My brother Vince was two years younger than me, and was in a long-term relationship with his girlfriend, which was new ground for him. In virtually every respect we were as different to each other as ‘chalk is to cheese’.

At that time, about fifteen years ago, I was in my late twenties, a successful photographer with my own business in the weddings, portraiture, and catalogues field. I was a stable kind of guy with my own house, and filled my spare time with various sports. All pretty boring stuff really.

I was fairly content living on my own, being a free agent, and comfortable in my own company. I’d had some average relationships over the years, but they normally fell apart after a short time because I was a workaholic, and didn’t commit the time to relationships. I’d never met that special girl anyway, not one that I wanted to live with, though two of them had suggested it, and one nearly got her foot in the door.

I think that part of the problem was that photographing women constantly, for catalogues and magazines made me a bit blasé, and the really special ones were either married, unavailable, or otherwise spoken for. I did have a short relationship with a wonderful married woman, which ended in tears, and was very painful. It scarred me for life really, and I had spent two celibate years since, unable to get really interested in women; they just didn’t compare.

Brother Vince came out of a different mould. He was a really handsome guy, who gained success early in life as a software engineer, earning pots of money, which he spent just as quickly on the high life. Women, fast cars, gambling, drinking, smoking, everything except drugs I’m fairly sure.

Until, that is, ….. he met Lucy.

Now Lucy was a very, very, special woman in the category I just mentioned, but she was Vince’s property. I use the word ‘property’ advisedly, because that’s how he treated his women, though with her I think he had met his match.

Surprisingly, she was not the beautiful, flashy, willowy blondes that he normally went for, but a relatively quiet, dark haired sophisticated lady. She was a legal secretary, well educated and very bright, with a great personality. Not beautiful, some would think quite plain, but with the kind of facial attractiveness that is difficult to describe. She had very luxuriant dark hair which stretched half way down her back and which she normally wore in a cute ponytail.

Once, on a rare occasion we three were drinking together in a pub, Lucy’s hair somehow came undone and when I said something about its length as she refastened it, Vince said in a rather petulant voice, “Huh, you haven’t seen the half of it,” and stalked off to the bar. I wasn’t sure what he was alluding to, but it must have been very personal, because she was severely embarrassed, and her cheeks flushed red. How could he say such a thing in front of me, I couldn’t comprehend.

I said “Sorry Lucy, I didn’t hear that anyway, forget he ever said it,” though why I was excusing him I don’t know. Lucy excused herself and went to the ‘ladies’. I left before Vince came back, otherwise I might have hit him. It was only afterwards that I thought about what he had said, and what he might have been referring to, but I didn’t want to dwell on it too much. I kept seeing the hurt on her face; how could he treat any woman like that, especially her!

Her most outstanding feature however, and the one that probably attracted Vince, was her figure. What our mum would describe as a real woman’s figure, like they had in the fifties and sixties when she was young, going in and out in the right places, not like the pear shaped, stodgy figures of today.

Believe me I know about blobby women’s figures. What I’ve photographed in wedding dresses over the last decade sometimes beggars belief. Enough to put me off for life; in fact I was doing less and less wedding photography, as more ‘David Baileys’ got in the way with their happy snapping little digital cameras.

No, Lucy had it all in the right places, with good legs and a slimmish figure, though she would have been rather ‘top heavy’ for some men’s tastes. Combine all that with a natural style, and grace of movement, and she was a real eye catcher, turning heads everywhere, mine included, except that I had to suppress my interest because she was my brother’s partner.

I couldn’t see it lasting though, they were too incompatible. I kept thinking she must see through him soon, hopefully before she gets hurt, because I knew that although they were living together, he was still playing the field as always. Maybe it was just jealousy on my part. They rented a luxury flat in a town about twenty miles away, so I didn’t see much of them fortunately.

Mum and dad were very pleased, because she was such a lovely girl. Decent, mature, respectful, all the things that they valued, in fact they loved her like the daughter that they longed for but never had. Once mum said to me, “Oh Daniel, I do hope Vincent doesn’t break her heart, I wish you could find someone like Lucy, she’s lovely.”

“You and me both mum,” I thought, chance would be a fine thing. They adored her, and I think they had high hopes that Vince had turned away from his old habits.

It lasted longer than I thought, and all seemed to go well for about a year, then one day when I went to visit mum and dad, Lucy was there and was obviously very upset. She came to me and sobbed into my shoulder, her body shaking like a leaf. Apart from a perfunctory kiss on the cheek I had never had any close contact with her before. This was very physically close, and had a big effect on me, in the loving, caring sense. Then she kissed my cheek, and left quite quickly before I found out what was happening.

Mum and dad were terribly upset, like all their dreams had suddenly flown out of the window. So, eventually I managed to get out of them that Lucy was pregnant, which should have been a joyous announcement, but it had all turned sour very quickly. Apparently it was her mistake, but Vince had been fine with the prospect at first, though he asked her not to tell anyone for the time being. Subtly he changed tack, and started talking about ‘the right time’, and ‘wouldn’t it be better to try later’, in other words consider an abortion.

