“So you’re just good friends.”

“That’s exactly what we are, as a matter of fact. Not that it’s any of your business. Now it’s my turn to ask a question. What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were getting married today.”

“Dakin and I were married this afternoon.”

“What a coincidence. He surprised you by taking you to the same place I’d picked.”

“No, of course not.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“I suggested it,” she said. “You made it sound so wonderful I couldn’t think of anything else. We had reservations in Aruba, but I managed to convince Dakin that we’d have ever so much more fun coming here. And luckily they had a room available.”

“Not with twin beds, by any chance?”

“With a double bed, of course. Dakin’s in it now, sleeping like a lamb.”

“I’m surprised you’re not with him.”

“I was,” she said, lowering her eyes. “You know what they say about lovemaking, that it puts men to sleep and wakes women up.”

“As opposed to the idea of lovemaking,” I said, “which wakes men up and gives women a headache.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she went on, “and I knew I had to find you and talk to you. You can’t imagine what a shock it was to run into you.”

“Oh, yes I can.”

“You know, I rather assumed it was your room they’d given us, that you’d canceled your reservation after our conversation. I never dreamed you’d come after all.”

“Well, I never figured you’d show up. I thought this was the last place on earth I’d run into you.”

“You seemed so devastated the last time we were together. I was afraid of what you might do.”

“Like what? Stick my head in the oven? Take holy orders?”

“Nothing that extreme. But I thought you might be in something of a funk for a while. I certainly didn’t think you’d appear all coupled up with another woman. How do I know you haven’t been married all along?”

“At this point,” I said, “why on earth would you care?”

“Because I never date married men, for one thing.”

“Neither do I,” I said, “or married women, either, so maybe you ought to scoot back upstairs where you belong.”

“Why, Bernie!”

“I’m serious, Lettice. You’re a married woman now. We shouldn’t be sitting here in the dark together.”

“If it were any brighter in here,” she said, “I’d need to put on sunscreen. Bernie, you’re furious with me, aren’t you?”

“What makes you say that?”

“For one thing, you’re glaring at me. You and that animal.”

Had Raffles joined us? I looked around for him.

“On the wall,” she said. “That poor creature that someone shot and stuffed.”

“He’s immortal,” I said. “He’s supposed to be a springbok, but he sure looks like an oryx to me. You can’t really blame him for looking disgruntled. Someone shot him. But why should I be furious?”

“Because you really cared for me, and you truly were devastated when I told you I was getting married. And of course you’re furious, you’re positively seething. Bernie, that’s so sweet!”

“It is?”

She nodded. “And you came here this weekend to prove to yourself that you don’t care, but of course it proves just the opposite, doesn’t it?”

“It does?”

“You know it does.” She leaned toward me and laid her cool hand against my cheek. “Bernie,” she said earnestly, “I’m not saying that we can never ever be together again. But this weekend is out of the question. You must understand that.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve been married for less than twelve hours,” she said. “I’m on my honeymoon. For God’s sake, I just left my husband’s bed. You can’t expect me to-”

“To what?”

“Oh, Bernie,” she said. “When we’re both back in the city, when some of these powerful emotions become a little easier to deal with, who knows what might happen?”

“Not me,” I said. “I don’t know anything.”

“But while we’re here,” she went on, “we’ll have to be on our best behavior. We’ll be friendly but distant, reserved. As far as anyone else has to know, we met for the first time this evening in the bar. We never knew each other before.”

“Whatever you say.”

“And we never slipped into the East Parlour together, and had this conversation.” She perched on the arm of my chair, her face inches from mine, and treated me to a whiff of her perfume. “Oh, Bernie,” she said. “I wish it didn’t have to be like this.”

“You do?”

She leaned in and kissed me, and without thinking about it I kissed back. She was always a good kisser, and she hadn’t lost a step in the week and a half since I’d seen her. I put my arms around her, and she put a hand on my knee for balance.

I guess it didn’t work, though, because the next thing I knew she was in my lap.

“My goodness,” she said, squirming around, and sort of rubbing her body against me like a cat. It was, though, a good deal more interesting than it is when a cat does it.

She moved her hand, then gasped in mock alarm. “Oh, my! Bernie, what have we here?”

“Uh…”

“I should speak sternly to you,” she said, “and tell you to take that upstairs to your wifey. Are you absolutely certain you’re not married, Bernie?”

“You’ve been to my apartment,” I reminded her.

“And made love beneath the fake Mondrian. I’ll never forget that, Bernie.”

“Did it seem like the home of a married man?”

“Hardly. But whether you’re married or not, it’s clear you and your little friend are more than just friends.” Her hand did something artful. “You’re planning on sharing a bed with her this weekend, aren’t you?”

“Well, technically, yes. But-”

“And she’s waiting for you, and you’re down here with me.” She was purring with excitement and delight. “She’s lying awake, and Dakin’s sound asleep, and we’re together, aren’t we?” She sort of flowed from my lap to the floor, as if she were a liquid drawn there by gravity. And she put her hands in my lap, and she put her head in my lap.

I reached to switch off the lamp.

“Poor Dakin,” she said a while later, getting to her feet. “I swore I’d be a faithful wife, and in less than half a day I’ve gone and committed adultery. Or have I?”

“Can’t you remember?”

She ran the tip of her tongue across her upper lip. “I shouldn’t think I’m in great danger of forgetting the act,” she said. “I was just wondering if it qualifies. In terms of adultery, that is. Does what we just did count?”

“Well, what’s adultery? Extramarital sex, right? This was certainly extramarital, and it seems to me it was sexual.”

“Quite,” she said.

“So I guess that makes it adultery.”

“Sitting in your lap was sexual,” she said. “Kissing you was definitely sexual. Rubbing up against you was deliciously sexual. You wouldn’t label any of those acts adulterous, would you?”

“No.”

“It seems to me,” she said, “that anything short of the main event, so to speak, is not exactly adultery.”

“I see, Lettice. In other words, you figure you ought to get off on a technicality.”

“Is it a technicality? Perhaps it is.” She grinned. “In any event,” she said, “you’re the one who got off. I just hope your sweet little nonwife won’t be too disappointed.”

“She’ll get over it,” I said.

“Oh, I do hope so,” she said, and flashed a wicked grin, and blew me a kiss, and left.