The Magus - John Fowles [250]
been going to play a much fuller role, and that first meeting with her had been the beginning of it (_and_ a sneer at my inconstancy). At only one week from his first approach to Alison Conchis riad probably not been quite sure of her, so Rose's role that weekend was an insurance against Alison's failing to cooperate. Very soon after Alison must have agreed; so Rose withdrew. That was why Lily's character and role had changed and why she had to enter--and so rapidly--the present. First she had been acting "against" Rose; then "against" Alison. The sedan-coffin. It had not been empty. The mercilessness of it; the endless exposure. The trial: my "preying on young women"; Alison must have told them that. And the suicide--"hysterical suicide"; she would have told them that as well. All their knowledge of my past. I was mad with anger. I thought of that genuine and atrocious wave of sadness I had felt when the news about Alison came. All the time she would have been in Athens; perhaps in the house in the village, or over at Bourani. Watching me, even. Playing an invisible Maria to Lily's Olivia and my Malvolio--always these echoes of Shakespearean situations. I walked up and down my room, imagining scenes where I had Alison at my mercy. Beating her black and blue, making her weep with remorse. And then again, it all went back to Conchis, to the mystery of his power, his ability to mould and wield girls as intelligent as Lily; as independent as Alison. As if he had some secret that he revealed to them, that put them under his orders; and once again I was the man in the dark, the excluded, the eternal butt. Malvolio. Not a Hamlet mourning Ophelia. But Malvolio. I couldn't sleep. I had to do something. I went down to the hall and telephoned Ellenikon again. I knew there were staging flights through at all hours, and there might be someone on the desk. I was lucky: there was. Even luckier, it was an English hostess who had just come off duty, and chanced to pick up the phone on her way to bed. Yes, she knew about Alison. "Look, I know this sounds pretty extraordinary, but I'm an old friend of hers and I think I've just seen her." There was a silence. "But she's dead." "Yes, I know. I know she's meant to be dead." "But it was in the papers." "You saw it?" "I know lots of people who did." "Actually _in_ the papers? Or just cuttings they'd been sent?" Her patience began to break. "I'm terribly sorry but --" "Do you know anyone who went to the funeral?" She said, "Are you sure you're all right?" I wished her good night then; it was useless to go on. I could guess what they had done. Alison would have failed to report for duty one day in London, pleaded ill health or something. A week or two later, the same cuttings would have been sent out, the same forged letters from Ann Taylor. I turned to the night porter. "I want a line to London. This number." I wrote it down. A few minutes later he pointed to a box. I stood listening to the phone burr-burr in my old flat in Russell Square. It went on a long time. At last it was picked up. "For goodness sake... who's that?" The operator said. "I have a long-distance call for you from Athens." "From where!" I said, "Okay, operator. Hello?" "Who _is_ that?" She sounded a nice girl, but she was half asleep. Though the call cost me four pounds, it was worth it. I discovered that Ann Taylor _had_ gone back to Australia, but six weeks before. No one had killed herself. A girl the girl on the other end didn't know, but "I think she's a friend of Ann's" had taken over the flat; she hadn't seen her "for weeks." Yes, she had blonde hair; actually she only saw her twice; yes, she thought she _was_ Australian. Back in my room I remembered the flower in my buttonhole. It was very wilted, but I took it out of the coat I had been wearing and stuck it in a glass of water. I woke up late, having finally slept sounder than I expected. I lay in bed for a while, listening to the street noises down below, thinking about Alison. I tried to recall exactly what her expression had been, whether there was any humour, any