The Magus - John Fowles [95]
I knew it was no good; she wouldn't lay down the other mask. I shrugged, smiled at her now rather serious, perceptibly watchful face and reached for my cigarettes. I offered her one, but she shook her head. She watched me strike the match and inhale a couple of times, and then suddenly reached out her hand. "Have one." I held out the packet, but she wanted the cigarette in my mouth. "One puff." She took the cigarette and pecked out her lips at it in the characteristic way of first smokers; took a little puff, then a bigger one. She coughed and buried her head in her knees, holding out the cigarette for me to take back. "Horrible." "Beautifully acted." She bowed her head again to cough. I looked at the nape of her neck, her slim shoulders, her total reality. "Where did you train?" "Train?" She spoke into her knees. "Which drama school? RADA?" She shook her head, then looked up and said, "I have never had a dramatic training." I had the impression that this was the truth, a remark out of role; and that she sensed that I sensed it, and had to improvise defence. She went on quickly, "As far as I know." "Oh of course. You suffer from amnesia." She was silent, looking straight ahead, as if in two minds about whether to play at being offended or not. She threw me a veiled look, then stared ahead again. I lay on my elbow. "I don't mind in the least being made a fool of, but I can't stand _every_ attempt at natural curiosity being treated as bad taste." I watched the side of her face. We were at right angles to each other. She remained chin on knees, eyes lost in the distance. I said after a few moments, "You're trying--very successfully--to captivate me. Why?" She made no attempt this time to be offended. One realised progress more by omissions than anything else; by pretences dropped. "Am I?" "Yes." She picked up the mask and held it like a yashmak again. "I am Astarte, mother of mystery." The piquant grey-violet eyes dilated, and I had to laugh. I said, very gently, "Buffoon." The eyes blazed. "Blasphemy, oh foolish mortal!" "Sorry, I'm an atheist." She put down the mask. "And a traitor." "Why?" I remembered the reference to treachery during the palmreading. "Astarte knows all." She looked sideways at me, coolly, changing the mood. The cable from Alison. There was silence. She kept hugging her knees, looking at the ground in front of her. "He told you about this girl." "You told me." "I told you!" "I was there when you told Maurice." "But we were in the garden. You can't have been." She wouldn't look at me. "She is Australian. You... lived with her as man and wife." "He told you, didn't he?" Silence. "You know what her job is?" She nodded. "Let me hear you say it." "She is an air-hostess." "What is an air-hostess?" "She looks after passengers on airplanes." "How do you know that? You died in 1916." "I asked Maurice." "I bet you're good at chess." "I cannot play chess." "Why don't you ask him about your own past?" "I know I was born in London. We lived in a part of London called St. John's Wood. Maurice lived in St. John's Wood too. I studied music, I was in love with Maurice, we became engaged, but then the dreadful war came and he had to go away and I went to nurse and... I caught typhoid." She was barely pretending this was true; simply reciting her "past," with a small smile, in order to tease me. I reached out and caught her hand. At the same time I heard the sound of a boat engine; she heard it as well, but her eyes gave nothing away. She said in a small, cold voice. "Please let me go." "No." "Please." "No." "You're hurting my wrist." "Promise not to go." There was a pause. She said, "I promise not to go." I quickly raised her wrist and kissed it before she could react. She gave me an uncertain glance, then pulled her hand away, but not too roughly. She swivelled round and turned her back to me. I picked up a cone. "I suppose he told you this Australian girl sent me a cable yesterday." She did not answer. "If you said I could meet you, how shall I put it... officially?... here next weekend, or unofficially somewhere else...