Free A Postillion Struck by Lightning by Dirk Bogarde Page A

at the bottom of it so she couldn’t get down. And that’s true too.” And she tossed her hair to get the grass out of it and went off down the path to the gate.
    Angelica and I followed her slowly. There wasn’t much to do any more. The day seemed rotten. “I wouldn’t really do anything like that,” I said. “Only you aren’t much like us, and you don’t like the country much do you … I mean honestly?”
    Angelica pushed the iron gate open and squeezed through into the lane. “It’s not the same as Hampstead,” she said. “It’s all right I suppose. But there’s nothing to do.”
    â€œBut you don’t like doing anything!” I said. “You just like to read or sew or read.”
    â€œWell, I like reading and sewing. But I don’t like murders and witches and rain and all the funny things in the grass. You know …” She meant grasshoppers and burnet-moths and chalk blues and ladybirds and things. I really think she was more frightened of them than witches.
    â€œWell, anyway,” I said, “I wouldn’t put a knife in you for that. God’s honour.”
    She winced a little bit when I said God’s honour but smiled a thank-you smile, and we just went back to the cottage in silence. People are funny.
    The dew had long ago left the larkspur and the sun was beating down on the fields… all the grasses seemed to be silver and gold … and far away, past High and Over, you could just see a little line of blue which was the sea at Cuckmere Haven, and just as we got to the house Lally came out with a big stone jug of ginger beer and a bowl of biscuits. “Mademoiselle from Armentiers has been telling me you’ve been up to the Church and shocked the wits out of Angelica,” she said, setting the jug in the grass by the step. “I just hope,” she said to Angelica, “that they told you he got such a thrashing from his father that he couldn’t sit down for a month of Sundays. Sticking knives in people’s backs. I ask you!” she exclaimed to the sky. “He had a very nasty evening under the old bridge, didn’t you? Very nasty indeed with half the village looking for him and his sister almost bleeding to death in the kitchen. What a day. What a family. It’s a wonder I keep sane at all with this lot around me.” And she stumped back into the house singing her John Boles song. Once, on her half-day,she and Mrs Jane, who was staying with us, went to the cinema in Seaford and saw somebody called John Boles singing a song called “The Song Of The Dawn” or something … and that’s about the only song she ever knew. But she only knew about three or four words, and like the hymn she “la laa-ed” the rest. And we listened to her Dawn Song while she banged about in the kitchen; we drank the ginger beer in the sun.
    Presently Angelica said very thoughtfully, “I am sorry if I have been a nuisance to you.”
    â€œYou haven’t at all,” I said, hoping she’d believe it.
    â€œWell, I expect you’ll be glad when I get on the bus this afternoon. You’ll be glad to see the last of me. Good riddance to bad rubbish you’ll say,” and she started to cry.
    Quickly I put my arm round her shoulders but she shook me off in case I might knife her or something, and stared at me with weepy eyes. “Don’t!” she wailed. “Don’t touch me.” And she fumbled in her knickers for her handkerchief and blew her nose. We were silent for a bit.
    â€œIt’s because I’m older than you two and I’m not much good at the country and things… but I do like you both, really I do. Even if you do set fire to people and knife people and frighten people with witches and murder. I do, honestly I do. I just don’t show it very well.” And she started to cry again. Before I could do anything, Lally came