"Mrs. Farrar?" asked the servant.

Lilith looked up to see that one of the many android servants that she kept about the house had entered the room and was now, bending forward, making her a pert bow on its smooth rotors,  his movement so fluid that she paused to admire him for a moment.

"Yes, Peter?" she asked, recognizing the servant to be the one that she, in a rare moment of what could only barely pass for sentiment, christened Peter. Christopher had not, of course, objected. He cared little for the androids, as he did for any aspect of the maintenance of his household.

"Mr. Farrar's guest is on his way out," said Peter.

"And how did Mr. Farrar's guest behave?" she asked, getting up and smoothing her skirt with both hands.

"Not well, madam," said Peter.

"How so?" she enquired, turning her head towards a long, gilt-framed mirror that sat on the wall opposite her. Brushing her fingers over her brow, she tucked a small stray piece of hair back into its place.

"There was a good deal of shouting on Mr. Farrar's guest's part, madam," said Peter.

"And let me guess, calm derision on the part of Mr. Farrar?" asked Lilith. Now she swept one finger along the line of her bottom lip, correcting the tiniest smudge of lipstick.

"Yes, Mrs. Farrar," said Peter.

"Well, then. Please show him in here," said Lilith, waving to Peter. Unlike Christopher, she never allowed herself to be rude or snappish with the servants. It was partly that their gentle manners and their vaguely anthropormorphic forms endeared them to her. She valued tact and politeness and so their programming was amenable to her. It was also that she used to practise her manners on them; now, she was so adept that it had partly become a habit to be polite to them. "That will be all, Peter."

The android made another bow and left the room completely noiselessly. His gait was so fluid Lilith watched it with pleasure for a moment.

Lilith, as she turned away from the mirror, took stock of Christopher's guests - this one made for six in one week, which was a rather large number, even for him. He usually put on a show more more fidelity than that, and kept them hanging off his elbow for at least a few days. One, not too long ago, a woman with a lithe figure and a handsome face, he had discarded after eighteen days. This was not, in Lilith's experience, Christopher's usual habit.

"Good Lord, Christopher," she muttered to herself. Her tone was flat and coldly admiring. "You're getting more and more wicked with every passing day."

So Lilith, as she always did in the circumstances, had a seat on her favourite armchair by the window to wait. As she waited, she admired the fine sight of a hawk circling next to the high window, her wings set in a V, soaring. She awaited the ritual to come with patience.

In a matter of minutes, she heard the door open and the patter of feet before a smooth, automated voice told her:

"Mr. Farrar's guest, madam."

"Thank you, Peter," she said, and motioned to the android to stay. Occasionally, these men and women reacted with violence. Peter had once had to restrain a brawny Swede who had tried to strike her. Peter obeyed, pausing by the door, his mechanical eyes pointed with an affected demureness at the floor.

A young man came softly into the room. The moment his eyes came to rest on Lilith he recoiled with horror. Lilith noted that this one was a man, like the five before him, which was another recent trend in Christopher's behaviour. He usually had no preference for gender, yet for the past week had selected only men. She disliked this only because she did not understand it; when she did, she did not doubt she would become dispassionate.

"Mrs. Farrar," he began in what would have been a melodic voice had it not been choked with fear. "Christopher said you wouldn't be about."

"Yes, well he would, wouldn't he?" she said, smiling for the benefit of the polite circumstances. "It does not do to have one's lover know that one's wife is in the house, does it?"

The man's jaw hung open as he began to splutter incoherently. Lilith heard four denials spew from him before she cut him off.

"Enough of that," she told him, the sharpness of her tone silencing him instantly. Her voice was not loud but it certainly was hard. "Don't bother to deny it. It is my business to know what you are and what you've done. Now, have a seat and I will explain what happens next. Come, Peter will pour us something to drink."

When the young man did not sit, Lilith's gaze hardened until she stared coldly at him. "I'm not the jealous wife who's going to kill you, Mr. Foster," she told him. "And so long as you do as I say you needn't fear reppurcussions. Now sit down, please."

The man slowly sank into a chair, his eyes wide with anxiousness.

"Would you like something to drink?" she offered.

"A - a brandy and soda," he squeaked.

"Old fashioned," said Lilith as she sank down into her armchair once more. She allowed a bit of a sinuous wind to settle her back in her seat, luxuriating in the fine fabric's texture against the backs of her bare legs. But her posture was straight as she addressed her android.  "Peter, a brandy and soda for the young man - Mr. Foster, isn't it?"

