“Both. Right now I’m wondering why you’re here. Part of me thinks you’re some sort of law enforcement and you’re going to tape me saying how I want to murder my wife.”
Lily laughed. “I’m not wearing a wire. If we weren’t in such a public place I’d let you frisk me. But even if I were wearing a wire, could I even arrest you for planning to kill your wife? Wouldn’t that be entrapment?”
“Probably. I suppose I could just say that I was trying to seduce you by talking about killing my wife.”
“That would be a first. Are you?”
“What? Trying to seduce you?”
“Yes.”
“Are we still playing the game from the plane? Absolute truth? Then I won’t lie and say that I haven’t thought about you in that way, but, no, everything I said about my wife, and how I feel about the situation, is true. I was honest with you on the plane.”
“And I was honest with you. I want to help.”
“I believe you,” I said. “It’s just that I don’t entirely understand your motives. I understand what I get from what we’re planning . . .”
“A quick divorce,” Lily said, and took a small sip of her wine.
“Yes, a very quick divorce . . .”
“But you wonder what I get out of it?”
“I do. That’s what I’d like to know.”
“I thought you might be wondering about that,” she said. “I’d have been worried a little if you hadn’t.” She fixed her intense eyes on me. “Remember when I was telling you how I felt about murder? How I believe that it’s not as immoral as everyone thinks. I truly believe that. People make a big deal of the sanctity of life, but there’s so much life in this world, and when someone abuses his power or, as Miranda did, abuses your love for her, that person deserves to die. It sounds like an extreme punishment, but I don’t think of it that way. Everyone has a full life, even if it ends soon. All lives are complete experiences. Do you know the T. S. Eliot quote?”
“Which one?”
“‘The moment of the rose and the moment of the yew-tree are of equal duration.’ I know it’s not justification for murder, but I think it underscores how so many people think that all humans deserve a long life, when the truth is that any life at all is probably more than any of us deserves. I think most people fetishize life to the point of allowing others to take advantage of them. Sorry, I’m offtrack here. When I met you in the airport lounge, and then we talked on the plane, you chose to tell me that you fantasized about killing your wife, and that allowed me to tell you about my philosophies of murder. That’s it, really. I like talking with you, and if you are serious about killing Miranda, then I will help you, in any way I can.”
I had watched Lily, in the course of her short speech, become briefly passionate, her face pushing toward me like a sun worshiper tilting toward the sun to get the most of its rays. Then I had watched her retreat again, as though she had revealed too much. She turned the stem of her wineglass between her fingers. I wondered briefly if she was insane, and as soon as I had that thought I decided to plunge forward anyway. I knew this feeling well. It was the way I had made enormous sums of money, by taking foolish risks.
“I want to do this,” I said. “And I want you to help me.”
“I will.”
She took another sip of her wine, the light from a brass wall sconce above her making the glass glow, and reflecting onto her pale face. She looked more beautiful, I thought, with her hair pulled back, but also more severe. She reminded me of models in some of the catalogs my wife received. Catalogs full of tall, rich-looking girls in tweeds and jeans, posing next to horses, or in front of country houses made of stone. The models from those catalogs were never smiling.
“I have one question,” I said. “Exactly, how many people have you killed?” I wanted to phrase it as a joke to give her a way out of the question, but I also wanted to know if she had practiced what she preached.
“I’m not going to answer that,” she said. “But only because we don’t know each other well enough yet. But I promise you that after your wife is dead I’ll tell you everything you want to know. We won’t have any secrets. It’s something I look forward to.”
Her face softened as she said this, and I felt as though there were an implied promise of sex thrumming in the quiet room. My glass was empty.
“Have you been thinking about it, about how it should be done?” I asked.
“I have, a lot,” she said, and slid her wineglass away from her, so that it lined up with my pint glass. “We have a huge advantage and that advantage is me. I can help you, and no one knows that we’ve ever met. I’m an invisible accomplice. I could provide you with an alibi, and since no one knows we know each other, the police would trust me. We have zero connection, you and I. And there are other ways I could help you, as well.”