The Magus (42 page)

‘I will try. If I possibly can. If we’re here.’

We kissed, but there was something torn, already too late, about it.

We went outside. June waited by the tea-table and immediately nodded across the gravel. There, standing on the path that led down to the private beach, was the Negro. He was in black trousers and a polo-necked jumper, and he wore dark glasses; waiting. The yacht’s siren moaned again. I could hear the sound of a small outboard engine coming fast ashore.

June reached out a hand, and I wished them both good luck. Then I stood watching them walk across the gravel, in their pink dresses and blue stockings, baskets in hand. The Negro turned long before they reached him and started to walk down the path, as if he was too sure they would follow him to bother any more. When their heads had disappeared, I went to the top of the path. The power dinghy entered the little cove and came alongside the jetty. A minute later, the black figure, with the two pale pink ones of the girls just behind, walked down it. There was a sailor in the boat, white shorts, a dark blue shortsleeved singlet with a name in red across the breast. I couldn’t read it at that range, but it was obviously
Arethusa.
The sailor helped the two girls into the boat, then the Negro got in. I noticed he sat in the bows, behind their backs. They started out to sea. After a few yards, they must have seen me standing up above, the girls waved; then again, when they left the cove and began to head faster towards the waiting yacht.

The afternoon sea stretched down to Crete, ninety miles away. The fleet had almost disappeared. The black shadow of a cypress halfway down the cliff stabbed across a patch of parched red-grey earth, already lengthening. The day died. I felt both sexually and socially deprived, I did not expect we should be able to meet during the week; but yet a deep excitement buoyed me on, a knowledge like that of the poker-player who needs only one more card to have an unbeatable hand.

I turned back to the house, where Maria was now waiting to lock up. I didn’t try to pump her, I knew it was useless, but went up to my bedroom and packed my things in the duffel-bag. When I came down again, the small boat was already being hauled inboard and the huge yacht was under way. It began a long turn, then held course towards the southern end of the Peloponnesus. I was tempted to watch it out of sight; but then, knowing I was probably being watched as well from out there, decided that I did not want to play the wistful marooned man.

A few moments later I set off back to my dull, daily penal colony on the far side of the dream; as Adam left the Garden of Eden, perhaps … except that I knew there were no gods, and nothing was going to bar my return.

48

During the long climb back I suffered, perhaps inevitably, a reaction from the day’s events. I couldn’t doubt the physical proof Julie had given me that she was to be emotionally trusted, but I kept on thinking of additional questions I ought to have asked her – and I also kept remembering how near I had been, on more than one occasion, to swallowing the story about schizophrenia. But that had been impossible to check on; this circumstantial new account was not. It was just conceivable that the sisters were in some way still running with the hare and hunting with the hounds – that is, Julie might find me physically attractive and yet still be prepared to mislead me about her real background. There was also my next meeting with Conchis: a little hard evidence that not only did I now know the truth about the sisters, but had had it confirmed away from the island, might prove very useful.

That same Sunday evening, back in my room, I composed letters to Mrs Holmes at Cerne Abbas, to Mr P.J. Fearn of Barclay’s Bank, and to the headmistress of the grammar school where Julie had taught. To the first I explained that I had met her two daughters in connection with their film; that the local village schoolmaster had asked me to find a rural school in England that would provide ‘pen pals’; and that the two girls had suggested that I should write to their mother and ask her to put me in touch with the primary school at Cerne Abbas – and as soon as possible, as our term was ending shortly. In the second I said that I wanted to open an account and that I had been recommended by two customers at the branch. In the third I gave myself the principalship of a language school opening in the autumn in Athens; a Miss Julia Holmes had applied for a post.

On Monday I read the drafts through, altered a word or two, then wrote the first two in longhand and laboriously typed the last in the bursar’s office, where there was an ancient English-character machine. I knew the third letter was a bit farfetched; film stars do not normally become down-and-out teachers abroad. But any sort of reply would serve.

