Edward Lockyer sat with his back against a tree somewhere in the forest. He had his camera with him.

It was a warm day in the middle of summer and he was pleased to have put himself out of range. He wanted nothing to remind him that there were people in the world.

There was much in the forest that day to appeal to the eye of the photographer. The play of light where the sun dappled the grass and the leaves suggested a scene by Renoir; there was, too, a timelessness about the place. No one could have put the beauty of the woodland that day into any given year. Any moment a wild boar might charge into view with a party of Tudor gentry galloping in pursuit and he would have accepted it, perhaps even reached for his camera.

No people. Lockyer thought the place was all the better for that. He did not consider himself an intruder. He sat alone and felt grateful for the colours and the sunlight and the birdsong (he did not mind the insects) and the light breeze and the solitude; though not for one second did he feel any peace of mind.

He should have known that Caroline would go back to London. He had known that she would weeks ago. But, because he was in love with her, he had never properly come to terms with the idea. He told himself again as he sat there that he should be man enough to take it. After all she was not the first; he had been turned down by women twice before and, in turn, had turned two others away who dearly wanted to stay with him. He thought of Carol, a nineteen year old, no more than a kid really, who had worked in the studios for a while. She had pestered him and written him love letters and shed tears over him when all the time he had meant to finish with her. Did it serve him right then, now that Caroline had gone? Similar name, too.  Here he sat, thirty years old, thinking of Caroline and how much he wanted to marry her when in reality she had another man waiting for her in Ealing. It was crazy! The guy had messed her around and now, because he had had second thoughts, she was chasing back to him.

Lockyer considered the similarity between names: Carol, the girl he had hurt and rejected six years ago, and Caroline - his wonderful Caroline who had left him for another man’s bed.

Sexual jealousy was like poison in his system. What a bitch! What a slut to trade partners so easily. Caroline was a cheat and a liar; she was also more beautiful than the forest in its summer finery and only her company could ease his pain given the way he felt. The mind of Lockyer the photographer dwelt on her face and figure and made her into the centrefold for the prying delight of the other man. After he had tormented himself for a few minutes he gave in to tears and sobbed wretchedly, freed from self-restraint by the peace and privacy of the trees around him.

Lockyer did not weep for long. He thought of an athlete friend who, when he had been dumped, explained how he went out training - five or ten extra miles a day until his body ached with pain and fatigue which at least took some of the hurt from the mind.

Lockyer was not an athlete. He did not bother to wipe his eyes; he remained slumped by the tree............and then, for the first time, he became aware that he was not entirely alone.

He was sitting with his back to a tree facing down a pronounced slope into the woodland below. From this position he had been able to watch the birds pass, sometimes at eye level and once he watched two squirrels scuttling in the undergrowth - red squirrels these, their fine russet in sharp contrast to the green and yellow around them......... but this new movement was enough to startle Lockyer and made him afraid that someone had seen him.

As it was, no one had come to disturb his grief; the movement was made by a beautiful red deer hind which moved gracefully and peacefully thirty yards away on the woodland slope.

Lockyer relaxed, grateful to see the hind. He watched her gentle and elegant movements as she browsed among the flourishing plant life in the woodland glade.

He was glad she had not seen him. Lockyer had been born and raised in the big city and liked to escape its turmoil. These woods were a favourite retreat of his. He wondered whether she might not have a fawn with her, but she was in fact alone. Like him, she was no doubt enjoying the safety of this place. She was very beautiful - so peaceful and unthreatening. He was glad she had not seen him.

Lockyer reached instinctively for the camera. He would take her picture and have at least one happy memory of an otherwise tragic day. He was something of an expert; he had collected prizes for his work and had a considerable collection. Now he would have this creature of the forest captured in a moment of privacy. He proceeded with care but, just as he took his photograph, something happened to disturb the creature and she was gone in seconds.

Lockyer looked around in annoyance. It was obscene that someone should have spoilt his moment of contentment, though he still didn’t know what had scared her away. His illusion of some Forest of Arden was dashed. The birdsong, the rustle of the breeze, the sense of escape from the outside world were just as they had been; yet the hind was nowhere to be seen.

