The Magus, A Revised Version (63 page)

‘
He honestly didn
’
t have any of the outward signs. He wanted so desperately to be absolutely normal. Perhaps too desperately.
’

‘
I understand.
’

‘
I kept saying it didn
’
t matter, to myself as well. It only needed patience. And there were … times. And out of bed he was still a terribly nice man to be with.
’
She was silent a long moment.
‘
I did something terrible, Nicholas. I walked out of the
pension
in Sienna where we were staying and caught a train back to England. Just like that, without warning him. Something in me snapped. I somehow knew there would always be that problem between us. We used to go out after … it hadn
’
t worked, and I used to look at the Italian boys and think
–
‘
she broke
off
, as if she were still ashamed at what she had thought. She said,
‘
What you made me feel in the chapel. How simple it can be.
’

‘
You haven
’
t seen him since?
’

‘
Yes. That
’
s the trouble.
’

‘
Tell me.
’

‘
I fled home to Dorset. I couldn
’
t tell my mother what had really
happened. Andrew came back, insisted we met in London.
’
She shook her head in memory.
‘
He was in such distress, nearly suicidal, I … I gave in in the end. I won
’
t go into all the grisly details. I wouldn
’
t go through with the marriage, I took the London teaching job really so that I could be away from Cambridge. But … well, we tried again on the physical side and … oh, it dragged on for several months. Two supposedly intelligent human beings slowly destroying each other. He
’
d ring and say he couldn
’
t get down to London the next weekend and all I
’
d feel was relief She stopped once more, then took courage in the darkness and her averted face.
‘
It really worked best if I played boy to him … and I hated that. He hated it himself, really.
’
I felt her take a breath against me.
‘
In the end June made me do what I ought to have done months before. He writes to me occasionally. But that
’
s all now.
’
There was a silence.
‘
End of sad little story.
’

‘
It is sad.
’

‘
I
’
m honestly not a prude. It
’
s just that

‘
It wasn
’
t your fault.
’

‘
It became a masochistic thing with me in the end. The more awful it got, the nobler I was being.
’

‘
There
’
s been no one since?
’

‘
I was going out with someone at the Tavistock earlier this year. But he was already deciding I was a bad job.
’

I kept running skeins of her hair through my fingers.

‘
Why?
’

‘
Because I wouldn
’
t go to bed with him.
’

‘
As a matter of general policy?
’

‘
There was someone else at Cambridge. In my first year.
’

‘
What happened to that?
’

‘
It was the reverse, absurdly enough. He was much nicer in bed than out of it.
’
She added drily,
‘
Unfortunately he knew it. I discovered one day I wasn
’
t the only string to his bow.
’

‘
He must have been a fool.
’

‘
I know it
’
s different for men. Or for men like that. I just felt so humiliated. One more stuffed head on the wall.
’

I kissed her hair.
‘
At least I approve his taste in stuffed heads.
’

There was a little silence. Her voice dropped, was shy, almost naive.

‘
Have you slept with many girls?
’

‘
None like you. And I
’
ve never two-timed.
’

She must have belatedly realized the question had been gauche.
‘
I
didn
’
t mean … you know.
’
It was not a subject I wanted to linger over, but it obviously held a certain fascination for her, now it was broached.
‘
It
’
s just that I can
’
t be as clinical about it as June is.
’

‘
Is she clinical about me?
’

‘
You have her approval. For what it
’
s worth.
’

‘
You might sound as if you put more value on it.
’

‘
I hated her on Sunday.
’
An elbow nudged back.
‘
And you for not hating her as well.
’

‘
Only because it helped me imagine you like that.
’

‘
She
’
s been teasing me about it ever since. How she
’
s really much more your type.
’

I held her a little closer.
‘
I know which mind I prefer. By a long chalk.
’

There was a silence. She took my hand and traced its fingers.

‘
We came down here last night.
’

‘
Why?
’

‘
It was so hot. We couldn
’
t sleep. To swim. She was hoping some lovely Greek shepherd would spring from the trees.
’

‘
And you?
’

‘
I thought about my English one.
’

‘
What a pity we haven
’
t got costumes.
’

Still she traced the backs of my fingers.

