It’s charming and rather kitschy today, but DuMaurier made it seem wonderfully sinister in the book. There was no line of cowboy hats behind the bar. Leaning back, I noticed the flintlocks hanging from the ceiling beams, not on the walls as the rifles do at the Rustic. One joy of traveling in a country where you know the language is being able to get the jokes. I couldn’t resist a chuckle, and he noticed. “Time to go home and kiss the dog and kick the wife.” One of the others said something too quiet to hear, and he replied that he didn’t really want to kiss the dog.
“Well, I’d better get along,” said one of the men, while showing no sign of an intention to move. The aged ranchmen in the Rustic swap memories too, but they sit on high stools at the bar. Three blokes sat on a bench a few feet away, joking, sharing beer and stories. We were in Bodmin, a town in Cornwall, on a vacation to England that has been long postponed due to COVID. “This pub has almost as much character as the Rustic,” said my husband, as he sat down with my pint of bitters and his Guiness.
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