The young man's eyes bulged. "You know my name, Mrs. Farrar?" He seemed to have only notice that then - foolish of him, since she had used his name before.

"I make it a point to educate myself about all of Christopher's lovers, Mr. Foster," she replied. Then, to Peter, who had Mr. Foster's drink in his hand, she gestured. Peter, who had learned every one of her signals, brought her a cigarette and ignited it with a flame that sparked to life from one of his robotic fingertips.

Lilith watched Mr. Foster carefully. She was satisfied that he seemed humbled by his nervousness, which would help immensely in her task. The proud, headstrong ones were harder to bring to heel, as their temperaments usually required far more coercion than those who were already afraid of her.

"Now, Mr. Foster," she said, taking a drag of her cigarette. "I take it you know who I am?"

"Christo- Mr. Farrar's wife," said Mr. Foster, correcting himself quickly.

Lilith smiled with no good humour. "Correct." She was always careful to pose this question. It made for a good assessment of how her marriage to Christopher appeared to an outside eye. As the purpose of that marriage was the maintenance of image, Lilith was always satisfied to hear it was a ruse that functioned properly.

Mr. Foster looked confused and Lilith grew somewhat impatient. They all always looked so bemused by her attitude. It was tedious. "I am well aware of the fact that Mr. Farrar keeps lovers," she explained, watching Mr. Foster's reaction very closely. As she had predicted, he started with surprise.

"You knew I'd be here?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yes," she said, and did not reveal to Mr. Foster the exact science she had used to deduce the identity of Christopher's newest conquest. She had, the previous night, taken careful stock of those to whom Christopher paid attention. It had been three people, predominantly, though Christopher bestowed his charm on nearly everyone he met: a Japanese heiress and a wealthy business magnate, but it was this Mr. Foster to whom Christopher had endeared himself more than anyone else.

She had taken Mr. Foster's name and then, at Christopher's covert dismissal, had gathered the required information for whenever Christopher would require her to dispose of him.

Mr. Foster's confusion seemed to intensify, as was evidenced by how his brow furrowed. Lilith smiled discreetly. She always had a small bit of pleasure at this part, always relished the look of shock on the face of even Christopher's proudest lovers.

"But why?" he asked, as helpless and bewildered as a child. "You're his wife!"

Lilith wondered if Mr. Foster was really so innocent as to expect the truth from her. She did not give it, did not explain that it was her job to manage Christopher's entire private life, the majority of which was occupied by his penchant for promiscuity.

He had, of course, married her with that express purpose - to appear on his arm in social circles, to share his home, and, when it was required, dispose of his lovers in utter silence. He had needed a wife to make himself look respectable. And she benefitted, of course, by being maintained in what could be adequately described as comfort.

Instead, Lilith turned her attention back to Mr. Foster. She did not give him any sort of explanation.

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave, Mr. Foster," she said, and watched as his eyes narrowed a little with defiance. Lilith quenched it was a glower. "I urge you discretion, as well. Do not tell anyone of your relationship to Mr. Farrar, and do not even think of going to the press."

"But Christopher and I are going-" he started, and Lilith had to pity the precious little fool at least a little. He looked so hurt, so unhappy with her. Still, she continued on.

"I don't care what Mr. Farrar may have told you last night. He will tell his lovers anything to bed them. The fact that you're here right now means he doesn't want to see you again, Mr. Foster," she told him.  "So I will have to insist that you leave now."

A little bit of fire came into the gentle Mr. Foster's voice as he challenged her. "Or what?"

This was easy, too easy, so easy. The more difficult ones were at least a challenge but Mr. Foster - he was simply too easy. Perhaps that was what Christopher had liked about him. Christopher liked only things he could dominate quickly.

"And this is where my research comes in helpful, Mr. Foster," she said. "As I have come to understand it, you're the son of Enoch Foster, yes? The Southern industrialist?"

Mr. Foster said nothing, though a look of horror crossed his face.

"I wonder how your father, known in private circles as something of a bigot, would feel about the fact that his son spent the night not only with a man, but a married man," she said. Mr. Foster's lineage and his gentle temperament made dealing with him a simple, uncomplicated matter.

Mr. Foster shrank back. "You're going to tell him," he said, and he said it like a statement, not like a question. He said it with all the resigned horror of a man condemned to the gallows, not one who had recently spent a night with Christopher.