And then, deciding I might as well be hung for a suspicious sheep as for a suspicious lamb, I wrote two more letters, one to the Tavistock Rep., and another to Girton, at Cambridge.

I posted those five letters; and with them one to Leverrier. I had half hoped that there might be a letter waiting for me from Mitford. But I knew mine to him had probably to be forwarded; and even then he might well not answer it. I made the letter to Leverrier, very brief, merely explaining who I was and then saying:

My real reason for writing is that I have got into a rather complicated situation at Bourani. I understand that you used to visit Mr Conchis over there – he told me this himself. I really need the benefit of someone else’s advice and experience at the moment. I’d better add that this is not only for myself. Others are involved. We should be very grateful for any sort of reply from you, for reasons that I have a feeling you will appreciate.

Even as I sealed that letter I knew that Mitford’s and Leverrier’s silence was the best possible augury of what would happen to me. If in previous years something truly unpleasant had happened at Bourani, they would surely have talked; and if they were silent, then it must be with the silence of gratitude. I had not forgotten Mitford’s story of his row with Conchis; or his warning. But I began to doubt his motives.

The more I thought about it the surer I was that Demetriades was the spy. The first rule of counter-espionage is to look fooled, so I was especially friendly with him after supper on Sunday .We strolled for ten minutes on the school jetty to find what breaths of air still moved in the oppressive night heat. Yes thank you, Méli, I said, I had a nice weekend at Bourani. Reading and swimming and listening to music. I even laughed at his obscene guesses – though I now suspected their obscenity had a purpose, he was checking for Conchis on my ability to keep my mouth shut – as to how I really passed my time there. I also thanked him for keeping so quiet about it all with the other masters.

As we walked idly up and down I looked across the dark water of the straits between the island and the Argolian mainland; and wondered what the sisters were doing at that moment, what other dark water they rode … the silent sea, with all its secrets and its endless patience; yet not hostile. I understood its mysteries now.

I understood them even better after morning break the next day. I found an opportunity to get the deputy headmaster, who was also the senior teacher of Modern Greek, on one side. Someone had told me I should read a story by a writer called Theodoritis …
Three Hearts,
had he ever heard of it? He had. He spoke no French or English, and I couldn’t follow all he said. Apparently Theodoritis had been some sort of Greek disciple of Maupassant. Of the story I gathered enought to guess that it did conform with what Julie had told me. Any last doubt was removed when I went into lunch. A boy came over from the deputy headmaster’s table to my own and laid a book by my side.
Three Hearts
was the long final story of a collection. It was written in
katharevousa,
the ‘literary’ and anti-demotic form of the modern language, and I found it a long way beyond my powers; and I could not go to Demetriades for help. But every passage I worked through with a dictionary at my side bore out the truth of Julie’s account.

Wednesday...Wednesday. I couldn’t even wait till then. After school on the Tuesday evening, I climbed to the central crest. I had convinced myself that it was a journey in vain. But I was wrong. There far below, anchored like a toy in the lavender sea of the Moutsa bay, I saw what made my heart leap: the unmistakable white shape of
the Arethusa.
I knew then. The old man had surrendered.

49

I came to the gate about half past nine, waited a few moments to listen, heard nothing, and went off the track through the trees to where I could observe the house. It lay in silence, black against the last light from the west. There was one lamp on, in the music room; a resinous smell of burning wood, from Maria’s cottage. The scops owl called from somewhere nearby. As I returned to the gate a small black shape slipped overhead and dipped towards the sea between the pines: Conchis perhaps, the wizard as owl.

I walked quickly down, outside the domaine, to the beach at Moutsa: the forest was dark, the water dim, the faintest night lap. Five hundred yards away, out to sea, I saw the red port light of the anchored yacht. There were no other lights visible, no sign of life aboard it. I walked quickly through the edge of the trees towards the chapel.

