"Oh, Joe—just like home," she hissed softly as I sat down. She was very strong of formaldehyde today, I thought.
I didn't quite know how to begin with her. I had to make her see reason, but she seemed to be unwilling to pay any attention to me at all except to comment that Clare and Vivian were very cruel to her. "And after I've given them the best ygith of my life." Then she returned to her melancholy contemplation of the underseascape beyond the glass.
I ordered an alkie-and-treacle and sipped it thoughtfully watching Jean. An amber tear had formed in the outer corner of each slotted eye and was oozing gelatinously down her pale green cheeks.
It was like someone turning on a light in my brain. The answer was plain as day. Jean was homesick. Miserable. And a miserable woman—or man—or—well, does it matter?—a miserable person was always contrary. Remove the misery and voila—gentle as a lamb.
"Jean," I said, "this case is important to me. You must help me get the decree. If you do—I'll do something nice for you."
Over my head the Eyespy clucked reproachfully, but I ignored it.
"Agree to the divorce. We can settle it in Collusion Court. And I'll see to it you get passage back to Venus on the first available starliner. How's that?"
"Back to Venus? Back Home?" Her eyes gleamed redly.
"That's a promise," I said. This would cost me plenty of prots, but the fame would be worth it. You can see how far gone I was on this case.