Lucy, being from a Catholic background was having none of it, she was happy to have the baby, accident or not made no difference in her mind. Vince then made the big mistake (or perhaps not) of talking about getting rid of, ‘it’. That one little two letter word, ‘it’, killed all feeling inside her, and she told him to get out. He did, immediately, perhaps with some relief, and she hadn’t seen or heard from him for over a week.

Dad was furious, and mum was distraught. He was all for giving Vince a mouthful and reading him the riot act, except of course we didn’t know where he was. I had never seen my father so angry in his life, and thinking about it later, if he had managed to find Vince he might have resorted to violence. It was so much against their principles (and mine) to leave a pregnant woman in the lurch, especially their lovely Lucy.

Not knowing where Vince was made it difficult to resolve the situation in any way, until a few days later when he phoned me and said he was in Germany, and wasn’t coming back. He had left his car at Stansted airport and Lucy could have it – she had the spare keys. I started to tell him what a cowardly shit he was, but he cut the line before I could say any more. Knowing Vince to be a habitual liar, I immediately dialled 1471, and sure enough it returned a foreign prefixed number. Belgian, as it happened.

I phoned Lucy at work and told her what I had learned. She seemed quite calm and in control, maybe because she was in work company, so I collected the keys, collected the car and made arrangements for a family meeting, because as a family we had a collective conscience.

The meeting began in a very strained atmosphere, with mum, dad and Lucy trying to hold it all together. I tried to think about the situation more dispassionately, but was failing miserably, looking at this lovely woman thinking, “God, how could anyone walk away from her, especially in her current state, I couldn’t.” This surprised me somewhat, because I realised my true feelings for her; before I had thought of her more as a sort of sister in law. My parents were full of recrimination for Vince, but Lucy was surprisingly calm, and turned the conversation around, “For the babies sake,” she said.

Mum became tearful again, whilst dad and I tried to make helpful suggestions. It was obvious that they felt a strong sense of responsibility towards her, and were offering to support her in every way, including financially. She said that they were very kind, but she had to stand on her own two feet and when the lease was up on their flat at the end of the month, she would try to find a small place that she could afford. She couldn’t afford to continue renting the current flat without taking a lodger, which wasn’t a practical proposition with a baby around.

I asked what the situation was with her own parents. She said that they hadn’t exactly abandoned her, but as she was one of six children and three of her siblings had produced four grandchildren already, with two more on the way, they weren’t particularly concerned or supportive.

At that mum fell apart, probably thinking that with me looking like a confirmed bachelor, Lucy and her baby were the nearest that they were ever going to get to a permanent grandchild of their own. “We can’t just let you go,” she cried, “You could live with us, just until the baby is born, then we can see what we can do to help.” That, however was never going to be a practical solution, they only had a small terraced house, and it was full of cats and a dog.

Lucy sat quietly, but I could see her shaking, and though she wasn’t making any noise, tears were streaming down her face. I think that above all else she was overwhelmed by the fact that, whilst others had abandoned her, these kind people were prepared to do everything possible to help.

Mum looked appealingly to me, she was absolutely desperate, and I knew instinctively what was coming. “No, No,” I mouthed silently to her, but she was already in full flow.

“Look,” she said, “we might not have a lot of space, but Daniels got a big roomy house with a separate guest en-suite, you could be totally private, and it’s convenient for work, and he’s out most of the time, and he’s totally trustworthy, unlike his brother, just for a week or two until you get yourself sorted, like.” It all came out in a flood and was followed by absolute silence.

“Oh, thanks a lot mum,” I thought, this refusal is going to be embarrassing for all of us, especially Lucy and me, which was why I had mouthed ‘no’ to her in the first place.

Dad started to say, “ Lucy might not want…” (no reference to my feelings I noted) but Lucy put her hand up to stop him.

She looked straight at me and said, “Really, are you sure, Oh that would be such a help, just until I can sort things out and find a place that I can afford on my own”. There followed another stunned silence; I think that we were all taken aback by her reaction in equal measures.

“Well that’s all sorted then, just till you get on your feet dear, I’ll make some tea,” said mum as she made a hasty exit to the kitchen, followed quickly by dad.

I think that Lucy was waiting for a response from me, but frankly my mind was in turmoil. Conflicting thoughts were, 'What would it be like living in close proximity with this lovely creature?; I would be responsible for her and her baby; Does she trust me as much as that; and 'What happens to my life when she leaves?’

Before I could actually say anything Lucy filled the gap, saying, “Sorry Dan, your mum was only trying to be kind, I think you were railroaded into that. Are you sure about this, we know each other pretty well, (really?) but living in close proximity to me and a pregnant me at that, may not be a whole lot of fun. What would your neighbours say when I start to show? I would really appreciate a little breathing space, but I won’t hold you too it, it’s one hell of a commitment, please don’t do it just out of sympathy.”

All hesitation gone, I said, “I’d love to have you for as long as you want to stay, and the neighbours would probably think what a lucky bloke I was –sorry I didn’t mean it to come out quite like that.” We both laughed, and the tension was broken, and thinking about it now, it never returned, not in that form anyway.