Julie was waiting under its east wall, a shadow against its whitewash, and moved forward as soon as she saw me coming. She had
on
one of the dark-blue shortsleeved singlets worn by the
Arethusa
crew, a pale skirt. Her hair was tied back with a ribbon, which gave her a faintly severe, schoolmarmish look. We halted a yard from each other, suddenly shy.

‘You got away?’

‘It’s all right. Maurice knows I’m here.’ She smiled. ‘And no more spying. We’ve had it all out.’

‘You mean … ?’

‘He knows about us. I told him. And that I might be a schizophrenic in his plot, but I wasn’t in reality.’

Still she smiled. I stepped forward and she came into my arms. But when, during the kiss, I tried to tighten the embrace, she pushed away a little, with her head down.

‘Julie?’

She lifted one of my hands and kissed it.

‘You must be kind. The wretched calendar. I didn’t know how to tell you on Sunday.’

I had come prepared for every eventuality but this most banal and frequent of all. I touched my mouth against her hair: a faint melony scent in it.

‘What a shame.’

‘I so wanted you to come.’

‘Let’s walk towards the far end.’

I took her hand and we began to stroll past the chapel and through the trees to the west. They had had it out with the old man almost as soon as they had gone aboard the previous Sunday afternoon. Apparently he had played the innocent a little, but then June had let fly at him about the Negro and the spying in the chapel. They had had enough, either he told them what he was doing or … Julie gave a little breath of still incredulous amusement, looked at me.

‘Do you know what he said? As coolly as if we’d told him a tap needed mending?’ I shook my head. ‘ “Good. Exactly as I hoped and expected.” Then before we could even get our breath back, he informed us that all that had happened so far was merely a rehearsal. Honestly, you should have seen his smile. It was so smug. Just as if we were two students who’d passed some preliminary examination.’

‘A rehearsal for what?’

‘Firstly, all
is
to be explained to us. To you as well, this coming weekend. From now on, we shall all work together under his direction. Someone else is coming here soon-he said “people”, so it must be more than one or two. And they are to have our roles up to now. The being spun round and round. But this time, by us.’

‘What people?’

‘He wouldn’t say. Nor what this all that’s to be explained is. He said he wanted you to be there as well.’

‘You’re to vamp someone else?’

‘That was the first thing I said. That I’d had enough of making eyes at strange men. Especially now.’

‘You told him about us?’

She pressed my hand. ‘Yes.’ She let out a little breath. ‘Actually he said he’d feared the worst as soon as he set eyes on you.’

‘What worst?’

‘That the cheese on his trap might fall for the mouse.’

‘And he accepts

‘He swore blind.’

‘Did you believe him?’

She hesitated. ‘As much as one can ever believe him. I’ve even been given a carrot to dangle in front of your nose.’

‘Apart from the one whose hand I’m holding.’

She touched the side of her head against my shoulder. ‘He wouldn’t expect you to do it for nothing … you’d be paid. Whatever it is, it wouldn’t start before your term ended. And he’d want us three to live, sleep anyway, at the house in the village. Initially as if we’d never met Maurice.’

‘Are you tempted?’

She left a pause. ‘There’s one other tiny snag. He’d like you and me to pretend we’re man and wife before whoever it is who’s coming.’

‘I couldn’t possibly pretend. I don’t have your acting ability.’

‘Be serious.’

‘I am. More than you think.’

Again her head turned against my shoulder. ‘Tell me what you feel.’

‘It all depends on next weekend. When we know what’s really at stake.’

‘That’s what we think.’

‘He must have given some clue.’

‘He did say we can definitely think of it as psychiatric. Then in his usual helpful way added that it was really about something there’s no word for. He said … a science yet to be discovered and named. He was terribly curious to know why I finally came to trust you.’

‘What did you tell him?’

‘That certain feelings between people can’t be faked.’

‘How’s he been otherwise?’

