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Authors: Richard Gordon
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over London to be unsound.’
He felt her grow closer to him on the wall-seat they shared. ‘You’ve been around, lover, haven’t you?’
‘Oh, a little…’
She gave a gasp. ‘Over there – isn’t that Godfri? You know, the most absolutely “in” photographer in London?’
Terry looked up. A young man with shoulder length hair in a bottle-green velvet suit festooned with coloured beads rose laughing from a table across the room. ‘He’s coming this way. Would you like to meet him?’
Stella’s eyes widened. ‘You know him?’
‘No, but I’m sure the manager will introduce us,’ he suggested, as Luigi himself approached to announce their table was ready.
‘Of course I shall present you to Mr Godfri,’ the manager agreed. ‘He will be pleased to meet a distinguished doctor. He likes meeting distinguished people in all walks of life.’
The photographer stopped, smiled, made a few affable remarks, then looking at Stella asked, ‘But you and I – we’ve met, haven’t we? At that exhibition of my work last week.’
Stella fluttered her long eyelashes. ‘I never imagined you’d noticed me.’
‘Of course I did. I only looked in for a minute, and there you were staring at my picture of the meths drinkers, quite enraptured. I never forget a face, you see.’ He laughed. ‘I’ve a photographic memory. Why did you go to the exhibition? Curiosity? Or real interest?’
‘But I’m a professional photographer, too.’
Godfri frowned. ‘I don’t seem to have heard–’
‘That is, an X-ray photographer,’ Stella said quickly. ‘I take pictures of bones, chests, skulls and things. At St Swithin’s Hospital.’
‘Now that’s perfectly fascinating, because I happen to be experimenting with X-ray portraiture myself. Showing the inside of people, not the dreary old outside on view to everyone. It’s a bit of a gimmick, of course,’ he added disarmingly. ‘But you know what the trade’s like, love, you have to keep one jump ahead of the competition. The trouble seems to be a load of old health regulations. I can’t just buy an X-ray camera and start in my own studio. It seems I’d sterilize half London if I did.’
‘If I can be of any help–’ Stella began.
‘Yes, I think you can–’
‘Perhaps the three of us can meet another day?’ said Terry quickly. He had grown increasingly uneasy during the conversation, and was trying to console himself that Godfri, being a photographer, was probably as queer as some of his pictures.
‘That would be super,’ agreed Stella.
‘Fine,’ said Godfri. ‘Next Wednesday. All right?’
‘Next Wednesday,’ nodded Terry. ‘No!’ he added suddenly. The others stared at him. ‘I’m afraid I can’t come here again. I mean, I can’t come next Wednesday.’
‘I expect we’ll run into one another some time.’ Godfri smiled and gave a little wave. ‘Now must rush to a party. See you.’
‘Why can’t you come on Wednesday?’ demanded Stella.
‘I – er…’ He searched miserably for an excuse. It occurred to him for a second Sir Lancelot might be persuaded to repeat the arrangement, but he decided against it. ‘The class exam,’ he remembered. ‘It’s on Monday week. I’ve got to work for it.’
‘Oh, what a bore.’
‘It is. But in medicine, work comes before play, you know.’
‘Let’s have some food,’ she said petulantly. ‘I’m famished.’
Terry’s evening went steadily downhill. She ate, he noticed, like one of the starving African children which Godfri photographed so artistically. Her conversation grew stilted. She even forgot to call him ‘lover boy’. He cursed himself for making Luigi stop the photographer – and purely through his own big-headedness, he decided. It was only when he was walking with Stella through the lobby and said, ‘I’ll fetch the Rolls,’ that she seemed to cheer up.
‘Yes, do get it. I’d quite forgotten we came in a Rolls, lover man.’
As Terry turned towards the
He felt her grow closer to him on the wall-seat they shared. ‘You’ve been around, lover, haven’t you?’
‘Oh, a little…’
She gave a gasp. ‘Over there – isn’t that Godfri? You know, the most absolutely “in” photographer in London?’
Terry looked up. A young man with shoulder length hair in a bottle-green velvet suit festooned with coloured beads rose laughing from a table across the room. ‘He’s coming this way. Would you like to meet him?’
Stella’s eyes widened. ‘You know him?’
‘No, but I’m sure the manager will introduce us,’ he suggested, as Luigi himself approached to announce their table was ready.
‘Of course I shall present you to Mr Godfri,’ the manager agreed. ‘He will be pleased to meet a distinguished doctor. He likes meeting distinguished people in all walks of life.’
The photographer stopped, smiled, made a few affable remarks, then looking at Stella asked, ‘But you and I – we’ve met, haven’t we? At that exhibition of my work last week.’
Stella fluttered her long eyelashes. ‘I never imagined you’d noticed me.’
‘Of course I did. I only looked in for a minute, and there you were staring at my picture of the meths drinkers, quite enraptured. I never forget a face, you see.’ He laughed. ‘I’ve a photographic memory. Why did you go to the exhibition? Curiosity? Or real interest?’
‘But I’m a professional photographer, too.’
Godfri frowned. ‘I don’t seem to have heard–’
‘That is, an X-ray photographer,’ Stella said quickly. ‘I take pictures of bones, chests, skulls and things. At St Swithin’s Hospital.’
‘Now that’s perfectly fascinating, because I happen to be experimenting with X-ray portraiture myself. Showing the inside of people, not the dreary old outside on view to everyone. It’s a bit of a gimmick, of course,’ he added disarmingly. ‘But you know what the trade’s like, love, you have to keep one jump ahead of the competition. The trouble seems to be a load of old health regulations. I can’t just buy an X-ray camera and start in my own studio. It seems I’d sterilize half London if I did.’
‘If I can be of any help–’ Stella began.
‘Yes, I think you can–’
‘Perhaps the three of us can meet another day?’ said Terry quickly. He had grown increasingly uneasy during the conversation, and was trying to console himself that Godfri, being a photographer, was probably as queer as some of his pictures.
‘That would be super,’ agreed Stella.
‘Fine,’ said Godfri. ‘Next Wednesday. All right?’
‘Next Wednesday,’ nodded Terry. ‘No!’ he added suddenly. The others stared at him. ‘I’m afraid I can’t come here again. I mean, I can’t come next Wednesday.’
‘I expect we’ll run into one another some time.’ Godfri smiled and gave a little wave. ‘Now must rush to a party. See you.’
‘Why can’t you come on Wednesday?’ demanded Stella.
‘I – er…’ He searched miserably for an excuse. It occurred to him for a second Sir Lancelot might be persuaded to repeat the arrangement, but he decided against it. ‘The class exam,’ he remembered. ‘It’s on Monday week. I’ve got to work for it.’
‘Oh, what a bore.’
‘It is. But in medicine, work comes before play, you know.’
‘Let’s have some food,’ she said petulantly. ‘I’m famished.’
Terry’s evening went steadily downhill. She ate, he noticed, like one of the starving African children which Godfri photographed so artistically. Her conversation grew stilted. She even forgot to call him ‘lover boy’. He cursed himself for making Luigi stop the photographer – and purely through his own big-headedness, he decided. It was only when he was walking with Stella through the lobby and said, ‘I’ll fetch the Rolls,’ that she seemed to cheer up.
‘Yes, do get it. I’d quite forgotten we came in a Rolls, lover man.’
As Terry turned towards the
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