Later that week dad and I moved Lucy’s belongings into my house while she was at work. I moved out of my room into the second double, so that Lucy had the privacy of her own self contained suite. Dad had been quite quiet up till then, but as he left he said, “Be careful son, look after her, as I know you will, but be careful, she’s very precious.” You soppy old git, I thought as he left, but I realised at that moment that we all loved this girl far more than Vince ever had.

As I said, I’d had a few relationships over the years but none ever got as far as co-habitation, so this was a new experience for me. We got on just fine though. There were a few awkward moments, a few embarrassing moments, and occasionally some very intimate moments, for me anyway, I don’t know how she felt. There was the occasional slip of a dressing gown, the touch of hands as we both reached for something simultaneously, and the sorting of bras and knickers, etc., for the wash.

One very special and striking view I had of her, was one evening after she’d had a shower and I met her on the landing going to collect something from the airing cupboard. Her hair was wrapped on the top of her head in a towel turban, and her lovely body was wrapped with a bath towel around the top of her very prominent bust, the bottom of the towel only just reaching the very, very top of her legs. She looked absolutely stunning and was so obviously unselfconscious of her desirability. She must have seen the look on my face, because she mumbled an apology as she squeezed past. I really couldn’t help myself when I said, “No need to apologise Lucy, dress as you please, it’s your house as well as mine for the moment.”

One morning she had dressed for work and she said, “Look at my belly, I can’t get this skirt zipped up, I’m going to have to start buying maternity clothes.” With that she unceremoniously lifted her jumper exposing her gorgeous, slightly swollen lump. Not as big as the lump in my throat at that moment I can tell you, and elsewhere when I thought about it later. At times like that I just couldn’t get over her femininity, and I’m not talking about sex, well, maybe a little.

Sometimes, like when she had an eyelash in her eye, I was so close that I could feel her breath on my face, and she smelled so beautifully womanly. How I stopped myself kissing her I’ll never know, I’d never felt as strongly attracted as that to any woman before, even the married one I mentioned. Perhaps some of the attraction, perversely, was the fact that she was unavailable to me. Sounds naïve and simple, but I didn’t want to do anything which might offend her, I was supposed to be the trustworthy one looking after her and her baby.

Don’t forget that she’s pregnant, I kept telling myself, hoping that it might put me off, whereas in fact I found it a huge attraction. She was blooming beautifully, and carrying baby all out front, her bottom and hips didn’t seem to be getting bigger at all. We did everything together like a prospective mother and father, shopping for everything from cots to clothes, bras to buggies, but unfortunately there was no suggestion yet of planning a room as a nursery.

Amongst her other attributes, Lucy turned out to be a really accomplished cook, so we took it in turns to make dinner in the evenings. If you had to search for a failing she did have one weakness which was that she smoked a little, only occasionally in the garden after dinner, she certainly didn’t take cigarettes to work. As an athlete I hated smoking generally, but Lucy did it with a style and grace that made, even that, look attractive. We didn’t say much about it, and it certainly wasn’t my place to lecture her; anyway, she made no excuses, said that she enjoyed it and that she would give up, but only temporarily, at six months.

As time went on my emotional attachment to her became stronger and stronger. I kept remembering what my dad had said about being careful, but everything was beginning to get on top of me, he wasn’t such a soppy git after all. When she was close to me I couldn’t stop thinking what it would be like to just to hold her, nothing more, and the smell of her around the house was magical.

I realised that I was absolutely smitten, to use an old fashioned turn of phrase. On one occasion we’d had a bottle of wine at dinner, and considering her condition, and the fact that she normally drank very little, caused it to go to her head and she became tiddly and talkative. I was watching her moving around the kitchen thinking how beautifully she was blossoming, when she saw me looking, or saw the look in my eye, and she gave me the most beautiful smile.

I automatically said sorry, because my stares had been quite blatant. She said, “Don’t worry I’m used to being looked at, in fact in the office I’m being gawped at all the time, even more so now I’m pregnant. If the truth’s known I don’t mind, and I know that they’re not looking at my beautiful face, ha-ha, there’s no point in getting all feministic about it like some women, it’s nature.”

We sat down to coffee, and she told me, slurring her words a little, about her time at university when she had made some pin money by being a model for a local painting art club. It started off ok with some portraiture, then semi clothed, and finally they asked her to pose nude. By this time the number of ‘artists’ had doubled, unsurprisingly. With a slightly embarrassed laugh she said that she had agreed, but only after the summer recess, which gave her plenty of time to grow lots of hair down below to cover her ‘girly bits’, which were rather prominent, if I knew what she meant. (Oh God!)

She did a couple of sessions for them, keeping her legs tightly closed, but she said that they were more interested in the size of her tits than anything else! That’s exactly as she said it, which quite surprised me, considering her normal ladylike speech and demeanour. Word got around, and she was asked to model for the local photographic club at some ridiculously high fee. The same trend repeated itself, first clothed then semi-clothed then heels and stockings. She did it, but didn’t like the direction that the suggestions were going, so stopped completely.

“Surprised you haven’t... I, I shouldn’t have told you all that, the wine’s gone to my head, I’d better get to bed before I say anything else revealing,” she said as she rose from the table.