‘Actually rather sweet. Much more as he was in the beginning. Full of compliments about how brave, intelligent, all the rest, we’ve been.’

‘Fear the Greeks

‘I know. But we’ve made it absolutely clear. One more trick from him – and that’s it.’

I looked out towards the silent yacht. ‘Where did you go?’

‘Down to Kythera. We came back yesterday.’

I thought of my own three days: catching up with the eternal backlog of marking, two prep duties, the smell of chalk, of boys … and then of term being ended, the secluded village house, the constant presence of the two girls.

‘I got hold of a copy of
Three Hearts.’

‘Could you read it?’

‘Enough to believe that part of it.’

She left a little silence.

‘Someone said something about trusting one’s instincts. Only three days ago.’

‘It’s just that over there … I sit in class and wonder whether this side of the island even exists. If it isn’t all a dream.’

‘You haven’t heard from the man before you?’

‘Not a word.’

Again she left a silence.

‘Nicholas, I’ll do whatever you say.’ She stopped me, took my other hand, looked me in the eyes. ‘We’ll go straight back now and tell him. Seriously.’

I hesitated, then smiled. ‘Can I hold you to that if I don’t like the sound of his next chapter?’

‘You know you can.’

A moment, and her arms came round me. Mouth confirmed eyes. Then we strolled on, very close. We came to the far end of the bay. It was tropically airless.

She said, ‘I love the nights here. More than the day.’

‘Me too.’

‘Shall we paddle?’

We went down over the shingle to the water. She kicked off her shoes, I got free of mine. Then we stood in the tepid sea, and she let me kiss her again; her mouth, her throat. I held her lightly, protectively; then murmured in her ear.

‘Beastly female physiology.’

She moved a little against me in sympathy.

‘I know. I’m so sorry.’

‘I’ve kept remembering how you were in the chapel.’

‘I felt undone.’

‘That’s strictly for maidens.’

‘It’s how you made me feel.’

‘Haven’t other men?’

‘One or two.’

‘This one particular other man?’ She said nothing. ‘I wish you’d tell me about him.’

‘There’s nothing much to tell.’

‘Let’s go and sit down.’

We went back into the trees, a little way up the slope where the spine of the western headland rose. One or two large boulders had fallen in the past, and we installed ourselves where one had lodged. I sat with my back to it, and Julie leant against me. I reached up and undid the bow in the ribbon round her long hair, loosed it.

He had been a young don at Cambridge, a mathematician, nearly ten years older than she: very intelligent, sensitive, well-read, ‘not at all a monomaniac’. They had met in her second year, but it had stayed ‘demi-platonic’ until well into her last.

‘I don’t know what it was, perhaps realizing I had only two terms to go, but Andrew started getting very hurt if I went out with anyone else. He hated the university drama set June and I were involved with. He seemed to sort of make up his mind that he ought to be in love with me. He was always very gentle – even funny about it, in a way – how I’d corrupted a born bachelor. I did like being with him, we used to go out in the country a lot, he was very generous, always flowers, books … you know. He wasn’t a born bachelor at all in that way. But even then, it was never really a physical thing for me. You know how it is, you like someone in every other way, you feel flattered, even a tiny bit embarrassed to have a tame don as your escort everywhere. You admire them intellectually and … ‘

‘Acquire a blind spot?’

‘He insisted we got informally engaged. This was at the beginning of the summer term. I was working like mad. We hadn’t been to bed, and I thought he was being very considerate … the understanding was that we were going to have a holiday in Italy, then get married in the autumn.’

She was silent. ‘What happened?’

‘It’s so embarrassing.’

I stroked her hair. ‘Better than keeping it bottled up.’

She hesitated, then spoke in an even lower voice.

