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Lucy wandered around the gallery idly looking at all the beautiful photographs; each one perfectly framed and perfectly hung in the perfect position. Each photo depicting one of a handful of famous women demurely dressed and yet wantonly posed. She kept a slight smile on her face and nodded kindly at the people she passed but inside she was jealous. She could feel it gnawing away at her insides, filling her up with self-loathing. It seemed as if every beautiful woman in the world was clamouring for him to photograph them - every beautiful woman except her.
She’d watched him working. That’s how they met. He’d been hired by the magazine she worked for to photograph the latest Hollywood starlet, and she’d been dragged along to assist the stylist. He’d charmed the entire room, but once he started clicking the shutter it felt as if she was intruding into some intimate moment between two lovers. He drew his subject’s attention so entirely that even after he stopped shooting it took the stylist some effort to rouse the actress from the spell he’d weaved around her. He wasn’t physical with his subjects, in fact he barely spoke. There was just something about the way in which he moved around them, as if he was caressing them with his lens. And of course, his eyes never left them. The photographs he produced were astounding. He captured each woman in such a way that she looked modest but alluring; reserved but desirous. Through his lens they looked exactly the way they wanted to be seen.
After two years together she knew that he photographed women because it was what they wanted. In his spare time, he’d go out with a camera, trekking across muddy fields and clambering over fences to capture a stunning sunset or to gain the perfect angle of a dead tree. Photography was his life and she loved him for it but her jealousy was threatening to overwhelm her. The women wanted to be photographed; he wanted to take the photographs, just not of her.
She felt a hand on her waist and warm breath on her neck, “You OK sweetheart?”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
“I’m nearly done here, just a couple of people I need to speak to then we can go.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek and then moved away.
She watched him join a small group of people in front of the photograph that formed the centrepiece of the exhibition. The woman in the picture, an Oscar winning actress, had been photographed laughing. The laugh was completely natural and Lucy knew that he’d taken it while she was still getting ready for the shoot. He’d caught her in an unguarded moment where she looked at her most stunning, and yet still seductive. The actress was the guest of honour at the exhibition and was now talking to him, her hand on his arm. The jealousy swirled around Lucy’s body threatening to erupt.
The drive back to the hotel was silent. Lucy stared out of the window at the lights of other cars as they sped by, trying not to show her disquiet. She trusted him implicitly; this wasn’t about trust.
The silence accompanied them to the door of the hotel room when, after opening the door, he turned to her and said, “We need to talk.”
She looked into his eyes for the first time that evening and her heart dropped. He looked worried and sorrowful. She started to speak, to apologise, to say anything to take away the pain she’d caused, but he gently put a finger to her lips.
Taking her hand he pulled her over to the bed. “I need to show you something before you say anything … something I should have shown you before.”
She watched anxiously as he pulled his laptop out and sat on the bed. Leaning back against the pile of pillows, he gestured for her to join him and as she slid back onto the bed he slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her against his body.
“I know you’re jealous sweetheart and I understand why … truly I do.” His finger was back on her lips as she started to protest and offer reassurance. “It’s OK … I just need you to understand something important.”
She turned her head and looked into his eyes. He smiled softly at her and brushed his lips across hers before continuing, “All those women I photograph are beautiful to look at … I can’t deny that. But all those pictures … they don’t capture the real person in front of the lens. I know that’s not what they think, or what other people think, but even in the most unguarded situations they know I’m there with my camera.”
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I produce the photographs that people want to see. The photographs that mean something to me, no-one ever sees.”
She raised her eyebrows slightly. She’d seen the results of his countryside walks, he rarely exhibited them but he didn’t keep them secret.
He pulled her closer. “You’re jealous because I’ve never photographed you that way, aren’t you?”
She lowered her eyes from his gaze, “I … I don’t know … maybe … yes.” She closed her eyes, too ashamed to look back up at him.
“Lucy, you are beautiful and stunning and I love you but photographs like that? I could never take pictures like that of you. I don’t look through the lens at those women and see someone desirable. I know how to make them look that way, how to play them, and how to make them believe there’s more to it than just a camera, but it’s not how I feel inside. It’s my job. You’re not my job Lucy; you’re my lover, my heart and my life.”
He showered her face with kisses, tasting the saltiness of the tears that were now coursing down her cheeks. “You think I don’t photograph you?”
She looked at him in surprise, blinking away her tears.
He clicked something on his laptop and a photograph appeared on the screen. It was her and she was sleeping, her hair fanned out across the pillow, one arm thrown across the bed. Another photo appeared. She was wrapped up against the cold in a hat and scarf, standing in a field mid-twirl with her head thrown back as she laughed. She remembered that day, she had no idea he’d taken a picture of her. There were more photographs. Every one of them showing her happily engrossed and unaware of the camera: head buried in a book, brow furrowed as she iced a cake, dozing in the bath surrounded by candles, endless beautiful photographs.
“I had no idea,” she whispered. “How did I not know?”
He pushed the laptop aside and pulled her onto his lap, wiping her tears away with the pads of his thumbs. “I didn’t want you to know. I thought it would break the spell, and that if you knew, I’d have to stop.” He kissed her. It was a deep and passionate kiss and one that left them breathless when they pulled apart. “I don’t need to play you to get a perfect photograph. These pictures are how I see you every day, the woman I fell in love with.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t understand,” she stroked his cheek and gazed into his eyes.
“No apologies … just make me a promise.” He looked at her questioningly.
“Anything … I’ll do anything.”
“Never change Lucy … never change.”
She kissed him in acquiescence, wrapping herself around him, moulding her body to his. As she slid off his lap and pulled him with her so his body covered hers, she smiled up at him. “Will you promise me something too?”
“Of course … anything.” His breathless whisper sent shivers down her spine.
“Don’t stop photographing me. And show them to me as well … I want to see what you see.”
He lowered his head so his lips were almost touching hers. “I promise … but you’re more beautiful than any photograph could ever…” his final words were lost as passion overwhelmed them and they abandoned themselves to love.