isn’t that-”

“The English country house in the Berkshires,” I said. “Exclusive, expensive, and authentic. A coal fire on every hearth. Serving girls dropping curtsies. Serving boys dropping aitches. Tea brought to your room at daybreak. Guests who still haven’t recovered from having lost India. No television in the whole house, no automobiles anywhere on the property.”

“It sounds heavenly.”

“Well, I know what a passion you have for everything English,” I said, “and I saw how much you enjoyed tea at the Stanhope, and I thought this would be the perfect weekend for us. I was planning on telling you on Valentine’s Day, but it had come and gone by the time I managed to get through to them and make the reservation.”

“What a sweet man you are, Bernie.”

“That’s me,” I agreed. “What do you say, Lettice? If you’re positive you can’t shift your plans, I’ll try to switch our reservations to the following weekend.”