John Thomas & Lady Jane

lady!’
said Mrs Bolton. ‘You’re a different woman.’
    ‘No I’m not, I’m still the same
woman. I went to sleep in the woods,’ she said.
    ‘Why?’ said Mrs Bolton. ‘Is your bed
uncomfortable? Sir Clifford wouldn’t mind a bit if you told him you would be
out.’
    ‘But how is one to know?’ said Constance resentfully.
    ‘Well, either you’re going out or
staying in, one of the two.’
    ‘You mustn’t mind, Constance, if I
grouse a bit sometimes. The spring makes it gruesome for me,’ said Clifford.
    ‘Why don’t you forget, forget
yourself.’
    Then he would have to think he was
someone else who would do his worrying for him. He tried to think he was Bonar
Law but it didn’t help.
    ‘I’m encumbered with my own
deadness!’ he said.
    ‘Look, your top half is all right.
Why not enjoy that?’
    ‘Do you mean you love me as Heloi'se
loved Abelard, after he was castrated?’ he said.
    ‘I don’t know!’ she said. ‘I’m not
Heloi'se. But Abelard never wished they had killed him. He was very much alive
and active.’
    ‘Ah, but he had his feet,’ said
Clifford.
    He was quiet for a while — two days
in fact.
    ‘After all, you can hear the larks
and feel the sun,’ she said.
    ‘Not at the same time,’ he said.
    ‘And you have the mine to be
interested in and all the things you studied in Germany like pick-axes and
shovels.’
    ‘I’m so bored I could cry and howl.’
    He was quiet for another two days.
    ‘Why should you cry and howl,
Clifford? You could attract wolves.’

Chapter XI
    ------------
     
     
     
    C LIFFORD WANTED to go into the wood.
He had to be helped from one wheelchair to another. His arms and shoulders were
strong and he was very clever in swinging himself from one place to another. He
once did it from England to France.
    She was choking as he puffed away all
round the house, filling every room with diesel fumes.
    He was in rather high feather this
bright May morning. The larks were singing over the park as Clifford blazed
away at the pigeons and crows.
    ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘Wragby is the
ship that sails on ahead in the voyage of discovery.’
    ‘What has she discovered?’ asked Constance.
    ‘Who first emerged into the open
waters of liberty: Wragby! You’re quite right about it being beautiful,’
Clifford said. ‘It is amazingly beautiful. What is quite as lovely as an
English spring!’ as he blazed away at rabbits. The brow of the hill was sheer
blue, and virgin — the only one in the district.
    Clifford had kept the chair going
till he got to the top of the slope, for fear of getting stuck. Constance followed slowly behind, to be alone. The oak-buds had opened soft little brown
hands. Everything was so tender and full of life. Why oh why need man be so
tough, always tough and insentient, hard as iron, gripping the wrong things,
and missing everything. Why could human life never be soft and tenderly coming
unfolded into leaf and blossom? If men were leaves of grass, why was it never
tender young green grass, new and soft with spring? Even with the oaks, with
all their craggy hardness, that fought so many winters, even they took off
their myriad gloves. Why couldn’t men be like that? What utter bollocks!
    The chair began slowly to advance
down the long slope, in the broad, noble riding, slowly sailing as down the
slope of a wave. Clifford sat and steered, and when he had disappeared the
keeper came striding with long strides down the hill. She heard his steps, and
glanced round in fear. He gave a hasty half-salute.
    ‘I heard the chair-motor,’ he said,
in a soft voice. ‘Shall ye’ come tonight?’
    ‘Tonight?’ she said, looking
bewildered into his eyes.
    ‘Ay! Come tonight!’ His voice was low
and infinitely caressive, and his eyes held her and had power over her.
    ‘Yes!’ she said faintly, quickly
applying lipstick.
    ‘An’ I s’ll wait for you at th’
gate?’
    ‘Yes,’ she murmured, her knickers
convulsed.
    He put his fingers under her breast
and softly pressed her breast in the cup of his hand. The filthy swine! Smiling
into her eyes, his own eyes dilated to the point where he could hardly see.
    ‘I must go,’ she said.
    ‘Must you?’ he said. ‘We could have a
quickie against a tree.’
    At that moment they heard Clifford’s
voice. ‘Coo-ee Coo-ee!’
    ‘Coo-ee,’ called Constance in reply.
    ‘I shan’t come unless he shouts for
me — I s’ll be at th’ hut.’
    She nodded, looking at him over