Lockyer looked at the camera with blame on his mind. Had she really heard the shutter from sixty feet away? Clearly, nothing was meant to run for him that day.

He sat down again. He wondered what kind of picture he would get. How on earth had he come to bring with him that day the oldest camera in his possession, old enough to prevent his looking immediately at his work, knowing that he must wait until later to develop his prints. Had she moved too soon? He had a horrible feeling that he had messed up the picture and he wanted his record of this special meeting. He would be to blame, not the Leica, and, from that time forward, he would use only the latest technology where he could look at the image in seconds.

After a few minutes he resolved to be on his way. His stay in Arcady must be brought to an end. He was a few miles from home and suddenly he had to know the result of his attempt to take the picture. He would walk back to his car by a different route for he had still to see the tarn that lay further up the trail. There would be few people up by the tarn, none at all if he was lucky; it was too remote for the casual walker and the deer; he felt sure, had gone in that direction. He had set out with the intention of going there and then, in a fit of misery, given up the idea. Now he tried to be more purposeful. He could go past the tarn, take an optional route back to the car and still get home in good time to do his developing.

The plans were sensible but, though he stood up, he was to make no further movement for twenty minutes. He suddenly learned what had alarmed the deer.

In the glade below, as if from nowhere, a young woman appeared not ten feet from where the hind had been browsing. No doubt she had seen the animal rush away; but the relaxed manner of the young woman told Lockyer that, like the deer, she did not know he was watching.

Had the woman been some ordinary walker or brought friends along to make the disturbance complete, then he would have resented her presence; but he was captivated from the first by her languorous movements and her startling beauty; unlike him, she hadn’t a care in the world.

She was not beautiful in the way that Caroline was beautiful; she was not as tall and her hair was shorter and darker; but there could be no missing her beauty and a certain mystery about her too. Lockyer thought it strange that she should have come to this place alone and he was inclined to believe that she must have some need for solitude as he had himself.

But she was not unhappy. She had few if any cares that day; she liked the place in the wood. Here she could lie down without fear of intrusion and worship the sun in that greenwood glade where it shone most brightly.

She knew where to lie. The bank she chose might well be a favourite place as it had been once for Titania. The grass was luxuriant but not too tall and stiff, and flowers grew there to add fragrance to the scene.

Before she lay down she undressed, so quickly and unfussily that Lockyer might have blinked and missed the moment of surprise. As it was he saw the beautiful, brown naked limbs and the fine heavy breasts and the sweep of the back as she stooped to remove her panties; and then she lay back on the bank and smoothed sun lotion on her arms and shoulders and put her dark glasses in place.

Lockyer watched this naked Faerie Queene not with excitement but with awe. The stranger had the beautiful lines that Ingres would have enjoyed. The onlooker had felt so unhappy that day that he wanted simply to stand there and dwell on his vision. He knew that this naked beauty was a better person than Caroline. There was no deceit here, no taunting of a man.........then he stopped thinking such things. Why did he need to give her a character? She was very lovely; the vision should be enough.

He watched for what seemed like a long time without moving and then, with the greatest care, lifted his camera. Perhaps it was not meant to be, this mystical time. Just as the hind had been disturbed so this lovely dark-haired woman suddenly sat up and looked about her as though she sensed, as Lockyer himself had, that the greenwood was a haunted place.

She did not get up immediately but the onlooker could tell that she meant to go. He hoped that she would stand and wait for a moment with the sunlight full upon her, to give him his opportunity. Her summer frock and shoes still lay where she had put them. What spirit among the leaves had alerted her to his presence?

Lockyer was to have his wish. She stood and paused and made no move to pick up her clothes. Perhaps she had decided there was nothing to be afraid of after all. The sense of the sun full upon her gave her pleasure and she threw her head back and put her hands behind her neck. Lockyer took his picture of this unadorned, naked splendour. He might have taken others, but the young woman was too quick for that. She was dressed again within a minute - there was to be no more of the odalisque pose with head thrown back and breasts accentuated; instead she had a surprise for Lockyer which was far less to his liking. She began to climb the wooded hill from which he had been watching and, even before he could register the alarm signal, she looked up and saw him standing there.