We went over to visit my mum and dad a few days later and, oh my, were they pleased. They fussed around her like a daughter, mum asking all about the pregnancy and how we were getting along together. They must have noticed that there was no talk of Lucy moving out any time soon, which was exactly as she had planned it in her crafty mind when she first suggested it, I’ll bet. Bless them, they just wanted to hang on to her for as long as they possibly could.

I could talk to mum about anything, so when we were alone I told her that things were not exactly as straightforward as they appeared on the surface between me and Lucy. She immediately had a worried look on her face, so I told her that there was no problem with Lucy, it was me. I said that the closeness of her with he pregnancy often overwhelmed me, and the intimate moments were driving me crazy. I wasn’t sleeping well and it was getting worse by the week.

“Daniel, you’re not, you know, doing anything with her are you?” she blurted.

“No, no, nothing like that,” I assured her, “ she obviously doesn’t feel the same way I’m sure, she’s probably still getting over Vince, no, it’s all one sided.”

She surprised me by saying, “I wouldn’t be so sure about that you know, she’s said how lovely you are, and how well you care for her.”

“Not the same thing though is it mum, not to worry, it’s frustrating but my biggest dread is her moving out.”

“Oh dear,” she said, “ Damn Vince, he’s left us with a whole lot of beautiful trouble hasn’t he, I just hope he doesn’t come back. Oh, God forgive me for saying that about my own son, but it would spoil everything now.” I wondered exactly what she meant by that, as we hugged for a moment.

“You’re a great photographer, aren’t you,” Lucy said to me one day.“ I looked at some of your portfolios, I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t realise that you did so much catalogue work, lots of beautiful women in there”.

“All clothed though, except for the underwear stuff,” I said with a grin that I couldn’t resist, referring blatantly to her admission about modelling at Uni. “ And anyway they are all made up like plastic dolls, all thin and hairless, well for the underwear shots anyway.”

“Haven’t you ever done any naughty stuff, you know, beyond the underwear etcetera?” she asked rather coyly.

“Yes,” I said, “ quite a lot, though nude glamour, not pornography, and then only for established magazines, and in case you’re wondering it’s a complete turn-off. Most of them are completely shaved and it’s like looking at a lot of raw meat. Sorry I didn’t mean to be so graphic, but I’m with you on the body hair thing, a window with pretty curtains is always more mysterious and interesting than the bare frame, as they say.” I thought that I had embarrassed her, but Lucy obviously found that analogy amusing, and we had a good laugh together.

“Anyway, I don’t keep a portfolio on that stuff for obvious reasons, it’s all on disc in secure storage,” I told her. “My main earner, and the area I’m best known for commercially, apart from catalogues, is candid photography at Grand-prix, and horse racing events, and again it’s mainly of women; the syndicate I sell to aren’t interested in photos of men, unless they’re receiving trophies or they’re celebs.”

My biggest problem, I told her, was that as soon as people recognised me, or saw what I was doing they suddenly turned into grinning posers, which ruined the whole candid element that I wanted. Another growing problem was ‘tarts’, I continued. She looked at me quizzically, so I explained that the top race courses like Aintree and Cheltenham had strict dress codes for men, and particularly for women. These were increasingly being watered down by groups of inappropriately dressed, often drunk, groups of flaunting tarts, out for a good time and blatantly taunting the conservative establishment.

She asked how I sold my photos, so I explained that I sent low resolution, watermarked examples to a syndicate agency, they selected what they could sell on to the glossies, newspapers, weekend supplements etc, and if I accepted their offers I would send them the full resolution files. They then had the copyright, which meant that they then had responsibility for any legal comeback. I told her that I rarely had problems taking photos at those events anyway, most women would have paid me to get their photos in society print.

Lucy was fascinated, and asked if she could see some of my work in that field, so I brought some out of storage and we looked through dozens of photos. I think that she was more entranced by the glamour of the designer dresses and hats, more than the quality of my work. Typical woman! I said that I was attending a ‘ladies day’ at Newmarket races that weekend, and if she was interested I could easily get her an all areas pass, if she wanted to come with me. She was very enthusiastic, but of course she would have to buy a suitable dress for her bump, she said.

Buy a new dress she did, a full length shift which showed her bump beautifully, but discreetly. She also had her long hair cut into an attractive bob, high at the back with longer pieces down the side of her face; quite a shock, but very attractive. It suited her, and when she made up a bit more than usual I thought she looked fantastic, not a ‘plain Jane’ at all in fact.

On the day of the event I had to leave her quite a lot because I needed to move around groups quickly and discreetly. I knew many of the people there quite well, and having a lady accompanying me would have undermined my professional status.

I sought out a lady friend of mine that I had been photographing for years, a strikingly beautiful society ‘it’ girl, who despite being married at the time, had once made it clear (with her hand down between us stroking me) that she would do literally anything to get her photo into a particular ‘glossy’. I did and we didn’t, if you see what I mean, but only because the opportunity hadn’t arisen. I asked her if she would keep Lucy company and stop her being pestered for a while, whilst I went and finished my assignment, to which she readily agreed, once I had hinted that this weeks photos of her might reach a certain high end magazine.

