The Magus - John Fowles [249]
67
At the last moment I had angrily cried her name. I thought at first that they had found some fantastic double; but no one could have imitated that walk. The way of standing. I leapt back to the phone and got the night porter. "That call--can you trace it?" He didn't understand "trace." "Do you know where it came from?" No, he didn't know. Had anyone strange been in the hotel lobby during the last hour? Anyone waiting for some time? No, Meester Ouf, nobody. I turned off the shower, tore back into my clothes and went out into Constitution Square. I went round all the caf� peered into all the taxis, went back to Zonar's, to Tom's, to Zaporiti's, to all the fashionable places in the area; unable to think, unable to do anything but say her name and crush it savagely between my teeth. Alison. Alison. Alison. I understood, how I understood. Once I had accepted, and I had to accept, the first incredible fact: that she must have agreed to join the masque. But how could she? And why? Again and again: why. I went back to the hotel. Conchis would have discovered about the quarrel, perhaps even overheard it; if he used cameras, he could use microphones and tape recorders. Contacted her during the night, or early the next morning. Perhaps through Lily. Those messages in the Earth: _Hirondelle_. The people in the Piraeus hotel, watching me try to get her to let me back into her room. As soon as I mentioned Alison, Conchis must have pricked up his ears. As soon as he knew she was coming to Athens he must have started to envisage new complications in his action; sized up the situation; stepped in and used it; had us followed from the moment we met; then persuaded her, all his charm, probably half deceiving her, as everyone on the fringes was deceived. That Sunday he had suddenly gone to Nauplia was the same day the opened telegram from Alison had arrived. Even then? Hadn't he forced me to meet her by cancelling--without warning--that next, half-term weekend? Gone to Nauplia to plan? And Lily had really begun to throw her web round me, that same strange Sunday. All must have changed course, that day. The lies I had told the next weekend. To Lily-Julie. I felt my face go red. The day she had worn light blue, dark blue; to echo Alison. I growled out loud. I saw a meeting of all of them: I saw them overwhelming her with their sick logic, their madness, their ease, their money. And the great secret: why they had chosen me. I recalled something that had occurred to me in the Earth--how little use had been made of Rose. All her costumes had been there. Before Alison's "entry," she would have