Part 14 (1/2)

'I don't want you to smile. A smile is concealing.'

'Is it?'

'Oh yes. A smile is often a mask. Now, just...' he came in a little closer-I noticed the lemony scent of his aftershave. '... Yees. Nice. Very nice.' He pressed the shutter again. It was so quiet that I barely heard it. 'Now could you sit on the couch there...that's it...with the dog.' He lifted Herman up then moved the two chairs out of shot. 'Now, I want you to face the other way from him, just lean your head this way a bit, and...yes. That's great. Herman, you look at me, okay?' I heard the soft click of the shutter again, then he wound on. He took two more, then another five in quick succession. Then he suddenly stopped.

'I know this is hard,' he said, lowering the camera, 'because I'm pointing a large lens at you, but if you could try to relax a little...' No, I can't. Because it's you. I can't possibly relax. 'You see, you look slightly tense.'

'Oh.' I am.

'Now, look at me, Miranda...'

'This way?'

'Yes, over there, towards the window...that's good.' He pressed the shutter again, then lowered the camera. He was standing there, saying nothing, scrutinizing me. I loathed it. I imagined that he could see my guilt.

'You're very photogenic,' he suddenly remarked as he lifted the camera to his eye again. 'You have neat features, and good cheekbones. No, don't smile. I want to see the true you.' You don't. You don't. Believe me.

'Don't you use a flash?' I asked, as he clicked away.

'No, I prefer to use natural light. That's nice, yes-towards the window-lift your chin. Good.' Now that he had the camera in his hands he seemed somehow less abrasive, as though it protected him, gave him a barrier. 'We'll have Herman sitting beside you, and I'd like you to look at each other. Yes-hold it-that's great. Now we'll do a few of you standing by the door.'

'I thought you'd be using a digital camera,' I said, as he changed the roll.

'I prefer my old Leica for this kind of work. I know it's not very twenty-first century of me,' he added as he stuck a label on the new cartridge, 'but I'm a bit of a purist, plus I like to print my own film. I don't normally do portraits,' he added. 'In fact,' he went on with a puzzled expression, 'I'm not quite sure why I was asked to do this.' Because of me-that's why. Because I wanted to meet you. 'But Moi!'s a good magazine, and it's all work.'

'You do news photography, don't you?' I asked.

'Not any more. I was a conflict photographer for Reuters, but I fell out of love with it. I do freelance work now.'

'Photographing what?'

'All sorts of things. Things I'm asked to do-and things I want to do, on issues I think are important. Anyway, we're all done in here-let's go outside.' I put Herman on the lead, still feeling nervous and inhibited, then we strolled up Primrose Hill.

'Where are you from, Miranda?' he asked as we walked up the path. 'If you don't mind me asking you a few questions!' He was definitely more relaxed now, in fact, to my surprise, almost friendly.

'I'm from Brighton.'

'That's a coincidence.' It isn't a coincidence. 'My family lived there for a while.'

'Really?' I said disingenuously. 'Which bit?'

'Queens Park. West Drive.' Number 44. The semi-detached house, two doors from the end. I was there the other day, looking for you. 'Where did you live then?' he enquired.

'Sandown Road.'

'Oh. Not that far away from us then?'

'No,' I murmured nervously. 'Not that far.'

'We never met, did we?' he added. 'At any teenage parties?' My heart turned over at the thought. 'I think if we had met I'd have remembered you,' he added thoughtfully.

'No,' I said. 'I don't think we did.'

'That's probably because you're a bit younger than me, plus I was away at boarding school. My dad worked at the university.' I know that.

'Did he?'

'But then, well...he decided to move. To be honest, my memories of Brighton aren't that great.' That's my fault. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. 'I haven't been back for over fifteen years. Nice view,' he murmured. We'd got to the top. There were kids flying kites and joggers jogging and people walking their dogs. 'Let's just have you sitting on one of the benches,' he said. 'This is perfect.' He took some more shots. 'The light's gorgeous now-it's really soft and there's no haze because of the wind.'

I sat there, London's skyline curving before me, from the squat skysc.r.a.pers of Docklands to the chimneys of Battersea Power Station; the office windows flas.h.i.+ng gold in the evening sun. Now that I'd met him and spoken to him, I knew I'd have to tell him. There was no question of that. But when?

'Let's have you walking down again with Herman,' I heard him say from my left-hand side. 'Just ignore me and keep going. That's it.'

I walked away from David, feeling slightly self-conscious now, as people looked at me and smiled as he followed me, clicking away, or walked backwards in front of me. I heard the clock strike seven. I knew what to do. I'd ask him back to the house. I'd ask him back to the house and offer him a beer and- 'All done,' I heard him say. He drew level with me again, then we walked down the hill in perfect step, beneath the plane trees, through the gate and into St Michael's Mews. I opened the front door and David rewound the film, quickly labelled it, then put the camera in the bag.

'I took two rolls so there should be some good ones there.' He hoisted his holdall onto his shoulder. Say it now. Ask him. Ask him.

'Would you-' I began. But he was already offering me his hand.

'Well, good to meet you, Miranda. I'll be off. Would I what, sorry?' As I looked at him I suddenly felt as though my chest were being squeezed. 'What were you going to say?'

'I was just going to say, erm...would you...like...a beer or anything?'

'A beer...?'

'Yes. I just thought you might...like one. That's all. As it's the...end of the day. I mean, you don't have to,' I stuttered, 'but... I just thought...you might like one.'

'Well, that would have been great...' He looked confused. 'But actually, I've...got to run.'

'I see. So you've got to run,' I repeated robotically. He nodded slowly, then an awkward silence suddenly descended. There's something I have to tell you, David. It will change your life. 'I'm...sorry we got off to such a bad start,' I said.

He nodded again. 'Yes. Me too.'

'It was my fault. You must have thought me very odd.'

'No, no-although, actually, yes.' He suddenly laughed. 'I did think that. But I know I can be abrasive so I guess I made you feel nervous.' You did make me feel nervous, but that's not the reason. 'Anyway,' he glanced at his watch. 'I'll be on my way.' He dug his right hand into his back pocket. 'Why don't I give you my card?' As he handed it to me I noticed the scarring on his hands again, and felt tears p.r.i.c.k the backs of my eyes. 'If you need anything, give me a call.' I do need something. I need to tell you what I did to you and I need you to forgive me. 'Are you okay?' he asked. He was peering at me. 'Are you okay? You look a bit...upset.'

'Oh. No. No. I'm fine. I'm fine,' I repeated. 'It's...'

'Hay fever?' I nodded. 'It's a real nuisance, isn't it?' I nodded again. 'Okay,' he said, as he picked up his bag. 'I guess that's it. It was nice to meet you, Miranda. See you then,' he said as he walked out of the house.

I smiled. 'Yes. See you.' But how? How will I be able to see him again, I wondered. All I knew was that I had to. He had to know who I was.

CHAPTER 7.

'Just a quick call,' said Dad the following evening, as I prepared for the next puppy party. 'To say I'm installed-more or less.'