The Magus, A Revised Version (112 page)

‘
And your clothes gone.
’

‘
You
’
ve got it, old boy. Stark naked. Standing on that bloody beach hissing the damn girl
’
s name.
’
I laughed, but his smile was very thin.
‘
So. Big joke. Message received. You can imagine how damned angry I was by then. I gave her half an hour to come back. Searched round. No go. Marched
off
to the house. Didn
’
t do my feet much good. Tore a bit of pine-branch
off
to cover the old privates if necessary.
’

‘
Fantastic
’

I was beginning to find it difficult not to grin all over my face; but I was clearly meant to share the outrage.

‘
Through the gate, up the drive thing, towards the house. Go round the front. What do you think I see there?
’
I shook my head.
‘
A man hanging.
’

‘
You
’
re
joking.
’

‘
No, old boy. They were doing the joking. Actually it was a dummy. Like one of those things you use in bayonet practice, yes? Filled with straw. Strung up with a rope round its neck. And my clothes on. Head painted to look like Hitler.
’

‘
Good God. What did you do?
’

‘
What could I do? Pulled the damn thing down and got my clothes
off
it.
’

‘
And then?
’

‘
Nix. They
’
d gone. Hooked it.
’

‘
Gone?
’

‘
Ca
ï
que. Heard it down at Moutsa. Thought it was a fisherman. Left my bag out for me. Nothing pinched. Just that bloody four-mile walk back to the school.
’

‘
You must have been furious.
’

‘
Was
slightly chokka. Yes.
’

‘
But you didn
’
t let them get away with it.
’

He smiled to himself.

‘
Right. Quite simple. I composed a little report. First about the thing during the war. Then a few little facts about where our friend Mr Conchis
’
s present political sympathies lay. Sent it to the appropriate quarters.
’

‘
Communist?
’
Since the end of the civil war in 1950, Communists had been hounded relentlessly in Greece.

‘
Knew some in Crete. Just said I
’
d seen a couple on Phraxos and followed them to his house. That
’
s enough, that
’
s all they want. A little bit goes a long way. Now you know why you never had the pleasure.
’

I fingered the stem of my glass, thinking that, on the contrary, this absurd man beside me was probably why I had had
‘
the pleasure
’
. Somewhere that previous year, as
‘
June
’
had admitted, they must have made a bad miscalculation, and given up: such an absence of cunning in the fox must have made them call
off
the hunt almost as soon as it started. What had Conchis said about my own initial participation being a matter of hazard? At least I had given them a run for their money. I smiled at Mitford.

‘
And so you had the last laugh.
’

‘
Habit of mine, old boy. Suits my complexion.
’

‘
Why on earth did they do it in the first place? I mean, all right, they didn
’
t like you … but they could have given you the brush—
off
from the beginning.
’

‘
All that stuff about their being the old boy
’
s godchildren. All my eye. Course they weren
’
t. They were a pair of high-class tarts. Language the Julie one used gave the game away. Damn funny way of looking at you … suggestive.
’
He glanced at me.
‘
It was the sort of set-up you run across in the Mediterranean—especially your Eastern Mediterranean. I
’
ve met it before.
’

‘
You mean

‘
I mean, quite crudely, old boy, that the rich Mr Conchis wasn
’
t quite up to the job, but he … shall we say … still got pleasure from seeing the job performed?
’

Again I surreptitiously eyed him; knew myself lost in the interminable maze of echoes. Was he, or wasn
’
t he?

‘
But they didn
’
t actually suggest anything?
’

‘
There were hints. I worked them out afterwards. There were hints.
’

He went away and got two more gins.

‘
You might have warned me.
’

‘
I did, old boy.
’

‘
Not very clearly.
’

‘
You know what Xan—Xan Fielding—used to do to any new chaps who were
‘
chuted in when we were up in the Levka Ore?

