The Magus - John Fowles [76]
off her wrap, which he placed over the back of his own chair. She had bare shoulders and arms; a heavy gold and ebony bracelet; an enormously long necklace of what looked like sapphires, though I presumed they must be paste, or ultramarines. I guessed her to be about twenty-two or three. But there clung about her something that seemed much older, ten years older, a sort of coolness--not a coldness or indifference, but a limpid aloofness; coolness in the way that one thinks of coolness on a hot summer's day. She arranged herself in her chair, folded her hands, then smiled faintly at me. "It is very warm this evening." Her voice was completely English. For some reason I had expected a foreign accent; but I could place this exactly. It was very largely my own--product of boarding school, university, the accent of what a sociologist once called the Dominant Hundred Thousand. I said, "Isn't it?" Conchis said, "Mr. Urfe is the young schoolmaster I mentioned." His voice had a new tone it it: almost deference. "Yes. We met last week. That is, we caught a glimpse of each other." And once again she smiled faintly, but without collusion, at me before looking down. I saw that gentleness Conchis had prepared me for. But it was a teasing gentleness, because her face, especially her mouth, could not conceal her intelligence. She had a way of looking slightly obliquely at me, as if she knew something I did not--not anything to do with the role she was playing, but about life in general; as if she too had been taking lessons from the stone head. I had expected, perhaps because the image she had presented me with the week before had been more domestic, someone less ambiguous and far less assured. She opened a small peacock-blue fan she had been holding and began to fan herself. Her skin was very white. She obviously never sunbathed. And then there was a curious little embarrassed pause, as if none of us knew what to say. She broke it, rather like a hostess dutifully encouraging a shy dinner guest. "Teaching must be a very interesting profession." "Not for me. I find it rather dull." "All noble and honest things are dull. But someone has to do them." "Anyway, I forgive teaching. Since it's brought me here." She slipped a look at Conchis, who bowed imperceptibly. He was playing a kind of Talleyrand role. The gallant old fox. "Maurice has told me that you are not completely happy in your work." She pronounced Maurice in the French way. "I don't know if you know about the school, but --" I paused to give her a chance to answer. She simply shook her head, with a small smile. "I think they make the boys work too hard, you see, and I can't do anything about it. It's rather frustrating." "Could you not complain?" She gave me an earnest look; beautifully and convincingly earnest. I thought, she must be an actress. Not a model. "You see..." So it went on. We must have sat talking for nearly fifteen minutes, in this absurd stilted way. She questioned, I replied. Conchis said very little, leaving the conversation to us. I found myself formalising my speech, as if I too was pretending to be in a drawing room of forty years before. After all, it was a masque, and I wanted, or after a very short while began to want, to play my part. I found something a shade patronising in her attitude, and I interpreted it as an attempt to upstage me; perhaps to test me, to see if I was worth playing against. I thought once or twice that I saw a touch of sardonic amusement in Conchis's eyes, but I couldn't be sure. In any case, I found her far too pretty, both in repose and in action (or acting), to care. I thought of myself as a connoisseur of girls' good looks; and I knew that this was one to judge all others by. There was a pause, and Conchis spoke. "Shall I tell you now what happened after I left England?" "Not if it would bore... Miss Montgomery." "No. Please. I like to listen to Maurice." He kept watching me, ignoring her. "Lily always does exactly what I want." I glanced at her. "You're very fortunate, then." He did not take his eyes off me. The furrows beside his