They’d always had enough money before. The house she’d inherited from Darren, her first husband—her house—was worth at least a couple million. Darren had left her bank accounts, stocks and bonds. And Paul had always saved most of their pay since then. But this money was dangerous. It was money that he didn’t have to account for, or even count. He could use it to pursue love affairs. He could buy gifts for other women, take them places, and never risk Sylvie’s noticing any bills.
Paul said, “You know, this whole Madrid thing feels like a bad idea. We’re both exhausted, and we’re leaving a house full of cash without a really adequate way to keep it safe. We have no plan for what we intend to do in Spain or when we’ll come back, or anything.”
“The house is fine. The lights will go on and off, the lawn will get sprinkled, and the gardeners will mow it. The pool man will clean the pool. The paper and mail were stopped days ago.”
“Those are just incidentals. I don’t even know why we’re going,” he said. “There’s no reason to leave the country now.”
“I’m going to Spain because it’s one of the most beautiful places in the world, and I want to look at it and learn some new dances. You’re going because you love me and want to make me happy. And also because I just suffered through a long and horrible job to make you happy. Okay?”
“I’m not denying any of that. I’m just saying it’s inconvenient right now, and it’s impractical.”
“Women are an impractical thing to have, Paul. We’re expensive, we pack too much, we’re demanding. But going to Spain with me is not a lot to ask. It was your idea in the first place.” She tugged her suitcase toward the distant terminal.
Now she had proof enough. There was at least one woman, and probably more than one. Certainly Mindy, the dance teacher, was one. He must have been screwing her for some time. There was simply no doubt, the way she had been acting toward Sylvie. Now Paul couldn’t bear to leave town for a few months because he had it so good here in Los Angeles.
Sylvie had been fighting this realization for weeks, but there was no other explanation for his not wanting to go. The next level of understanding came to her suddenly. What Paul must really want wasn’t to have her cancel the trip, it was to have her get on the plane to Madrid and let him stay behind. He would say “Adios” at the airport, go home and make the rounds of his sweethearts. Within a day or two, he would have them staying over at the house, sleeping on her side of the bed, one after another. She felt herself sinking into a dark and desperate mood.
The next few hours were going to be difficult for Sylvie. She couldn’t let him start a fight now because that would allow him to storm off and refuse to get on the plane. Sylvie was going to have to force him to go with her to Spain. Once he was there with her, she would have to be decisive and act before he did. Getting a gun legally in Europe was probably impossible for a tourist. There were always knives, but she had no illusion that she could kill Paul that way. He would take it away from her and use it on her. It was going to have to be poison.
If it had to be poison, Europe was a better place to kill him than at home. The authorities there wouldn’t care much about what happened to some American tourist, and wouldn’t even bother to do a lot of tests on the body if the grieving widow didn’t demand it. He could be buried abroad. No, cremated. She would have Paul cremated.
Paul caught up with her, and put his arm around her waist. “I’m just saying we could have a pretty good time right here with all that money.”
She looked at him, her eyes wide and her smile comfortable and sure. “Spain is one of the most romantic countries in the world. I promise that I won’t give you enough time to get homesick.”
Paul grinned and kissed her behind the ear. “I love you.”
It was absolutely no use trying to get her to abandon this trip. He would have to go to Spain and try to figure out the best way to kill her there without getting caught.