“Sounds like you’re in my business.”
“Not exactly,” Stone said. “Though we probably use some of the same techniques.”
“What’s this evening’s technique?”
“Candid photography,” he replied.
“Keyhole stuff? You’re joking.”
“All’s fair in love and divorce.”
“I thought we British had a corner on that market, except for the French.”
“Nope. New York is not a no-fault state.”
“What’s no-fault? Sounds like car insurance.”
“It means the divorce is legally considered to be neither party’s fault. Lots of states have that, but not New York. In New York one needs grounds for divorce—cruelty or, especially, adultery. Sometimes my clients ask me to substantiate grounds. In this particular case, the evidence is more important than the divorce itself, since the husband signed a prenuptial agreement stating that, if he fooled around, he’d get none of his wife’s very considerable fortune.”
“Poor bloke.”
“I may have asked you this before, but why have you never married?” he asked.
“The job,” she said. “My firm frowns on marriages, unless they’re intramural. Marrying outside the profession almost guarantees divorce, often an ugly one, and the firm doesn’t like that sort of publicity.”
“None of the gentlemen of your trade ever appealed to you?”
“Oh, there was a time,” she said. “A couple of years ago one of my colleagues and I got very serious, but not as serious as I thought. When he was offered a posting abroad, he accepted with alacrity, much to my annoyance. I broke it off immediately. He made the wrong choice.”
“Maybe it wasn’t so wrong after all, if he could leave you so readily.”
“I entirely agree,” she said, “and I got over it. You’re my first, ah, liaison since then, which is why I was so eager to get you into bed last night. I hope I didn’t put you off with my assertiveness.”
“Did I seem put off?”
She laughed. “No, I don’t think you did. You were . . . very interesting.”
“And what, exactly, does that mean?”
“It means exactly that. Don’t worry, it’s a very considerable compliment.”
They finished their main course and had dessert. When they were served coffee, Stone had entirely forgotten about Herbie Fisher. Then his cell phone vibrated. He looked at his watch: just after eleven o’clock. “Do you mind?” he asked, holding up the phone.
“Go ahead,” she said.
Stone opened the phone. “Yes?”
“It wasn’t my fault!” Herbie said, sounding very agitated.
“What?”
“The goddamned skylight must have been old or something.”
“What the hell happened?” Stone demanded, trying to keep his voice down.
“It collapsed,” Herbie said. “I fell right on top of both of them.”
“You fell into . . .” Stone stopped and looked around. “Where are you?”