The Magus - John Fowles [204]
other meaning; so I strode down to the school like some vengeance-brewing chieftain in an Icelandic saga, though with always the small chance in mind that I should find Julie waiting for me. But when I flung my door open, I flung it open onto an empty room. Then I felt like going to Demetriades and trying to wring the truth out of him; forcing him to come with me to the science master. I half decided to go to Athens, and even got a suitcase down from the top of the wardrobe; then changed my mind. Probably the fact that there were another two weeks of term to run was the only significant one; two weeks more in which to torment us. Finally I went down to the village, straight to the house behind the church. The gate was open; a garden green with lemon and orange trees, through which a cobbled path led to the door of the house. Though not large it had a certain elegance; a pilastered portico, windows with graceful pediments. The whitewashed facade was in shadow, a palest blue against the evenings sky's pale blue. As I walked between the cool, dark walls of the trees Hermes came out of the door. He did not seem in the least surprised. I said in Greek, "Is the young lady here?" Then he did look surprised, glanced past me, as if expecting her to appear. After a moment he said, "Why?" "Is she here?" He raised his head. No. I gave him a close scrutiny. He said, "Where is she?" "You have her suitcase?" "Inside." "I want to see it." He hesitated, then led the way in. An airy, bare hall, a fine Turkish carpet on one wall; an obscure coat of arms, rather like an English funeral hatchment, on another. I saw through an open door the crates Hermes had brought from Bourani. It was apparently his own room. A small boy came to the door. Hermes said something to him, and the boy gave me a solemn brown stare, then retreated. Hermes walked up the stairs, where doors led to left and right from a transverse landing. He opened the left-hand one. I found myself in an island room. A bed with a folkweave bedspread, a floor of polished planks, a chest of drawers, a fine _cassone_, some pleasant watercolours of island houses. They had the clean, stylish, shallow look of architectural perspectives, and though they were unsigned I guessed that they were Anton's. Hermes threw open the shutters of the west-facing window. Julie's suitcase stood at the foot of the bed. On top of the chest of drawers was a small bowl of flowers; on the windowsill a wet _kanati_, the porous water jug Greeks put in their windows to cool both air and water. A nice, simple, welcoming little room. Without looking at Hermes I picked up the case and put it on the bed, then without much hope tried the catches. But they opened. Clothes, underclothes, a blue sundress, two pairs of shoes, a bikini, toilet things. "What are you looking for?" I said, "Nothing." I ruffled through the contents of the case, and became embarrassed. I couldn't turn it out and examine each thing separately, as I felt tempted. There were two or three books at one corner. A text of the Palatine Anthology. I flicked it open. _Julie Holmes, Girton_. Some of the poems had little marginal notes, English equivalents, written in her neat handwriting. A Greene novel. Underneath that, an American paperback on witchcraft. A place had been marked by a letter. I slipped it halfway out of the envelope. It was the one from her mother I had read before. I looked at Hermes. Almost certainly he was genuinely ignorant. There was no reason why he should have been told she wasn't coming. He also had been deceived. Ten minutes later I was in the radio office on the ground floor of the customs house, and handing in my form. MISS JUNE HOLMES, HOTEL GRAND BRETAGNE, ATHENS. CHARLOTTE. URGENT. CHARLOTTE. JULIE. I went the next day, Monday, to meet the noon boat. There was no sign of June. But an hour later, at lunch, I found there had been something for me on it; a letter from Mrs. Holmes. It was on the same headed paper I had seen only the day before; posted in Cerne Abbas on the previous Tuesday. _DEAR MR. URFE,_ _Of course I don't