As we approached Lucy, and Maisy realised who I was heading for, she said, in her plum, affected voice, “Oh, she’s pregnant, not just a friend after all eh, you naughty boy.”

I said, “Shush, it’s not mine unfortunately, just keep her company for half an hour,” and introduced them to each other. As I walked away I thought what different characters they were and how extremely different they looked, but both beautiful in their own way. I hoped that their personalities wouldn’t clash, perhaps not such a wise move on my part after all, and all prompted by jealousy.

When I returned a while later having completed my 400 self imposed limit, I saw that Maisy and Lucy were getting along really well. They were relaxed and laughing, each with a champagne flute in hand. I couldn’t help the photographer in me, so I stood well away, changed to a telephoto lens and composed my shots. Maisy was offering a cigarette packet towards Lucy, and I was willing her to refuse on this occasion, but she accepted, and I snapped away as they lit up and sat smoking.

When they had finished I walked up to the table, thanked Maisy, who said, quite genuinely, “It was an absolute pleasure,” gave me a smacking great kiss on the lips, and before she moved away, whispered in my ear, “Stick with her Dan, she’s an absolute treasure, you won’t find another one like that.”

Lucy didn’t ask what Maisy had said, but she did say, “What an amazing woman, she obviously thinks lot of you.” I didn’t follow up on that dangerous ground, but did wonder how deep and revealing their conversation had got in that short time.

Lucy insisted on making a bet on a horse in the last race, ’because she liked its colouring’; more likely a secretive tip from one of her earlier suitors, I thought. We pushed through to the rails as close to the finishing post as possible, and the professional in me was tempted to get my camera out again to capture the finish. However, just as I was reaching in my bag, standing behind Lucy, she said, “It’s getting chilly,” and pulled my arms around her waist. She held her hands over mine on her tummy, and maybe it was my wishful thinking, but I’m certain that she snuggled her bottom back into me.

To her I think it was more of a comfort thing, but to me it was something quite, quite different. The horses were pounding towards us at the same rate that my heart was pounding in my chest. Lucy was jumping up and down excitedly. I hardly saw a thing, heard the thunder of hooves, felt the rush of air as tons of pounding horse flesh passed- saw nothing, I was somewhere else entirely.

“Oh nearly,” Lucy shouted as we were jostled away by the crush of the crowd, rushing for the exit and the car park,“ I think mine came fourth, didn’t it.”

“ I didn’t really see,” I said, “ I was a bit preoccupied.”

It took her a second to twig to what I meant, and then gave me a mock smack on the arm. I think she actually blushed, it was still there when we got in the car.

It had been a long tiring day and Lucy slept most of the way home. I have to admit to taking full advantage of the opportunity to study her lovely body in quick glances as I drove along empty roads. Taking in the big breasts, accentuated by the seat belt as it divided them in her dress, I gently adjusted the lap part or the seat belt to where it should be below her bump, and by this time I was getting really uncomfortable in the constraints of my trousers. “Concentrate, Dan, before you have a stupid accident,” I told myself.

When we arrived home it was late and I had to go straight to work, batch reducing and watermarking the photos. Lucy brought me a coffee and sat beside me for a while, and as a result I was finding it difficult to concentrate. I think she sensed the tension, because she got up, said she was tired, thanked me for a lovely day and kissed the top of my head as she left. I felt like throwing the whole days work away and following her up the stairs, but no, that gesture was only a friendly one I told myself. Don’t do anything silly and spoil things between us.

I would normally have sorted and adjusted each chosen frame, but it was late and I had to beat a deadline with the agent, because sometimes there was a demand by a national daily, and they had to respond to it quickly. I just flashed off the whole days work, knowing that the experts at the other end would instantly identify what they could sell. I waited up, but there was obviously no response from the papers, so I went to bed and lay there unable to sleep, aching for the lovely girl asleep inches away from me on the other side of a thin partition wall.

Next morning Lucy had gone to work by the time I woke up. Thank goodness she’s not around the house all day long, I thought. When I opened my e-mails there was an urgent request from the agency asking for exclusivity on yesterdays photos. This was quite unusual, in fact it had never happened before. I wondered what was so special, had something important happened in the society set yesterday that I had missed, or had something related to the event developed overnight.

Normally the agency offered fifty to a hundred pounds for selected frames, two hundred tops, here they wanted nine shots and were offering top money on four. I linked the reference numbers to my stock and had a real shock. All four of the top offers were of Lucy! Damn, I had meant to take those out, they were mine alone. Two were of her standing with a group of men, and two sitting at the table smoking with Maizy, and I noticed they didn’t want photos of Maisy, because they had selected the only two where she had turned her head away so she was unrecognisable. Fortunately Lucy’s pregnancy was hidden by the table in those two, considering that she was drinking and smoking.

I e-mailed them back and said that I had to check on something, and couldn’t give them an answer immediately. What was I to do, refuse point blank, Lucy didn’t even know that I had taken any photos of her, how would she respond if I told her. Within minutes the agent rang me, asking what the problem was, and upped the offers on Lucy’s photos to £500 each. I said that there was no problem with the offers, it was just that I knew the lady concerned, and didn’t know if she wanted her pregnancy published.