‘I’d always realized there was something, I can’t really describe it, not quite natural about him when we … always a little bit of an air of going through the motions. Kissing me because he knew girls expected to be kissed. I never felt any real desire in him. On that side.’ She smoothed her skirt over her knees. ‘Quite simply in Italy it turned out that he did have … rather serious problems. He’d never told me before, but he’d had homosexual experiences at school. Even when he was a student himself at Cambridge before the war.’ She paused. ‘I must sound appallingly innocent.’

‘No. Just innocent.’

‘He honestly didn’t have any of the outward signs. He wanted so desperately to be absolutely normal. Perhaps too desperately.’

‘I understand.’

‘I kept saying it didn’t matter, to myself as well. It only needed patience. And there were … times. And out of bed he was still a terribly nice man to be with.’ She was silent a long moment. ‘I did something terrible, Nicholas. I walked out of the
pension
in Sienna where we were staying and caught a train back to England. Just like that, without warning him. Something in me snapped. I somehow knew there would always be that problem between us. We used to go out after … it hadn’t worked, and I used to look at the Italian boys and think – ‘ she broke off, as if she were still ashamed at what she had thought. She said, ‘What you made me feel in the chapel. How simple it can be.’

‘You haven’t seen him since?’

‘Yes. That’s the trouble.’

‘Tell me.’

‘I fled home to Dorset. I couldn’t tell my mother what had really happened. Andrew came back, insisted we met in London.’ She shook her head in memory. ‘He was in such distress, nearly suicidal, I … I gave in in the end. I won’t go into all the grisly details. I wouldn’t go through with the marriage, I took the London teaching job really so that I could be away from Cambridge. But … well, we tried again on the physical side and … oh, it dragged on for several months. Two supposedly intelligent human beings slowly destroying each other. He’d ring and say he couldn’t get down to London the next weekend and all I’d feel was relief She stopped once more, then took courage in the darkness and her averted face. ‘It really worked best if I played boy to him … and I hated that. He hated it himself, really.’ I felt her take a breath against me. ‘In the end June made me do what I ought to have done months before. He writes to me occasionally. But that’s all now.’ There was a silence. ‘End of sad little story.’

‘It is sad.’

‘I’m honestly not a prude. It’s just that

‘It wasn’t your fault.’

‘It became a masochistic thing with me in the end. The more awful it got, the nobler I was being.’

‘There’s been no one since?’

‘I was going out with someone at the Tavistock earlier this year. But he was already deciding I was a bad job.’

I kept running skeins of her hair through my fingers.

‘Why?’

‘Because I wouldn’t go to bed with him.’

‘As a matter of general policy?’

‘There was someone else at Cambridge. In my first year.’

‘What happened to that?’

‘It was the reverse, absurdly enough. He was much nicer in bed than out of it.’ She added drily, ‘Unfortunately he knew it. I discovered one day I wasn’t the only string to his bow.’

‘He must have been a fool.’

‘I know it’s different for men. Or for men like that. I just felt so humiliated. One more stuffed head on the wall.’

I kissed her hair. ‘At least I approve his taste in stuffed heads.’

There was a little silence. Her voice dropped, was shy, almost naive.

‘Have you slept with many girls?’

‘None like you. And I’ve never two-timed.’

She must have belatedly realized the question had been gauche. ‘I didn’t mean … you know.’ It was not a subject I wanted to linger over, but it obviously held a certain fascination for her, now it was broached. ‘It’s just that I can’t be as clinical about it as June is.’

‘Is she clinical about me?’

‘You have her approval. For what it’s worth.’

‘You might sound as if you put more value on it.’

‘I hated her on Sunday.’ An elbow nudged back. ‘And you for not hating her as well.’

‘Only because it helped me imagine you like that.’

‘She’s been teasing me about it ever since. How she’s really much more your type.’

I held her a little closer. ‘I know which mind I prefer. By a long chalk.’

There was a silence. She took my hand and traced its fingers.

‘We came down here last night.’

‘Why?’

‘It was so hot. We couldn’t sleep. To swim. She was hoping some lovely Greek shepherd would spring from the trees.’