Любовник леди Чаттерлей / Lady Chatterley's Lover. Книга для чтения на английском языке

That was how she had seen him, like the sudden rush of a threat out of nowhere.

He was a man in dark green velveteens and gaiters…the old style, with a red face and red moustache and distant eyes. He was going quickly downhill.

“Mellors!” called Clifford.

The man faced lightly round, and saluted with a quick little gesture, a soldier!

“Will you turn the chair round and get it started? That makes it easier,” said Clifford.

The man at once slung his gun over his shoulder, and came forward with the same curious swift, yet soft movements, as if keeping invisible.

He was moderately tall and lean, and was silent. He did not look at Connie at all, only at the chair.

“Connie, this is the new game-keeper, Mellors. You haven’t spoken to her ladyship yet, Mellors?”

“No, Sir!” came the ready, neutral words.

The man lifted his hat as he stood, showing his thick, almost fair hair. He stared straight into Connie’s eyes, with a perfect, fearless, impersonal look, as if he wanted to see what she was like.

He made her feel shy. She bent her head to him shyly, and he changed his hat to his left hand and made her a slight bow, like a gentleman; but he said nothing at all. He remained for a moment still, with his hat in his hand.

“But you’ve been here some time, haven’t you?” Connie said to him.

“Eight months, Madam…your Ladyship!” he corrected himself calmly.

“And do you like it?”

She looked him in the eyes.

His eyes narrowed a little, with irony, perhaps with impudence.

“Why, yes, thank you, your Ladyship! I was reared here…”

He gave another slight bow, turned, put his hat on, and strode to take hold of the chair. His voice on the last words had fallen into the heavy broad drag of the dialect…perhaps also in mockery, because there had been no trace of dialect before. He might almost be a gentleman. Anyhow, he was a curious, quick, separate fellow, alone, but sure of himself.

Clifford started the little engine, the man carefully turned the chair, and set it nose-forwards to the incline that curved gently to the dark hazel thicket.

“Is that all then, Sir Clifford?” asked the man.

“No, you’d better come along in case she sticks. The engine isn’t really strong enough for the uphill work.” The man glanced round for his dog…a thoughtful glance. The spaniel looked at him and faintly moved its tail.