He made a good point that I shouldn’t have submitted them in that case, and I did try to explain the circumstances. He said he was prepared to wait in this ‘special’ case, and made me promise again not to sell them to anyone else. Normally my commercial head would have said 'if they’re that special you could probably get an even higher bid', but my mind was more preoccupied with what I was going to say to Lucy.

When Lucy came home I told her everything, straight, and I had worried needlessly, because she was completely unphased, even amused possibly. When I showed her the relevant photos she said, “I don’t mind at all that you took the photos, after all it is your job, but they want to pay £500 for a photo of me like that?” pointing at her pregnant stomach on the screen.

“Each,” I said, “five hundred pounds each. You can put all the money into the baby fund if you like.” By her smile, she did like. “The only confusing element to me, is why they want the table shots, I don’t know where they are going to sell those, even the tabloids are very PC these days when it comes to smoking, but I’ll find out before I sell them, OK?”

“Fine she said, don’t worry about it. I could be anyone in that crowd, I just can’t figure why they don’t want photos of Maisy instead of me, or at least including her.”

I didn’t try to explain the ‘something special’ bit again, but I did ask the very grateful agent when I phoned him to confirm the sale, and he said that all the guys in the office were abuzz that morning, and she was the reason. They trawled through thousands of photos each week, and if this girl had caught their combined attention, they would sell all right.

When I pressed him further he said, “Not only is she extremely attractive, but she’s ‘new to the market’ ( a dreadful expression but meaning unseen, most of the society girls are photographed regularly) and did you see who the toffs were who were chatting her up, (no; he then mentioned the names of the sons of probably the richest, and most influential men in British horseracing) it just adds to their saleability.”

I said, “But, she’s pregnant. Surely... ”

“Just adds to the interest and intrigue,” he chortled. “You’re losing your grip son, I would have gone to over a thousand for any one of those shots.”

I asked him where he was going to sell the smoking shots, and he said that there was a huge market out there for exclusive photos like that, and if I had more similar shots of this girl he’d pay big money for excusive rights. I didn’t tell Lucy that, partly because it made her sound like a model, and partly because I wanted to keep her to myself, after all I reasoned, I hadn’t intended to include such intimate photos of her in the first place.

Lucy said, “Whilst we’re on the subject of photography, I had hoped to be able to make a monthly photo record of my pregnancy, now that photos don’t have to be developed and printed by strangers like they used to. Is it possible for you to set me up a camera so that I can take some privately? I think it’s probably best if I take them myself. I don’t know why, but I think I might be a bit shy in front of you. Stupid isn’t it?”

“No problem,” I said, trying hard to keep any disappointment from my voice, “I’ll set up a tripod, show you how to use the self timer and download from the card onto a memory stick. Printer can be used as well if you like, just don’t leave anything on the computer, ok, I might sell them by mistake and make myself a fortune,” I joked. She didn’t laugh this time, I think that she was a bit tense.

I set it all up in her bedroom so that she would feel comfortable, and she stood in her dressing gown while I demonstrated the camera controls. I left her to it and went outside to wash the car rather vigorously, trying to keep my mind off what was going on upstairs. Some chance! When I had finished I went into the kitchen, only to find Lucy there, still in her dressing gown.

She said, ”I know it was only supposed to be a monthly record shot, but I couldn’t seem to get the framing right.”

“No problem,” I said, wondering how it was possible to get anything wrong with a fully automated camera, “You can cut, crop and move anything around with Photoshop on the computer”.

She looked at me a bit vague and I realised that Lucy, probably, like most laymen, had never even heard of Photoshop, or any other photo manipulation programme for that matter.

“Despite what I said before Dan, would you please take them for me? I realise I’m being a bit prudish anyway considering what I’ve shown complete strangers before, it just seemed extra intimate with you and, well, I’ve still got lots of hair covering my girly bits. I like it that way anyway. I grow hair like ‘no ones business’ and I have to shave my underarm at least once a week, you’ve probably seen it thousands of times before - bit too much detail, sorry I’m babbling aren’t I? Sorry, a bit nervous, that’s all.”

“So that’s what Vince was talking about in the pub that day. Bastard.” She nodded and turned away embarrassed.

Using my best calming technique, which I’d perfected over years with nervous clients, I said, “Look lets just sit down and have a cup of tea, have a cigarette if you want, and if and when you’re ready we can take some photos, I’ll just treat it like one of my normal jobs, and I will only take side on shots if you’re happier with that.”

We did have tea and then went upstairs. I took the camera off its tripod and fussed around, positioning Lucy in the best natural light, which was entirely unnecessary for record shots, but that was the professional in me again, and I figured might make it less personal. When I was ready she turned side on to me and dropped her dressing gown, and………..’oh my God’. I tried to look calm and unruffled, but in all my photographic career, and the thousands of nudes that I’ve seen in the flesh over a decade, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a beautiful body.

