Coronet Among the Weeds by Charlotte Bingham

Author:Charlotte Bingham
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781526608857
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2019-01-22T16:09:22+00:00

7

Of course I hadn’t stopped thinking about a superman. In spite of being a deb and all that. When I got depressed I used to think about that actor. And once when I was attacked by a sex maniac. It’s not much fun being attacked by a sex maniac. I can think of more swoony things. It’s not the bit when he leaps on you, or the bit when you try to run and your legs don’t move. It’s the awful way you get haunted afterwards. You keep on thinking everyone’s going to leap on you. No really. Once it gets dark every man you see seems about to. When I was running away from that old nutcase I kept on thinking about that actor. Mostly because of this innocence he had I suppose. Like you think about something beautiful in the dentist.

When I got really dismal I used to sit around and think I’d probably never meet anyone like that again. I thought I’d probably end up being a spinster. And everyone saying poor-dear-it’s-a-very-Sad-Story she-was-disappointed-in-love. You know how they do. Or I thought I’d probably have to be a maiden aunt. Actually I could never decide which was worse, being a maiden aunt or marrying a weed. If you don’t find a superman that’s about the only choice you’ve got. Or being an eccentric. I think I’d go in for being an eccentric if I didn’t find a superman. I’d wear a straw hat and live in the south of France. Sometimes I think that’d be better than marrying a superman and becoming disillusioned. People’s faces go so funny when they’re disillusioned. Their eyes go all small and they spend the whole time thinking someone’s doing them out of something. And saying I’m-not-such-a-fool-as-I-look-oh-no. And waving their fingers in your face.

Anyway, though I didn’t have a superman to swoon over I had a good collection of weeds. The one I liked best was this terribly rich one. I hate to think about it now but I really did like him. I mean it’s no good pretending I didn’t like him because I did. You get all these girls who fall in love with drips, find out they’re drips, and then go round swearing they weren’t in love with them, they just felt sorry for them. I wasn’t in love with this rich weed; he just amused me. I think I liked him best because he was the richest and he had this oil well. And he thought being rich was a joke. It’s no good having an oil well if you don’t split your sides about it. That’s the trouble; most people take them frightfully seriously. They really think it’s frightfully serious being rich and having an oil well.

I’ve forgotten where I met him, this rich weed. Anyhow, he used to take me out quite a lot. My grandmother thought he was swoony. Anyone rich is swoony to her. No, I’m not being mean. That’s just how she thinks. I

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