Lady Chatterley's Lover

you saying it.’
    She went upstairs to change, but when she came down she still was the same person.
    That evening he said to her. ‘Look, if you go to Venice you won’t have a lovely affair...’ here he referred to a French dictionary ‘ au grand sérieux , will you?’
    ‘A love affair in Venice au grand serieux . No, I’d never take a love affair in Venice more than’ she referred to her French dictionary and read ‘ au très petit sérieux ’.
    He knotted his brows then cast off.
    Coming down next morning Constance found the keeper’s dog Fred was in the hall with his arse against the wall so she knew Mellors was near.
    ‘Why Fred?’ she said.
    ‘Why not?’ said Mrs Bolton. ‘What’s in a name, a rose by any name would smell as sweet.’
    ‘Was that Shakespeare?’ said Constance.
    ‘No, that was me, Shakespeare’s dead,’ said Mrs Bolton, jokingly.
    Constance went to Clifford’s bedroom, he was in bed, but oh! standing at attention at the foot of the bed was Mellors.
    ‘Oh,’ said Constance. ‘I didn’t know you were busy.’
    What was she talking about? He wasn’t busy, he was in bed doing bugger-all.
    ‘Say good morning to Mellors, darling,’ he said.
    ‘Good morning to Mellors, darling,’ she said.
    She slipped out of the room again, it was oil on the floor. From her window she saw Mellors leave, he was Clifford’s hireling. The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but ourselves, we are underlings. Was Mellors an underling, certainly he was under six foot, underpaid and now under her window. He looked up, she waved at him, he ignored her. Fuck him, thought Lady Chatterley. Three-thirty! It was time for her Isadora Duncan dance.
    In the garden she talked to Mrs Bolton. ‘Is it many years since you lost your husband?’ she said.
    ‘Twenty-seven,’ said Mrs Bolton. ‘We’ve looked everywhere for him.’
    ‘Did you try Lewisham? Lots of husbands get lost there.’ Reflectively Mrs Bolton said, ‘He was a bitter man.’
    ‘Oh! did you taste him then?’
    Mrs Bolton burst into floods of tears.
    ‘The flower beds. Try and cry on the flower beds, Mrs Bolton, there’s a hosepipe ban,’ said Constance.

TWELVE
    ----------

    A FTER HER Isadora Duncan dance she went to the chicken hut in the woods. He wasn’t inside, he wasn’t outside, the truth dawned on her, he wasn’t there, and there was no blanket on the floor, she stifled a sob. So to his cottage. He was at his table eating. Seeing her, he arose, still eating.
    ‘May I come in?’ she teased.
    ‘Grobilley-grid-gron,’ he said, his mouth full.
    ‘Please don’t stop eating because of me,’ she teased.
    So he didn’t stop eating because of her. On the table was a plate with potatoes, they looked like King Edwards which could be had for sixpence a pound. There were the remains of a six-ounce chop, that would be one shilling and threepence. He went on to speak, ‘I think...’
    ‘No, no, do go on eating,’ she said.
    The cottage loaf, that would be a penny.
    ‘I had to go to Wlhwait,’ he said between mouthfuls.
    ‘Oh, don’t stop eating because of me,’ she teased.
    He took up the chop bone, she could hear it cracking and crunching inside his mouth as the bone split, the grinding of his molars on the bits. Suddenly he coughed and three teeth flew out.
    ‘It is lovely here,’ she said, posing by the window.
    He started eating again. As the bits of bone went down, she could hear them lacerating the inside of his throat.
    When he finished screaming and kicking the dog he said, ‘Can I stop now?’
    She smiled. ‘Can I take your plate away?’
    ‘No,’ he said, hiding it under his jacket, it’s the only one I’ve got.’
    Suddenly he thought he heard someone. ‘Fred!’ he said to his dog. ‘Go out and hark! hark!’ The dog trotted out to reconnoitre and hark! hark!
    ‘Next month I’m going to Venice,’ she said.
    ‘Venice?’ he said, isn’t that where the water is?’
    ‘Yes,’ she said, then in a low voice said, ‘I’ve told Clifford I might have a child.’
    Mellors dived under the table. ‘D-d-did you mention me?’ he said.
    ‘No,’ she said.
    ‘Then how are you going to have a child?’ he said.
    ‘I might have a love affair in Venice,’ she smiled.
    ‘That’ll be like German lager.’
    She was puzzled. ‘Like German lager?’
    ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Fucking near water,’ he laughed.
    ‘So far,’ she said, ‘I’ve taken no precautions against having a