The Magus - John Fowles [279]
of the tea. She began calmly to spread honey over her toast. I said, "My name is Nicholas." Her hands were arrested, her eyes probed mine. I went on, "Is that the right votive offering?" "If it is made sincerely." "As sincerely as your offer of help was the other day." She went on with her toast. "Did you go to Somerset House?" "Yes." She put down her knife. "Wait as long as Alison makes you wait. I do not think it will be very long. But I can't do anything to bring her to you. Now it is simply between you and her. I hope, I hope very much that she will forgive you. But I shouldn't be too sure that she will. You still have to gain her back." "There's gaining back to be done on both sides." "Perhaps. That is for the two of you to settle." She stared a moment longer at me, then looked down with a smile. "The godgame is ended." "The what?" "The godgame." Her eyes were on mine again; at their gentlest. "The godgame." "Because there are no gods. And it is not a game." She began to eat her toast, as if to bring us back to normal. I looked past her at the busy, banal tearoom. The discreet chink of cutlery on china; sounds as commonplace as sparrows' voices. "Is that what you call it?" She said, "I'm not going to talk about it, but yes... that is, well, a kind of nickname we use." She went on demurely eating. I said, "If I had any self-respect left, I'd get up and walk out." Her eyes crinkled. "Please don't. I'm counting on you to get me a taxi in a minute. We've been doing Benjie's school shopping today." "I can't see Demeter in a department store." "No? I think she would have liked them. Even the gaberdine mackintoshes and gym shoes." "And does she like questions? About the past?" "That depends on the questions." "The things Maurice told me--the First World War, the count with the _chateau_, Norway--were they in any way true?" "What is truth?" "Did they happen?" "Does it matter if they did not?" "Yes. To me" "Then it would be unkind of me to tell you." She looked down at her hands, aware of my impatience. "Maurice once said to me--when I had just asked him a question rather like yours--he said, An answer is always a form of death." There was something in her face. It was not implacable; but in some way impermeable. "I think questions are a form of life." "You've heard of John Leverrier?" I said cautiously, "Yes. Of course." "I think he must know far more about Maurice than you do. Do you know why?" I shook my head. "Because he never tried to know more." I traced patterns with the cake fork on the tablecloth; determined to seem guarded, unconvinced. "What happened to you that first year?" "The desire to help him through following years." She was smiling again, but she went on. "I will tell you that it all began one weekend, not even that, one long night of talking... perhaps it was no more than that we were bored. I think historically bored--as one was in the _entre-deux-guerres_. Certain leaps were taken. Certain gaps bridged. I imagine--don't you?--all new discoveries happen like that. Very suddenly. And then you spend years trying to work them out to their limits." For a time we sat in silence. Then she spoke again. "For us, Nicholas, our success is never certain. You have entered our secret. And now you are a radioactive substance. We hope to keep you stable. But we are not sure." She smiled. "Someone... rather in your position... once said to me that I was like a pool. He wanted to throw a stone into me. But I am not so calm in these situations as I may look." "I think you handle them very intelligently." "_Touch�" She bowed her head. Then she said, "Next week I'm going away--as I do every autumn when the children are off my hands. I shan't be hiding, but just doing what I do every September." "You'll be with Maurice?" "Yes." Something curiously like an apology lingered in the air; as if she knew the strange twinge of jealousy I felt and could not pretend that it was not justified; that whatever richness of relationship and shared experience I suspected, existed. She looked at her watch. "Oh dear. I'm so sorry. But Gunnel