“What are you looking for?”
“Treachery. Or trustworthiness.”
“I’m not sure you can be much of a judge of that, either.”
“I know. If you are trustworthy you must think we’re treacherous. And vice versa. It’s very neat.”
She stood up and walked behind the seat. I looked round, and she was staring down at me. But then she came and sat down again, close, elbows on knees like myself. “Look, Nicholas, I’m sorry about the teasing. Which was really testing. I do believe you.” A quick, bright-sincere look.
“Could we get back to your sister?”
“She couldn’t come. And anyway.”
“Anyway what?”
“You know.”
“I know nothing.”
It was agreeable, pretending to be disagreeable.
She leant backward and stretched her arm along the seat back, and contemplated me. “Of course I know you know this is a trick, something my sister must have helped to play. But it might not all be a trick.” She pulled my shoulder gently, to make me sit back as well. When I did so, with bad grace, she moved away a little and began to trace a line along the top rail with her forefinger, as if she was feeling her way into my confidence. “This is nothing to do with Maurice. Just us.”
“Who is us?”
“She and me.”
“And your other friends?”
She looked at the back of her hand. “They aren’t our friends.”
“I want to know who you are, your real names, where you’re from, what you’re doing here, when—”
“My sister wants me to inspect you.”
“Well. Why not open my mouth and start with the teeth?”
She laughed. “But it is horse-trading. Really, isn’t it? Even between the best and the nicest and most intelligent people. To begin with.”
“I prefer to deal direct. No agents.”
“I’m a twin sister. Not an agent.”
“Twin sister to a schizophrenic.”
She smiled. “Did you believe that for a moment?”
“No. And will you answer my questions?”
She said, “May I have another cigarette?” I gave her one and lit it for her, and she took advantage of the light to give me a direct look and ask her own astounding question.
“Is there really a school on the other side of the island?”
I narrowed my eyes.
“There is?” Her voice was sharp again.
I blew out the match and said, “I think we’ve lost the ball.”
“I know this sounds silly, but I suppose you haven’t… any means of identification on you?” I laughed. “Seriously. Please.”
I fished in my back pocket and produced my wallet; then struck three or four matches while she looked at my Greek permis de séjour. It gave my address and profession.
“Thank you. That was kind of you.”
But she was silent; at a loss.
“Well come on. Next development.”
She hesitated; then amazed me again.
“We thought you might be working for Maurice.”
“Working for him!”
A circumspect voice. “Yes. Working for him.”
“Good God.”
“You solemnly swear that you’re not working for him?”
“Of course I’m not.”
“That you never met him before you came here?”
I stood up impatiently. “I feel I’m going mad.”
Her face had grown very serious. She looked away and said, “I can’t tell you anything now. It’s for my sister to decide.”
“Why? And decide what?”
“Because that’s what we’ve agreed. Because she’s seen more of you. And because she’s much closer to Maurice than I am. Much closer.”
“What does that mean?”
“What do you think it means?”
“I’m wondering.”
“She said she felt the other day that you half believed she was his mistress or something. Perhaps you think we both are.”
“Perhaps I do.”
She was cool. “In terms of what at least you must begin to suspect my sister really is… do you honestly think she could ever…”
“No.”
“And Maurice. For all his peculiarities, is he that sort of person?” I said nothing, remembering the books, the objects. “Well if he was, would he introduce a young man—and a rather nice-looking young man, into his… harem?”
“That has occurred to me.” I sat down again. “All right. So? She is closer to Maurice than you.”
“She simply doesn’t want to betray him.”
“And you do?”
She answered obliquely. “The only thing we’re all sure of is that we’re all three English. Yes? The only three English people in this fantastic place. And my sister and I are sort of… well, committed to making a fool of you by our contracts—”
She broke off abruptly, hand to mouth, aghast.
“Contracts… contracts?” She leant forward and covered her face in her hands. “What the devil are you? Film stars?”
Her head was shaking. “Please forget I said that.” But after a moment she leant back and said, “Yes. Obviously we thought you must have guessed.”
“Film stars?” My voice was high with incredulity. She raised her finger, as if we must keep quiet.
“No. But there’s only one profession—isn’t there?—where you do kiss strange men with apparent passion. Because it’s part of your job.” She suddenly grimaced. “I’ve just thought of another. I didn’t mean that.”
“You’re trying to tell me you’re both actresses?”
“We’re not even that. Just two girls in desperate need of help.”
“Help?”
“Are there any police on the island?”
I clutched my hair.
“Let me get this straight. First of all you were ghosts. Then you were schizophrenics. Now you are next week’s consignment to Saudi Arabia.”
She smiled. “Sometimes I almost wish we were. It would be simpler.” She turned and put her hand on my knee. “Nicholas, I’m notorious for never taking anything very seriously, and that’s partly why we’re here, and even now it’s fun in a way—but we really are just two English girls who’ve got ourselves into such deep waters these last two or three months that…” she left an eloquent silence.
“But how did he get hold of you? Where were you actresses?”
“Tomorrow. Tomorrow morning we’re all meeting. The three of us.”
“How do you know?”
“Because nothing here happens by chance. It’s all planned in advance.” She touched my sleeve. “You must tell me the time.”
“Including this?”
“Including my meeting you. But not what we’ve said.” She pulled her cloak round her. “Or only some of what we’ve said.” She took my hand and looked at the time. “I must go.”
She stood up.
“I’ll come with you now.”
“No.”
“She told me you live on a yacht.”
“She told me what a terribly good impromptu liar you were.”
I stood up and she put her hands on my shoulders and regarded me with a kind of anxious concern. “Nicholas, let’s be friends. Now we’ve met, I do trust you.”
“That’s hardly the question. Do I trust you?”
I answered “no” in my mind, but I reached up and took her hands; the cloak was open. I could see the white dress, the white throat. What I suspected of Conchis, what she had accused me of, I gave myself to taste: the charms of a ménage a trois; that wild kissing. Who cared about real meaning? I pressed her hands.
“At least tell me your name.”
“Rose.”
I pressed her hands again.
“Come on. Friends.”
“Call me anything you like. You baptize me.”
“No.”
She smiled; a pressure back, the hands withdrawn.
“I must go. I hate all this mystery. But just tonight.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“You can’t.” She had that same slightly desperate urgency Lily had had two weeks before. She moved away a step or two, as if to test me. I stood still.