Free The Pool of St. Branok by Philippa Carr Page A

our story the real one. When the truth is too distressing to contemplate it’s not a bad idea to substitute it with fancy.”
    “You’ll be there to help, Ben?”
    “I’ll be there.”
    “I think I can do it then.”
    “Angel,” he said, “you know I love you.”
    “Oh really, Ben? I love you, too.”
    “When I think of that man … and you … dear innocent Angel … I’m glad I did it.”
    “I wish someone else had. I wish he had never escaped out here.”
    “It’s no use wishing it away. It won’t go that way. It’s our secret and, dear Angel, you will be all right. It will be better as time passes.”
    “I feel very strange, Ben. Everything seems far off.”
    “It will be all right.”
    He held me firmly. I was hardly aware of the road as we traveled along.
    I vaguely remember my mother as she rushed out crying: “What is it? What’s happened?” And Ben replying: “Angelet’s had an accident. Glory threw her.”
    “My darling child!”
    I was so relieved because my mother was there.
    My father came running out, fearful and horrified to see the state I was in.
    “We’ll get her to bed quickly,” said my mother. “She’s had an accident … riding.”
    “Riding? Riding Glory?”
    “I don’t think she’s in a fit state to talk,” said Ben.
    My mother took me up to my room. She took off my coat and for a second or two studied it in consternation, and putting my hand in the pocket of my skirt, I felt the ring I had picked up.
    “What’s that?” asked my mother.
    “Oh … nothing … something I picked up.”
    “Never mind that now,” said my mother, and I opened a drawer and put the ring into it, vaguely wondering why I had bothered to pick it up except that I had always been interested in things I found and did it automatically.
    “We’ll soon have you comfortable,” said my mother. “You’re soaked to the skin. We’ll get you out of just everything.”
    She wrapped me in a blanket and put me into bed. I still could not stop trembling.
    “Your father has sent one of the men to get Dr. Barrow,” said my mother.
    “I’ll be all right.”
    “The doctor is going to have a look at you. You never know when you have a fall like that. I don’t think anything can be broken.”
    I lay in my bed. My mother sat beside me and in due course the doctor came.
    He examined my head. There was now a vivid bruise on my cheek. “Did you fall on your face?” he asked.
    “I … I can’t remember. It is all so confusing.”
    “Hm,” he said. “Open your mouth. You’ve bitten yourself, I think. You must have done that as you fell. You’ve got some good bruises.”
    I was terrified that what he discovered would not fit in with our story.
    “On the beach …” he murmured, looking puzzled.
    “I can’t remember much about it. Suddenly I was down …”
    He nodded and turned to my mother. “Might be a little concussion. It’s a good thing she fell on soft sand. It’s the shock more than anything else. Keep her warm and I’ll give her a sedative that will ensure a good night’s sleep. Then tomorrow we’ll see.”
    A good night’s sleep! I thought: I shall never sleep peacefully again. I shall dream of that awful moment when he had his hands on me … and when he fell down … the trail of blood as we dragged him to the pool … and that moment before he went down when he seemed to stare at me with his dead eyes and the water was pink with his blood.
    I knew I could never forget and nothing would ever be the same again.
    I did sleep deeply, due to what Dr. Barrow had given me, and when I awoke next morning my head was heavy. I felt dizzy and very hot. Memory came back to me and hung over me like a stifling cloak. I just wanted to get back to blissful forgetfulness.
    My mother was alarmed when she saw me and Dr. Barrow was immediately summoned.
    It was a blessing in a way. It saved me from too many questions and I believe that if I had had to face them while the incident was fresh in