"Of course not, Mr. Foster. Provided, that is, that you don't tell anyone of your little escapade with Mr. Farrar," said Lilith. "I am not in the business of blackmail. My job is to provide insurance instead."

Mr. Foster simply sat there and blinked, a look of mute shock paralyzing his features and turning his pretty face idiotic. He did not move at all, and Lilith wondered idly if she would have to physically prod him to bring him back to his senses.

"Peter will show you out," she said, motioning to the android. As Peter came forward Mr. Foster stood, still in a daze, and made his way to the door.

But just as he was leaving, Mr. Foster turned back. There were tears on his face - what had the little idiot, after one night, presumed that Christopher loved him? Preposterous - and his lips were quivering.

"Bitch," he spat at her, though the insult was said with far more sorrow than it was with animosity.

The insult did not faze Lilith in the slightest. She barely looked up at Mr. Foster over her cigarette as she replied:

"I'm not the one throwing you out, Mr. Foster. That's Mr. Farrar. This is his cruelty, not mine. I am simply following his instructions." 

She heard Mr. Foster crying all the way down the hall and blinked to rid her face of the ugly contempt that had curled at her mouth and eyes.

Lilith turned for a moment back to the window. The hawk had circled back again, and was now gliding past the window, close enough for Lilith to see the bird's feathers quiver as the wind changed directions under her wings. Lilith let out all her breath in a huff, which momentarily shrouded the hawk in smoke as it rolled against the cold glass and condensed.

Lilith finished her cigarette and dropped it into the ashtray on the table next to her. With a puff, the cigarette was immediately incinerated, leaving the ashtray clean. Then she got up and set about finding Christopher.

It was not a difficult task. Lilith knew that she would likely find him still in his bed, or perhaps he would be lounging about their room, drinking some variety of the well-aged alcohol which he liked nearly as much as his lovers, utterly lazy. He had not, of course, bothered to lift a finger to detach himself from Mr. Foster's affections. That was Lilith's sole responsibility.

This she could be relied upon to do with a calm reserve. Both of them knew that she could be trusted to sort out those affairs with the utmost expediency and tact.

It was hardly a trek to their shared apartments, but it took Lilith at least a moment or two. The reason for the distance was simple enough, as Lilith had once pointed out that her secondary quarters ought to be far from their shared ones, for otherwise there would be the danger of his lovers discovering her in the house when she was meant to be elsewhere.

"You plan for everything, don't you, Lilith?" Christopher had said in reply. It had partly been an insult.

She had agreed with him, which had frustrated him to no end.

Now, as she neared their quarters, she was stopped by one of the servants.

"Mrs. Farrar," he said, bowing as Peter had. 

"Yes, Paul?" she replied.

"I am reminiding you that you and Mr. Farrar are expected at Mr. Meighen's party tonight," said the android, inclining his head.

Lilith momentarily despised the organizational prowess of the android for reminding her of it, though, naturally, she had not forgotten. She gave a little nod.

"Of course," she said. Paul inclined his head and his bright gaze fell to the carpet. Lilith noted that it was not a figment of her imagination that Paul was wont to do that - in fact, he was actually shier than Peter, if that were possible in two emotionless machines. "Have Mary lay out that new red dress of mine. And have the hovercraft ready to fly at eight."

Paul nodded. "Shall I inform Mr. Farrar of this, madam?" he asked, as all the scheduling of Christopher's time went through Lilith before it got to him.

"No, thank you," she said to Paul, who nodded again, his head moving slowly as gears turned. "I'll tell him myself. Thank you, Paul. That is all."

Lilith knew that the gratitude with which Paul responded was simply a part of his programming, that there was not a speck of genuine emotion in any part of his wiring, but it was stil gratifying to see him incline his head, hear his mechanical tones gentle, and watch a display of robotic affection.

"Very good, madam," he said. And, when she dismissed him with a wave of her hand, he left, bowing.

As Lilith had expected, when she continued on, she found Christopher spread as far as his limbs would allow on the bed, a glass of scotch in one hand. He was, of course, a devotee of tha specific form of alcohol. Christopher, when she had expressed her distaste for the liquid, had once tried to explain the differences between the malts to her, complete with a long-winded explanation of its aging process.

She'd not been impressed. Christopher had not been expecting her to, but still - Lilith didn't think she'd ever seen Christopher look so wounded.

Now, as she regarded him, she spoke. He seemed in a good mood, and she, for pragmatic reasons, sought to maintain that good cheer.

"Christopher," she said.