Her pregnant tum looked beautiful, but it was her breasts that grabbed my attention. I’ve seen bigger, but usually drooping, smaller and pert, flat and pancake like, but these were something else. They weren’t just big, but had prominent nipples still in the lazy mode as I called it, i.e not yet erect, but the breasts themselves stood right out from her chest, with only a slight drop. Good job I was using an anti shake lens, because I’m sure that my hands had the jitters! I tried not to dither so I said, “all done,” after a few shots.

At that, without warning or hesitation she turned round full frontal, and I saw everything. My jaw must have dropped and I said, “ Oh crikey Lucy,” I couldn’t help myself.

She immediately put her hands down to cover her extensive pubic hair. “I did warn you,” she said, “you don’t like me - it, do you!”

I said, “Lucy, stop, please stop, it was just a reaction, an amazed one. No, I wasn’t expecting that much, but you are beautiful, very beautiful, everywhere including there, it’s the complete you that’s my problem, it’s all a bit too much for me to cope with at the moment”. She took her hands away and I rushed off a few shots then left her to get dressed.

I showed her how to unload the memory card and put the results onto a memory stick. She didn’t want to use the printer. We hardly spoke then all afternoon. On my part I thought that anything I said would make the situation worse, not better.

We had a near silent dinner, and as it was a beautifully mild autumn evening, we sat at our table in the garden. We drank our coffee in silence and she had a cigarette. After a while I was about to get up, when she stretched across the table and held my hand, and after what seemed ages she said, “I’m sorry Dan, I really am, you’ve hardly spoken to me since I turned to face you in the bedroom. I saw your face, I did warn you about the hair, I misinterpreted your reaction; I thought you looked shocked and I reacted. I’m not insensitive and I can see now what I’m doing to you, you must be in turmoil.”

I was about to speak, but she said, “Let me finish, then you can do what ever you want to do. Look Dan, I love living with you, I’m really content, relaxed and happy, and I’m actually enjoying my pregnancy and sharing it with you. You are so different from Vince, it was all about him, he’s very handsome and except for my figure, and that, ‘something special’ that people talk about, I’m no fantastic catch (I was finding great difficulty not refuting that). You must have seen his previous ex’s, they were stunning. No, I was punching well above my weight with him. He obviously didn’t love me and I was stupid to think that I loved him.”

“Enough about him. I keep thinking that I wish I had met someone like you before, I’d have been much happier carrying your baby. (What!) I don’t know what the future holds, but I can tell you that you are the loveliest, kindest man I have ever met, and in different circumstances I could easily fall for you. As it is I feel constantly guilty that I’m having these thoughts with someone else’s baby inside me. I didn’t quite realise what I was doing to you until this afternoon, now I know that it’s all a terrible tease for you. If I stay, then as I balloon up, hopefully you’ll go off me a bit, maybe it’s only lust after all.”

“Anyway I’ve contacted my mother again and I’m driving up there in the morning, I’ll stay a fortnight to give you some space. Work is okay with it. They told me I can have as much time off, as and when I like. If I don’t hear from you to the contrary, I’ll come back and try to keep more to myself, and no more photos, or rather I’ll take them myself. If you call me and you want me to leave I will, I know your mum and dad won’t be happy (understatement!) but I can’t do this to you, it’s not fair”.

She fell silent and I realised that she had been gripping my hand so tight that her knuckles had gone white. She released my hand. I was so shocked by the implications of what she had just said that I had to take a moment to collect my thoughts. Lucy reached for her cigarettes and lit one with a shaking hand.

I said, “Thank you for what you said. Some of it came as quite a shock, I didn’t realise that you had any feelings for me like that. There’s no way you are leaving here now until after the birth, and then only if or when you choose to.” I heard a big sigh of relief and she had tears in her eyes. “It’s not your fault about the teasing, it’s mine, you haven’t really done anything wrong, I’m so overcome by you that everything, every moment, is a tease, it’s my problem and I shall have to get over it. I can’t let you go, I’d never forgive myself.”

I continued, saying, ”I think it’s going to get worse as you grow, not better as you speculate, you are so beautiful, and after the birth what then? I overheard you talking to my mum about being determined to breastfeed. You’ll probably think me a bit kinky, but the thought of you breastfeeding with those,” I nodded down towards her breasts, “would drive any man insane. Well, it would me anyway. I shall take those photos of you every month if you’ll let me, and as many others of you as I can, nude or otherwise. I absolutely loved your hair by the way, now I’ve said too much and I’m the one whose embarrassed, sorry.”

She smiled, threw away her cigarette, took my hand again and I knew that everything was going to be ok. Later that evening I heard her on the phone cancelling the proposed visit on the grounds of not being fit to travel

Over the next weeks and months Lucy continued to work, as intended, right up to the end, and I tried my hardest to distract myself, catching up on work that I had neglected. We shopped together for all the baby things, decorated the nursery, pink for a girl, as we now knew, and went to natal classes together. I was still frustrated with longing, but overall we were much calmer with each other, me because I knew that I wasn’t losing her, in the short term anyway.

