The Naked Sun by Isaac Asimov

said. “Were you happily married?”
    Gladia looked uneasy. “How do you mean that?”
    “Well——” For a moment Baley was at a loss. How do you define a happy marriage. For that matter, what would a Solarian consider a happy marriage? He said, “Well, you saw one another often?”
    “What? I should hope not. We’re not animals, you know.”
    Baley winced. “You did live in the same mansion? I thought——”
    “Of course we did. We were married. But I had my quarters and he had his. He had a very important career which took much of his time and I have my own work. We viewed each other whenever necessary.”
    “He
saw
you, didn’t he?”
    “It’s not a thing one talks about but he
did
see me.”
    “Do you have any children?”
    Gladia jumped to her feet in obvious agitation. “That’s too much. Of all the indecent——”
    “Now wait.
Wait
!” Baley brought his fist down on the arm of his chair. “Don’t be difficult. This is a murder investigation. Do you understand? Murder. And it was your husband who was murdered. Do you want to see the murderer found and punished or don’t you?”
    “Then
ask
about the murder, not about—about——”
    “I have to ask all sorts of things. For one thing I want to know whether you’re sorry your husband isdead.” He added with calculated brutality, “You don’t seem to be.”
    She stared at him haughtily. “I’m sorry when anyone dies, especially when he’s young and useful.”
    “Doesn’t the fact that he was your husband make it just a little more than that?”
    “He was assigned to me and, well, we
did
see each other when scheduled and—and”—she hurried the next words—“and, if you must know, we don’t have children because none have been assigned us yet. I don’t see what all that has to do with being sorry over someone being dead.”
    Maybe it had nothing to do with it, Baley thought. It depended on the social facts of life and with those he was not acquainted.
    He changed the subject. “I’m told you have personal knowledge of the circumstances of the murder.”
    For a moment she seemed to grow taut. “I—discovered the body. Is that the way I should say it?”
    “Then you didn’t witness the actual murder?”
    “Oh no,” she said faintly.
    “Well, suppose you tell me what happened. Take your time and use your own words.” He sat back and composed himself to listen.
    She began, “It was on three-two of the fifth——”
    “When was that in Standard Time?” asked Baley quickly.
    “I’m not sure. I really don’t know. You can check, I suppose.”
    Her voice seemed shaky and her eyes had grown large. They were a little too gray to be called blue, he noted.
    She said, “He came to my quarters. It was our assigned day for seeing and I knew he’d come.”
    “He always came on the assigned day?”
    “Oh yes. He was a very conscientious man, a good Solarian. He never skipped an assigned day and always came at the same time. Of course, he didn’t stay long. We have not been assigned ch——”
    She couldn’t finish the word, but Baley nodded.
    “Anyway,” she said, “he always came at the same time, you know, so that everything would be comfortable. We spoke a few minutes; seeing
is
an ordeal, but he spoke quite normally to me. It was his way. Then he left to attend to some project he was involved with; I’m not sure what. He had a special laboratory in my quarters to which he could retire on seeing days. He had a much bigger one in his quarters, of course.”
    Baley wondered what he did in those laboratories. Fetology, perhaps, whatever that was.
    He said, “Did he seem unnatural in any way? Worried?”
    “No. No. He was never worried.” She came to the edge of a small laugh and buried it at the last moment. “He always had perfect control, like your friend there.” For a brief moment her small hand reached out and indicated Daneel, who did not stir.
    “I see. Well, go on.”
    Gladia didn’t. Instead she