Part 32 (1/2)

'Are you any good at this?' he asked as he moved his p.a.w.n forward two squares.

'No. You'll beat me in about five moves. Strategic thinking has never been my strong point.'

'Hmm, I see what you mean. I really wouldn't get your knight out quite yet, Miranda.'

'No? Okay, then I'll do...this...'

'Yeah... Much better. Hmm...' he said a few moves later. 'You're better than you said you were. But can we finish this tomorrow...?' He stood up. 'Because I must get to bed-I have to be up early.'

'Can I come with you?'

'To bed?' he smiled.

I felt my face heat up. 'No. No, I...'

'Of course you can. In fact, I wish you would.'

'I meant-can I come with you to work. Tomorrow morning?'

'If you want, but I'll be leaving at five.'

'That's okay.'

'Really? Well, that would be great. Maybe you could even help me.'

'Of course I will.'

He bent down and kissed me, then he held his face, for a moment, against mine. I was so attracted to him, I had to resist the urge to to pull him to me. 'Sleep well, Miss Behaviour.'

'I'll try.'

Just before five, David knocked on my door. He was standing there in a white bathrobe with a cup of tea in his hand.

'If you do want to come, I'm setting off in ten minutes.'

'Fine,' I whispered. I brushed my teeth, pulled on my clothes, and put Herman on the lead. Then we loaded David's equipment into the car and sped towards Petworth. Soon we were driving past the walls of the estate.

'They're letting me in a side entrance at five fifteen,' he said.

'And what are you taking?'

'They want one really great shot of the house and park. But it's got to be absolutely top notch as it's for an advertising campaign for the English Tourist Board.'

'How did you get this commission? I didn't think you did landscapes.'

'I don't normally, although I've always loved taking them when I have time. But they originally asked Arnie, and, as he was going to be away, he kindly recommended me. It's all work,' he added. 'It's interesting, plus it's quite well paid, so I was more than happy to say ”yes”.' We parked by the east gate as the first light began to crack the obsidian of the sky; then we walked through the grounds in the dissolving dark. Ahead of us now was the lake, fringed by willows and thinly shrouded in mist. David skirted it, checking angles, holding his hands up to make an impromptu viewfinder; then he set up the tripod, close to the island.

'This is the spot,' he said as he screwed on the camera. It was large and square.

'Aren't you using your Leica?'

'No, I'm using a Ha.s.selblad for this. You get a bigger negative which gives greater detail and tonal quality. Could you pa.s.s me the Polaroid in the bag there? In the middle compartment.'

'This thing?' I held it up.

'That's the one.' I handed it to him, happy to be helpful and involved. 'That's fine,' he said. He slid it onto the back of the camera. 'And have you got a second hand on your watch?'

'I have.'

'Then time this for me, okay?' I heard the deep click of the shutter. Then he slid out the Polaroid and handed it to me. 'Stick that under your armpit, will you?'

'Why?'

'To warm it up-it'll develop quicker. Then peel it off in exactly...two minutes.' I glanced at my watch. 'It's alkali,' he warned, 'so be careful not to burn your hands.'

I did exactly as David asked, then handed it to him. 'Hmm,' he murmured appreciatively, as he appraised it. 'Yes... That'll do it.' He glanced at the sky, then squinted through his light meter. 'We'll start shooting in about ten minutes or so, as magic hour starts.'

'Magic hour?'

'The hour starting just after sunrise, or just before sunset, when the light is at its best. You don't want the sun to be high-you want it to be low and slanting, as that gives depth and texture, and the colours are warm and soft.' As David watched the sky, occasionally reading his meter, or trying out different lenses, I saw how pa.s.sionate he was about his work, and how focussed, to the exclusion of almost everything else.

'You love this, don't you?' I said quietly.

'Yes,' he replied, without looking at me. 'I do. It's what I live for. I'm glad you're here to share it,' he added, as he peered into the viewfinder again.

'I'm glad I am too.' And I was. I loved watching him work. I loved the intensity of it. I felt infected by his pa.s.sion. I found it...yes, romantic. Decidedly. s.e.xy, even. And now, as the sky began to turn from moonstone to a luminous turquoise, I saw David stiffen with antic.i.p.ation as the optimum moment approached. As we waited for the light to be perfect, I felt like Bronze Age man waiting for the sun to rise through the arch at Stonehenge. We sat immobile on the springy turf, listening to the geese on the lake, and the trilling of coots. Then we spotted a herd of deer coming over the hill.

'This is it,' David whispered. The light was pale gold by now, and the air so pellucid it seemed to sparkle. 'If I can get them in shot too, this is it.' He held up his right hand. 'Keep very still,' he mouthed. 'They're coming our way.' And sure enough, they came within fifty yards of us, bending their heads to the water to drink. Suddenly a twig cracked under my foot, and the largest stag lifted its head and looked directly at us for about five seconds. I heard the soft click of the shutter, then again, then again. Then the stag moved slowly away.

David circled his left thumb and index finger. 'Perfect,' he whispered. 'b.l.o.o.d.y perfect.'

'Thanks for not barking,' I said to Herman.

David spent the next half hour shooting from the same vantage point, sometimes moving the camera forwards or backwards a little; then he set up nearer the house. As he finished a roll, he'd hand it to me; I'd seal and label it, then tuck it into a bag in the special pocket of his holdall. By a quarter past eight, he thought he was done.

'That's...it,' he said. 'What a fantastic morning.' He tucked the last finished roll into his bag. 'I know there are at least four or five really great shots there. We'll go back to the hotel for breakfast, then I'll do Arundel late this afternoon.'

I thought the early start would have exhausted David, and that, like me, he'd flop. Instead, he seemed energized, and, as we drove back, he talked non-stop about his work-he was on a high.

'The exhilaration you feel when you know everything's combined to produce a great picture,' he said as we approached Amberley. 'There's nothing like it. Edward Weston, an American photographer, calls the art of photography ”the climax of emotion”, because it's about finding that split second when the light and what you see in the viewfinder and your own artistic instinct all come together to capture one moment in time, one unrepeatable moment, for eternity. That's the essence of photography. And that's the rush I got when that stag looked straight into the lens this morning.'

We had breakfast back at the hotel, then, exhausted, went to our rooms and slept for two hours. I love this, I thought, as I drifted off. I love being with David. Please, please, don't let this stop.

At lunchtime we walked into Amberley and looked at the village church, then wandered round the graveyard for a few minutes, reading the stones. In memory of Sarah Hunt... Sacred to the memory of Richard Freeman... And now a particular inscription caught my eye. In loving memory of William Galpin, departed this life 10th May 1873, also of his beloved wife Alice, died 19th October 1875. United in life for forty-five years, now together to the end of time. And I was suddenly struck by this morbid-yet strangely comforting-thought, that I'd like to be buried with David. And yet I'd known him for only six weeks.

We went back to the hotel and finished our game of chess, then, at half past four we went to Arundel. David set up just below the castle.

'I'm using a wide angle lens,' he explained, 'in order to compensate for the slightly giddying perspective. The light's quite nice now,' he added, narrowing his eyes as he looked at the sky. 'There's this lovely pinky-gold quality to it. Can you see?'