We held hands affectionately sometimes, and had a little standing cuddle once or twice, but never kissed, strange as it may sound. On one occasion we had a long cuddle, and I couldn’t escape pressing against her stomach which was getting quite big by then, and after a few seconds so was I. She didn’t try to pull back, and we stood there pressed hard against each other. “Don’t say sorry,” she said, then the doorbell rang as the postman delivered a parcel, and broke the spell.

Later that day Lucy said out of the blue, “You’re falling for me aren’t you Dan, big time. Please don’t I’m not worth it, and I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to lumber you with myself and a baby permanently.” She didn’t give me a chance to respond and I felt as if I had been kicked in the stomach.

The following night everything changed, forever.

Lucy was very tired and had gone to bed early, and I was in the bathroom getting ready for bed. Suddenly she called my name. I charged into her bedroom thinking her waters had broken, no too early for that, or something else drastic was happening. She was sitting up in bed holding her protruding stomach. “Quick, quick the baby’s kicking,” she said, and put my hand onto her bump. I’d long since stopped thinking of this little baby being Vince’s, and delighted at the movement under my hand. I was overwhelmed with love for her, and shared her delight as she moved my hand around her belly, The baby stopped, but she kept my hand there, pushing it lower and lower.

We stayed like that for ages, me not daring to move or to even dream about what might happen in the next few minutes. “Stay with me Dan, please,” she whispered, “and touch me please.” I lifted her nighty and gently cupped her whole hairy mass in my palm as she opened her legs. It was beautifully silky, like the hair on her head, unlike the coarse or bristly girls I’d touched before. I ran my finger up between her lips, and realised with yet more wonderment that she hadn’t been kidding about being ‘rather prominent’.

She started making little noises in her throat, then she said, “Stay on the outside please Dan, until I’m ready.” The baby chose that moment to start kicking again as if I was invading her territory, and once again the spell was broken. As I came up to her face level Lucy said, “Thanks for doing as I asked, I trust you but I need to be in control, no more tonight. I promise you there’s plenty more to come, but please stay with me. Oh and by the way, contrary to what I said before, please fall for me, big time." We kissed properly for the first time and I could have exploded with sheer joy.

We had to break off because she said, “Sorry Dan, got to pee, just one of the joys of pregnancy I’m afraid.”

When she came back she turned with her back to me and I cuddled her as best I could, trying to keep my hardness from sticking into her back. Plenty more to come she had said, and that is exactly what I would have done if I had pressed myself against her. I held her stomach, and when I felt the baby moving around inside again she didn’t react, so I guessed she was asleep. I moved my hands up to her breasts, feeling a bit guilty but very excited, only to get another surprise when I felt a bra, I hadn’t figured on that. Her breasts were even bigger by now and felt heavy and solid, not soft as I had imagined.

By this time I was getting desperate, so I slipped gently out of bed and went to the bathroom to relieve myself. I got back into bed and as I did so Lucy turned her huge self over, and put her leg over mine. We laid there, literally nose to nose with her open mouth breathing directly into mine.

How I ever got to sleep that night I don’t know, my heart was fit to burst. I did though, and when I woke up we were still face to face. Lucy was already awake and started to giggle as she said, “Now I don’t have to pretend to be asleep again to get you feel my tits do I?” and with that she pulled down the elasticated front of her nighty, unclipped the cup of her nursing bra and pushed a big breast into my face. HEAVEN!

After that we spent every night together. We didn’t attempt intercourse because it was getting late on in the pregnancy, although she said it would be ok if we did it gently, but we looked after each others needs wonderfully in every other way. Making a voyage of discovery around each others bodies was a delight, and I spent long periods unashamedly engrossed with my head between her legs in that wonderful hair. She said that she would have to trim it back soon for the birth, 'because it was too embarrassing for her with the midwife', but afterwards she promised she’d let it grow again.

There were lovely surprises too that we hadn’t expected, like the liquid that leaked from her nipple one day when I was sucking it, colostrum, or milk, I don’t know. After the initial surprise she said, "Wow, I could feel that coming out, try the other one!” Totally giving and understanding as always, I didn’t need to tell her anything. She said, “You’re not going to leave them alone when my milk comes in, are you,” and smiled. Fortunately we were totally unembarrassed with each other, we enjoyed every moment and everything.

We didn’t mention marriage, but we did talk seriously about the baby, and I think that Lucy was very relieved that I totally accepted it (careful with the choice of words Dan!) and maybe we could give her a little brother or sister one day. “No hurry though,” Lucy said, “we’ve got a lot of time to make up together, I want to enjoy you first.”

We didn’t tell mum and dad immediately, but mum read the situation accurately from our body language etc, as only mothers can. She manoeuvred me on my own and said, rather excitedly, “Dad and I have noticed a big change in Lucy recently, she’s looking very contented, you’ve changed as well. Are you two sleeping together?” which was her euphemism for everything sexual, “Please tell me you are in love.”

I didn’t even have a chance to answer, she read the look in my face. She burst into tears, and after a crushing hug she went rushing off into the lounge. Hugging Lucy as if she was her own child she said, “They are dad, they are, I told you so, oh you beautiful things, oh, wonderfu!l”

All rather embarrassing really, but we’ll get over it.