‘
We didn
’
t last night.
’

‘
Is that a suggestion?
’

She left a little pause.
‘
June bet me I wouldn
’
t dare.
’

‘
We can
’
t let her get away with that.
’

‘
Just to swim.
’

‘
But only because … ?
’

She said nothing for a moment, yet I could sense that she was smiling. Then she leant up and whispered in my ear.

‘
Why do men always want to know in words?
’

The next second she was on her feet and pulling me to mine. We went back to the beach. The red light floated on the side of the ghostly white yacht, shimmering a little in the water. There was a glint of light through the highest trees opposite us, from the house.

Someone there was still awake. I took the sides of her singlet and she raised her arms for me to peel it
off
; then turned her back for me to unhook her bra, while she fiddled at the side of her skirt. I slipped my hands to the front. The skirt fell. For a moment she rested back against me, and her hands covered mine, to still them, on the bare breasts. I kissed the curve of her neck. Then she was gone down towards the water, long-haired, a slim pale figure with a narrow white band around her waist; a nocturnal echo of her sister on the same beach, in the sun, three days before. I stripped
off
my clothes. Without looking back she waded in to her waist, then plunged forward with a small splash and began to swim, a breast-stroke, out towards the yacht. Haifa minute later I was beside her and we swam out together a little further. She stopped first, trod water, grinned at me -it was suddenly a jape, a little piece of daring achieved.

She began to speak in Greek, but not the Greek I knew; something much more archaic, less lisping, unelided.

‘
What was
that?
’

‘
Sophocles.
’

‘
What did it say?
’

‘
Just the sound.
’
She said,
‘
When I first arrived, I couldn
’
t believe it. Thousands and thousands of little black squiggles suddenly alive. Not past, but present.
’

‘
I can imagine.
’

‘
Like someone who
’
s always lived in exile. But never realized it.
’

‘
I
’
ve felt that.
’

‘
Do you miss England at all?
’

‘
No.
’

I saw her smile.
‘
There must be something we don
’
t agree on.
’

‘
In some other life. Not this.
’

‘
I
’
m going to float. I
’
ve only just learnt how to do it.
’

She extended her arms and floated on her back, like a child showing
off
. I swam a stroke or two closer. She lay with her eyes closed, a small smile on her lips, and her wet hair made her look younger. The sea was absolutely calm, like black glass.

‘
You look like Ophelia.
’

‘
Shall I get me to a nunnery?
’

‘
I never felt less like Hamlet.
’

‘
Perhaps you
’
re the fool he advised me to marry.
’

I smiled in the darkness.
‘
Have you played her?
’

‘
At school. Just those scenes. Against a ghastly repressed lesbian girl who revelled in every minute of being in male drag.
’

‘
Right down to the codpiece?
’

Her voice sank in reproach.
‘
Mr Urfe! I thought you were above such vulgarity.
’

I pushed myself a little closer still and kissed the side of her body, then attempted to peck up it; but was pushed away as she twisted and sank beneath the water again. There was a little struggle, a flurry of water, a splashing, as I tried to embrace her. I was allowed one fleeting pressure of her mouth, but then she had twisted away again and was doing her old-fashioned breast-stroke back towards the beach.

However, she slowed, as if the effort had exhausted her, when we came near the shore, and stood with the water up to her armpits. I stood beside her, our hands met again under the water, this time she let herself be drawn towards me, then my hands were on her waist. She raised her arms and put them round my neck, and then lowered her eyes as I gently explored under the water
–
the curves, the breasts, the armpits. I coaxed her closer still and felt the soles of her feet inch over the top of mine. Our bodies pressed, her face came up, the eyes closed, to meet mine. I eased a hand behind beneath the wet band of cloth round her hips, cupped the other round the side of a breast. It was cool, liquid, restrained in comparison to the fever of our nakedness in the chapel.