The Magus (Vintage Fowles) by John Fowles

The Magus (Vintage Fowles) by John Fowles

Author:John Fowles [Fowles, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780099478355
Publisher: Random House
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00


47

AS WE APPROACHED the colonnade, a barelegged figure in a brick-red shirt stood from the steps in the sun where she had been sitting.

‘I nearly started without you. I’m hungry.’

The shirt was unbuttoned, and underneath I could see a dark blue bikini. The word, like the fashion, was very new then: in fact it was the first bikini I had ever seen outside a newspaper photograph and it gave me something of a shock … the bare navel, the slender legs, brown-gold skin, a pair of amusedly questioning eyes. I caught Julie wrinkling her nose at this young Mediterranean goddess, who only widened her smile. As we followed her to the table set back in the shade beneath the arches, I remembered the story of Three Hearts … but banned the thought before it grew. June went to the corner of the colonnade and called for Maria, then turned to her sister.

‘She’s been trying to tell me something about the yacht. I couldn’t work it out.’

We sat, and Maria appeared. She spoke to Julie. I followed well enough. The yacht was arriving at five, to take the girls away. Hermes was coming to take Maria herself back to the village for a night. She had to see the dentist there. The ‘young gentleman’ must return to the school, as the house would be locked up. I heard Julie ask where the yacht was going. Then xero, despoina. I don’t know, miss. She repeated, as if that was the nub of her message, At five o’clock? Then she bobbed in her usual way, and disappeared back to her cottage.

Julie translated for June’s benefit.

I said, ‘This wasn’t planned?’

‘I thought we were staying here.’ She looked doubtfully at her sister, who in turn eyed me, then drily queried Julie back.

‘Do we trust him? Does he trust us?’

‘Yes.’

June gave me a little grin. ‘Then welcome, Pip.’

I looked to Julie for help. She murmured, ‘I thought you claimed to have read English at Oxford.’

There was suddenly a shadow of reawakened suspicion between us. Then I woke up, and took a breath. ‘All these literary references.’ I smiled. ‘Miss Havisham rides again?’

‘And Estella.’

I looked from one to the other. ‘You’re not serious?’

‘Just our little joke.’

Julie regarded her sister. ‘Your little joke.’

June spoke to me. ‘Which I’ve tried to get Maurice to share. With total unsuccess.’ She leant her elbows on the table. ‘But come on. Tell me what great conclusions you’ve reached.’

‘Nicholas has told me something extraordinary.’

I was given one more chance to test a reaction; and found myself once more convinced, though June seemed more outraged than amused by the new evidence of the old man’s duplicity. As we went over it all again, I discovered (and might have already deduced from their names) that in terms of delivery June was the older twin. She also seemed it in other ways. I detected a protectiveness in her towards Julie, which sprang from a more open personality, greater experience of men. There was a shadow of



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