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He emptied the contents of her drawers and scanned papers, mostly
paycheck stubs and tear sheets from Vogue and Harper's Bazaar. He
saw the large check-book of their joint account. When he found the
time he did the balancing, but mostly he relied on her. He thumbed
through the stubs. There were other items: her passport, stationery,
pencils, cast-off bits of string, broken sunglasses, bric-a-brac of a past
life. He felt no sentiment. They were merely things, inanimate, now
worthless.
Vivien looked through Lily's bedroom closet.
"Nothing of consequence in the pockets. Just the usual female
things." She grew contemplative. "She had a terrific wardrobe. Size
eight."
"She got the clothes at a discount."
"So she was quite good-looking," Vivien mused vaguely.
He pointed to her passport.
"See for yourself."
She picked it up and studied it.
"A dark beauty."
"You can't really tell from that picture. She had the family nose,
which you can't see from that full view. Aquiline, I think you're
supposed to call it. But on her it looked good. Went with her eyes."
Still proud, he thought, baffled.
Vivien studied the picture for a long time, then put the passport down,
stole a glance at herself in the mirror, shifted, posed for a side view.
"Opposites. Maybe that was it," she said.
Vivien was fairer, taller, larger-boned, with a bigger bosom. In the
mirror she saw him inspecting her and flushed. He came and stood
beside her, offering the physical comparison.
"Orson was six foot three," she said to his reflection.
"Beat me by five inches. Probably in better shape, too." He patted his
paunch, which had gone down in the past few days. "I used to be
thinner."
"Orson was a jogger. Burned the calories off. He also watched himself
at the table. More than I did."
So he was taller and surely better looking, certainly smarter.
"Sounds like I wasn't much competition."
"Nor I."
"You were different. She was more..."
"Delicate."
"She was quite strong. With lots of energy. I'd sag first."
"Me, too. I used to blame it on Ben. He really wore me out. Maybe
that was part of it."
He did not answer, not wanting to go down that road again, but he
continued to look at her in the mirror. She had a full-bodied,
substantial attractiveness, a type that normally did not interest him.
His gaze seemed to make her uncomfortable, and she turned away.
"I don't think I found anything," he said. It had felt eerie, both of them
going through Lily's things, a violation of her privacy. Couldn't be
helped, he thought. She had brought it on herself.
"There just has to be something," Vivien said, stroking her chin and
looking about the room.
"There probably is. We just don't know what to look for. If they were
being secretive and clever, the last thing they would leave lying
around would be an address." Suddenly, Vivien's attention was
arrested by a little digital clock that read out the time in green
characters. She was totally lost in thought, and he watched her
silently, noting the intensity of her absorption.
"Time," she said finally, as she swung to face him. "They had to
allocate time"—the muscles in her neck pumped as she swallowed
with difficulty, gulping the words—"for each other."
A flash of irritation intruded. The anger flared again. He pondered the
disguises Lily had had to assume, the concoction of a false identity,
false words. Lies! The growing rage jogged his memory. His mind
reached back for clues in their routine, in their habits, and sorted
through the confusion of old images. He knew he was searching for
abrupt changes, uncommon actions, strange moments. An affair
required physical interaction. When did they meet? How?