"Ah, Lilith," he said.He turned and smiled at her with his straight white teeth. He was beautiful, truly. He had a startling and undeniable beauty, which Lilith never denied. He was unquestionably lovely a quality lent to him by his finely-composed face in which was set two crystalline blue eyes.

Her eyes did not wander over the snow-pale skin that cloaked the lean musculature that wound in sinews across his bony frame. She had seen him all too often. Neither his beauty nor his charm had ever held any power over her.

"Yes?" she said, completely ignoring the fact that he was stark naked.

"Is he gone already?" Christopher asked, rolling his head so he could stare into Lilith's face. His head flopped back over the pillow, exposing the tendons of his long neck. They stood out, sharp and hard, against the white flesh.

"Of course," she said, nodding.

"You're getting quicker and quicker every time," he said. His voice was admiring but not without sarcasm. "Tell me, how do you get rid of them so expertly, dearest wife?"

Christopher asked her this frequently and she always gave him the same response. She replied with equal sarcasm but no admiration.  "Dearest husband, a true magician never reveals her secrets."

He chuckled and got up, downing his drink in one gulp before ambling around the room until he came to stand before one of the huge windows. At his word, the curtains withdrew, revealing the early afternoon sky.  

Lilith kept a careful watch over him, mainly to make sure that he replaced the wedding band, the twin of her diamond-encrusted one, around his finger. When took it from its place in a small dish on the bedside table and slipped it onto his hand, she felt safe to look away.

"I have something for you, by the way," said Christopher, turning to her. 

Lilith raised her eyebrows, immediately suspicious. She did not trust Christopher at any point in time, but when he tried to be deliberately kind when not for public consumption her suspicion was immediately aroused. "Do you?" she asked, voice skeptical.

He nodded. He produced, seemingly from out of nowhere, a small blue box.

"Tell me this isn't a gift, Christopher," she said. She crossed her arms and stared hard down at the box.

"Well go on and open it," he said, approaching her. When they were standing toe to toe, their bodies nearly touching, Lilith glanced up. He was evidently trying to unnerve her with his proximity, which he should surely know was futile after so long.

Because it would only make him insufferable if she refused, Lilith took the box out of his hands and opened it. She could feel him smirking down at her as she removed a very pretty hairpin. Set in the shape of an arrowhead, it glittered and flashed with a multitude of white diamonds.

"Diamonds," she said, flatly, holding the pin up to the light and trying to assess its value. It was indeed a very pretty trinket, but its beauty did not interest Lilith.

"A little token of thanks, I thought," said Christopher, smiling. All his white teeth showed as he grinned and his entire face lit up with lazy entertainment, so much so that Lilith doubted the truthfulness of his words. "I've been such a bother this week, I know."

Lilith did not smile back. "I hope you're not implying that you don't think I'm up to the task."

"Still," said Christopher, snagging his claret-coloured dressing gown from where some servant had draped it over the foot of the bed. In one swift motion, he donned it. "You do such a fabulous job, Lilith. It makes me feel terribly guilty. Hence the gift."

Lilith dropped the diamond arrow back into the box. She snapped the lid shut, punctuating the first sentence of what she said next.  "Guilty? How out of character for you."

He laughed and threw himself back on the bed. He landed in a large heap of long limbs. The dressing gown he had put on hid very little of his nudity. "I know. I think I'm getting sentimental, but I feel simply ghastly that I go around with a veritable parade of lovers and you've got none," he said. "Get yourself a lover, Lilith, it would make me feel better."

Lilith glared sharply at him to let him know he had overstepped his boundaries, though she doubted he cared. He was teasing her, for he loved to get what few rises he could out of her. She was cold, he had always said, made of ice, and to see her warm a bit was enjoyable.

"Christopher, it is neither your place nor your right to say that to-" she began.

Christopher sighed melodramatically, rolling his eyes so far back in his skull that he looked quite deranged. "Fine," he said. "Do whatever you want, Lilith. Now leave me alone. I'm exhausted."

Lilith watched how Christopher draped himself over the bed, his expression and demenour positively peevish with his childish humour.

"I'm afraid you'll be even more exhausted after tonight," she told him, notcing how Christopher moaned and covered his head with a pillow. "Paul has reminded me that we are expected at Mr. Meighen's party tonight. So you'll need to be presentable by eight. I'll have one of the-."

Christopher grunted. "I'm always presentable," he said, making absolutely zero attempt to disguise the hubris in his voice.

"Eight," reminded Lilith as she made to leave.

"Eight," echoed Christopher.