The glance they exchanged lasted no more than two seconds. In those two heartbeats Lockyer realised that her face was every bit as lovely as he had supposed and convinced him once and for all that he had never seen anyone quite as beautiful.

She was clearly surprised to see him there. Perhaps she was already realising what had made her uneasy about lingering within the pool of light. But, whatever she might be thinking, Lockyer felt truly disturbed. He had no time to reason; only time to react; he knew only that he must get away from there with all possible speed. She did not shout out or point or do anything that he could rightly call menacing, and yet she frightened him. He was convinced that he had intruded here, done wrong, violated the sanctity of the place and he did not want her to come near. He was set on making his escape quickly just in case she accused him or made an effort to take back what he had stolen in that moment of secrecy. Strangely, in view of all his recent trouble with women, it was as though she owed him that one picture. Later, when he had escaped, he would think the idea ridiculous since the mysterious lady had taken nothing from him......but that would be for later..........

The escape was achieved easily enough. It was easier for Lockyer to run than it had been for him to take the picture; no one else was there to witness his actions as he had witnessed those of others. He set himself a stiff pace along the path as though some huntress were in pursuit. He maintained the pace for about a quarter of a mile despite stumbling once or twice. After covering something like this distance, he emerged from the wood into open ground and saw, two fields away, the stone wall that marked the road. He continued to make the best speed he could, though he was no athlete and the perspiration trickled freely down his face and soaked his shirt. Only when he reached the stile in the wall did he turn to look back. He was utterly out of breath.

All was quiet. The view from up there was delightful; from where he was perched on top of the stile, he could see the wooded hills and the path he had just taken from them. It was a beautiful landscape and not a person in sight to share it with him. His naked goddess had not followed him, then, and he felt rather foolish to be standing as he was, his chest still burning and the sweat making him sticky and uncomfortable.

She did not appear; she might as well have been a vision. He began the walk along the road to where his car was parked in more subdued fashion. He was unfit for the chase. How grateful he was that the way was downhill.

 

*

 

Lockyer had always done his own developing from before the days of digital cameras and instant pictures. From the earliest days of his interest he had wanted his work to be a private matter. Never had he felt more grateful for his skill in this art than the afternoon he arrived home and withdrew to his dark room. The thought of some quizzical eye prying into his day’s work made him shiver. He resolved never to use the Leica again.

Only now that he was safe did he discover the mistake he had made; it was the kind of error that demoralises; the simple, stupid kind of mistake that makes you want to scream. He should have remembered that he had only one shot left on the film and therefore his picture of his goddess might well be lost for ever. He went on regardless, nevertheless, determined to confront his failure. Even as he worked another mystery puzzled him. The camera automatically re-wound at the end of each film. In the quiet of the woodland he had heard no such sound after taking the picture of the deer. What had happened?

The other pictures on the film were, of course, of little importance. Actually, there were two pictures of Caroline sitting by the river - he had almost forgotten that day - the last they had spent together while he was still ignorant of her plan to go. How different the world had been then. They had passed through the castle grounds and there were pictures before him now of the ruins and the parkland and the river. It was all so familiar and yet the scenes now belonged to another world. Where was the picture that would be worth all the rest if only it had been saved? What he saw made stronger than ever the sense of awe and magic that he had experienced in the sacred wood. For, when the time came, the photograph had not been lost; but, instead of the beautiful woman, there was a creature from the pages of mythology. He held before him what he had intended to be an image of that beautiful naked body, the head thrown back with pleasure in the sunlight, the breasts rounded enough for a canvas by Renoir; but, at the waist, the body was no more - no supple limbs browned by the light in the glade, but a rich wine-coloured coat and four delicate legs, slender and shapely it is true, but with a loveliness quite different. Here was the gentle hind he had all but forgotten. Apparently she had not fled from him after all but, somewhere in a woodland recess, become transformed and returned to him in naked splendour.

Lockyer’s eyes were wide with astonishment. The picture so amazed him that he wondered how he could ever share it with anyone. There were some aspects of experience, he decided, that defeated the powers of both words and pictures.

 

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