Cherry Two

Prologue one

Prologue part 1

Surry, England 1984

The summer of 1984 in southern England would prove to be a memorable time for a struggling photographer. Wallace Ward had left cards all over town. True, Staines was a small town to cover, but he'd done a thorough job and garnered enough paying customers to keep him busy on evenings and weekends—enough, perhaps, to consider leaving his day job.

During the week he repaired television sets for Broadfield Radio, a shop on Staines High Street. Compared to photography, replacing valves in old Sobells was the pits. Wallace needed to be so like his idol, George Radigan Clark.

Clark, reputed to be London's most successful glamour photographer, ran a famous studio in Soho, or so Ward thought. Trouble was, Ward had not kept himself current when it came to his revered icon. Clark's peak had come and gone. This was now the eighties, and Radigan Clark had not only fallen from grace, he'd become a booze-sodden lush on his last legs, his liver so saturated with alcohol, they'd have to clear the crematorium for safety before lighting him up.

If ignorance equaled bliss, then Ward reigned supreme. He owned a complete collection of Clark's earlier work published by Solo Studio throughout the sixties. He studied every angle, every lighting technique, each set in detail. Memorized the names and faces of the models and constantly watched out for the same magnificent qualities Clark had so often discovered with seeming effortless consistency.

So far Wallace had discovered none. Ward needed a reality check. Suburban Staines was about as likely to yield the Clark brand of feminine magnificence as a fat farm in the Outer Hebrides. But this watershed summer would prove to be the exception and change his life forever.

***

Had Ward known the truth about Clark's wretched lifestyle he'd have been doubly appalled. His own body was a temple of fitness and tonality. Daily weight training and extended runs alongside the Thames River kept him in fine shape, combined with regular sessions at the local YMCA gym.

This June the weather had turned unseasonably warm for England. High eighties combined with humidity felt like ninety plus. Everyone sweltered and tried to find relief any way they could. This Saturday seemed quieter than usual, perhaps because of the heat. Very few customers ventured into Broadfield Radio and service calls were also down. The store manager telephoned to tell Wallace not to bother coming in, as they had very little for him to do and nothing that couldn't wait until Monday. The unexpected, unplanned free day seemed wasted somehow. There were no paying photo sessions in the works and nothing social since his latest female acquaintance dumped him for trying his damndest to photograph her naked. It had not been the first time a bourgeoning relationship had ended this way.

He'd dressed appropriately for the heat. A favorite multi-pocketed photographer's vest from Focus Framewear, over designer jeans and a fancy belt. White socks and tennis shoes completed the look. From the mirror he nodded with satisfaction. Wallace loaded his Canon AE-1 with color negative and went out into the sunshine, convinced this day would be inconsequential, completely unprepared for what happened next.

After parking his Vespa scooter up Tilley's Lane, near the store, he began to walk west along Staines High Street, noting very few pedestrians were about. His watch agreed with the town hall clock-10:05 A.M.

Wallace had almost reached Clarence Street when a gold colored American car swept past at speed and made an abrupt turn at the corner ahead, just beating the traffic light onto Church Street. The huge top-down convertible had that old-car look with high tailfins and massive chrome bumpers, resembling something from a fifties film, as it lurched out of sight. He'd managed to catch a quick glimpse of the female behind the wheel—mostly blown auburn hair cascading around bare shoulders—but some innate photographer's instinct told him the driver of this open car could be someone very special. He needed to see more.