The Magus - John Fowles [141]
she?" The girl was silent. "In bed with Maurice?" "Shame on you." "I don't think you're very sensitive to shame." "I thought it was rather exciting." She glanced sideways at me. "And so did you." "For Christ sake I thought you..." but I didn't bother to finish the sentence. "Perhaps you ought to kiss me again." She sat as Lily had sat that other afternoon, in a deliberate parody of the same position. Her eyes shut, her mouth slightly thrust forward, as if waiting to be kissed. I ignored her, leant forward, and tried to be lighter. "Why must I be tormented like this?" "Is kissing me torment?" I turned and smiled; as if I admitted being the fool. "Have a cigarette?" I fished out a packet of Papastratos and she took one; screwed it into a long black cigarette holder she carried in a little silver wrist bag. I gave her a good look in the match flare; and she examined me, as if she was not feeling so frivolous as she pretended. She inhaled expertly. Her face had, under the _soubrette_ part she was playing, the same intelligence as Lily's; and for a moment I had a mad feeling that after all it was Lily. But I clung to the moment I had seen her on the terrace; when Lily had had to have a twin sister. Finally she gave a little embarrassed smile, avoided my stare; as if at a loss. "How was Beirut?" She was taken by surprise; abruptly cautious. "Who told you about that?" "Your sister." "It was nice. And she didn't." Her face was suspicious; all the lightness had gone. "All right. She didn't. Maurice did." "I see." Her voice was cold, still inexplicably wary of something. "Is there some crime in asking you how Beirut was?" For answer she reached out and took the box of matches I still had in my hand; struck one. I received a second prolonged scrutiny. I smiled, to show her I was totally unfooled; but prepared to play a part in this new variation. "What are you looking for?" "Treachery. Or trustworthiness." "I'm not sure you can be much of a judge of that, either." "I know. If you _are_ trustworthy you must think we're treacherous. And vice versa. It's very neat." She stood up and walked behind the seat. I looked round, and she was staring down at me. But then she came and sat down again, close, elbows on knees like myself. "Look, Nicholas, I'm sorry about the teasing. Which was really testing. I do believe you." A quick, bright-sincere look. "Could we get back to your sister?" "She couldn't come. And anyway." "Anyway what?" "You know." "I know nothing." It was agreeable, pretending to be disagreeable. She leant backward and stretched her arm along the seat back, and contemplated me. "Of course I know you know this is a trick, something my sister must have helped to play. But it might not all be a trick." She pulled my shoulder gently, to make me sit back as well. When I did so, with bad grace, she moved away a little and began to trace a line along the top rail with her forefinger, as if she was feeling her way into my confidence. "This is nothing to do with Maurice. Just us." "Who is us?" "She and me." "And your other friends?" She looked at the back of her hand. "They aren't our friends." "I want to know who you are, your real names, where you're from, what you're doing here, when --" "My sister wants me to inspect you." "Well. Why not open my mouth and start with the teeth?" She laughed. "But it is horse-trading. Really, isn't it? Even between the best and the nicest and most intelligent people. To begin with." "I prefer to deal direct. No agents." "I'm a twin sister. Not an agent." "Twin sister to a schizophrenic." She smiled. "Did you believe that for a moment?" "No. And will you answer my questions?" She said, "May I have another cigarette?" I gave her one and lit it for her, and she took advantage of the light to give me a direct look and ask her own astounding question. "Is there really a school on the other side of the island?" I narrowed my eyes. "There is?" Her voice was sharp again. I blew out the match and said, "I think we've lost the ball." "I know this sounds silly, but I suppose you haven't... any means of identification