Sent
‘
em wham straight out on a job. No warnings, no sermons. Just
“
Watch it.
”
Okay?
’

I disliked Mitford because he was crass and mean, but even more because he was a caricature, an extension, of certain qualities in myself; he had on his skin, visible, the carcinoma I nursed inside me. I had to suspect the old paranoia, that he might be another
‘
plant
’
—a test for me, a lesson; but yet there was something so ineffably impervious about the man that I could not believe he was so consummate an actor. I thought of Lily de Seitas; how to her I must seem as Mitford did to myself. A barbarian.

We moved out of the Mandrake on to the pavement.

‘
I
’
m
off
to Greece next month,
’
he said.

‘
Oh.
’

‘
Firm
’
s going to start tours there next summer.
’

‘
Oh God. No.
’

‘
Do the place good. Shake their ideas up.
’

I looked down the crowded Soho street.
‘
I hope Zeus strikes you with lightning the moment you get there.
’

He took it as a joke.

‘
Age of the common man, old boy. Age of the common man.
’

He held out his hand. I would have dearly loved to have known how to twist it and send him wham straight over my shoulder. The last
I
saw of him was of a dark-blue back marching towards Shaftesbury Avenue; eternally the victor in a war where the losers win.

Years later I discovered that he
had
been acting that day, though not in the way that I feared. His name caught my eye in a newspaper. He had been arrested in Torquay on charges of issuing cheques under false pretences. He
’
d been doing it all over England, using the persona of Captain Alexander Mitford,
D.S.O., M.
C
.

‘
In fact,
’
said prosecuting counsel,
‘
although the accused went to Greece in the occupying forces after the German collapse, he played no part whatever in the Resistance.
’
Later there was another bit:
‘
Some time after demobilization Mitford returned to Greece, where he obtained a teaching post by forging false references. He was subsequently dismissed from this post.
’

Late that afternoon I dialled the Much Hadham number. It rang a long time but then someone answered. I heard Lily de Seitas
’
s voice. She was out of breath.

‘
Dinsford House.
’

‘
It
’
s me. Nicholas Urfe.
’

‘
Oh, hallo.
’
She said it with a bright indifference.
‘
Sorry. I was in the garden.
’

‘
I
’
d like to see you again.
’

There was a small pause.
‘
I have no news.
’

‘
I
’
d still like to see you.
’

I knew she was smiling, in the silence that followed.

She said,
‘
When?
’

I was out the next morning. When I got back, about two, I found Kemp had slipped a note under my door:
‘
A Yank called. Says it
’
s urgent. Will come again four.
’
I went down to see her. She was splaying great worms of viridian green with her thumb across murky black and umber explosions of Ripolin. She did not like to be interrupted when she was
‘
making a painting
’
.

‘
This man.
’

‘
Said he must see you.
’

‘
What about?
’

‘
Going to Greece.
’
She stood stockily back, fag in mouth, contemplating her mess.
‘
Your old job or something.
’

‘
But how did he find where I live?
’

‘
Don
’
t ask me.
’

I stood staring at the note.
‘
What sort of man was he?
’

‘
Christ, can
’
t you wait a couple of hours?
’
She turned.
‘
Buzz.
’

He came at five to four, a tallish man with a lean body and the unmistakable cropped head of an American. He wore glasses, was a year or two younger than me; pleasant face, pleasant smile, pleasant everything ; as wholesome, and as green, as a lettuce. He thrust out a hand.

‘
JohnBriggs.
’

‘
Hallo.
’

‘
You
’
re Nicholas Urfe? Is that how I pronounce it? The lady …
‘

I made him come in.
‘
Not much of a place, I
’
m afraid.
’

‘
It
’
s nice.
’
He looked round for a better word.
‘
Atmosphere.
’
We clambered up the stairs.

‘
I wasn
’
t expecting an American.
’

‘
No. Well. I guess it
’
s the Cyprus situation.
’

‘
Ah.
’

‘
I
’
ve been over here this last year at London University. All along I
’
ve been trying to figure how I could get myself a year in Greece before I return home. You don
’
t know how excited I am.
’
We came to a landing. He saw some of the sewing-girls at work through an open door. Two or three of them whistled. He waved to them.
‘
Isn
’
t that nice? Reminds me of Thomas Hood.
’

‘
Where did you hear about the job?
’