Photographic Memory.

In the great scheme of things, possibly, it wasn't much of a
landmark. Ten years together, just another date on the calendar. Of
course, Ian knew that Polly didn't see things that way: she was a
woman, and as such she had an entirely different attitude to such
mundane matters as wedding anniversaries. He'd found that out to his
cost, early on in their relationship, when he'd arranged a night out
with the lads before noticing the fateful date - February the
fourteenth.

He'd sent Valentine cards, of course, even scraped a few of his own off
his mat in good years, but he hadn't attached the same totemic
significance to the day as Polly obviously did. It had been a blunder
of epic proportions: the aftershocks had struck, severe and unexpected,
for weeks afterwards before Polly's anger faded into odd reproachful
grumbles. He'd learned, though - oh, yes, he'd learned never to make
that mistake again.

Ian stood, stretched and pondered the situation. Given the fact that he
and Polly had initially struck sparks off each other, maybe they'd done
well to last this long. Maybe they'd done well to make it to their
second date. It had been a fiery, tumultuous courtship, peppered with
blazing rows and "final" breakups which had inevitably led to bitter
regrets and breathless all-night reconciliations. That had always been
good.. Ian smiled slyly to himself. Very good..

He forced himself back to the present. There was still much to organise
- he'd booked their favourite table months in advance, fearful of the
eruption that would inevitably follow failure in that most simple of
tasks. They could afford better than Pablo's slightly passe
establishment now, and ate out as a matter of course. Back then,
however, straight out of college, restaurants had been an occasional
treat and Pablo's new venture had appeared to be the epitome of
sophisticated dining. Yes, it was the only place to go - Polly would
understand that, though she'd not actually offered her opinion on the
subject. It was his job to organise these things; her role was to feign
surprise at his thoughtfulness and massage his wilting ego.

He kneeled and sorted through the bedroom drawers. This wasn't his
natural territory, and he wouldn't normally have dreamed of rummaging
through the underwear, crumpled theatre tickets and piles of
heavily-annotated old exam papers if he hadn't misplaced his best tie.
Polly had selected it specially, and all hell would break loose if he'd
mislaid it. Guaranteed.

"Ah!" he breathed audibly as he glimpsed the irritating neckwear tucked
beneath an old photograph album. As he yanked at the tie, it duly
unravelled and, swearing to himself, he fumbled in the drawer to
discover the other end. Finding it, his fingertips made contact with..
mm, yes, it was.. the missing film!

Casting the tie aside, Ian sat back on his haunches and smiled. He'd
been looking for this for ages, with no success. Polly had threatened
to discard it, but he'd always suspected that she'd shy away from
actually carrying out her threat. The contents were too precious,
though he'd never been able to get them developed.

And, it was no wonder that the film had remained undiscovered for all
those years - it had somehow wormed its way down into the piles of old
documents and schoolday relics that neither of them were willing to
cast out. "Lord above," he murmured, holding the cylinder aloft. "It
looks like a relic from the dark ages." A lifelong photography
enthusiast, he'd nevertheless long since transferred his hobby to a
state of the art (and horrifically expensive) digital model, processing
his work on the home computer.

But this.. this was a genuine gem, and he'd thought it had long since
vanished. Tucking the errant tie away where he couldn't miss it, Ian
went bounding down into the empty lounge. He had three days, so he'd
need to take it in straight away and ask for the express service. Cost
didn't matter, not in this case. He smiled mischievously as he recalled
shooting it. They had been in the conservatory, a private structure
shielded from prying eyes by next door's double garage.

It had been, what, five years ago now? Polly had started the whole
thing, after all - she'd complained of the semi-tropical heat and
loosened her blouse in a languid, provocative manner that, she knew
very well, would arouse her husband's baser instincts. After helping to
adjust her clothes, he'd stepped back and thought.. why not?

He'd suggested it straight away - why not shoot some film of Polly in
various stages of undress? Not pornography, anything but.. nude
photography had a long and distinguished history, after all. Nobody
bothered about processing such shots, not these days: nobody took any
notice unless there was something clearly illegal going on - and he
wasn't suggesting that. Polly had gone unexpectedly coy, but he'd
talked her round. Running for his camera and a fresh film, he'd taken
up much of that humid Sunday afternoon posing Polly among the exotic
plants and cane furniture.

Surprisingly rapidly, she'd got the hang of it - even the pouting,
sulky facial expressions that seem de rigeur in such circumstances. By
the end of the session, she'd even insisted on taking shots of him
similarly posed and they'd ended up using the camera stand and timer to
take several tasteful but highly erotically-charged shots of them both
together. There had been nothing too explicit, though, nothing that
would prevent the film being developed by a mainstream
laboratory.

It had only been on the following Monday morning that Polly had
suffered from a nasty and wholly unwelcome attack of cold feet and
begged him to forget about the photos, just leave that Sunday afternoon
session as a wonderful, funny memory. To emphasise her point, she'd
quietly taken the film from the dressing table, where Ian had left it
after taking it out, and refused to tell him where she'd hidden it.
There, the matter had rested, though Ian was sure her oddly prudish
attitude would have softened over the years. Yes, it would be the big
surprise of their anniversary dinner.

He drove into town, arriving back home before Polly came in from her
late shift at the office. She arrived, exhausted, to a delicious yet
unexpected cooking aroma and a bottle of decent wine already open on
the table. When she laughingly enquired as to what her guilty partner
was attempting to cover up so clumsily, Ian simply smirked and tapped
his nose knowingly. .

Ian adjusted his tie for the umpteenth pointless time as Polly fussed
around making her final adjustments. Feeling carefully for the bulge in
his inside pocket, Ian made a great show of ushering his wife out to
the waiting taxi. He'd collected the packet after work, stopping in the
shop to make sure that they were the shots he'd been expecting. He'd
not been disappointed - the first had been of Polly draped artistically
across a cane chair, posing among the hothouse plants but hiding
nothing. The rest, he thought, he'd save for later.

They made a handsome pair, it had to be admitted - Ian in his best suit
and tie, hair freshly cut for the occasion: Polly in her most
flattering long dress, hair combed down, still stunningly
attractive.

"Ah! Mister MacIntosh! And the lovely.." Pablo Junior bowed low to kiss
Polly's hand. Though his friends knew him as Terry, Pablo Junior could
still put on a show for his valued customers. His father had taught him
well.

"We have the flowers! Special for you!" he announced, making a great
show of leading the couple through to their table. Once ensconced, Ian
ordered the Champagne and leaned forward to whisper:

"Happy?"

"Of course." Polly clasped his hand tightly, smiling coyly. "No-one
could make me happier than you do. No-one."

"I'm glad to hear it, but.. not even Tim?"

"No, not Tim." Polly snapped, crisply and coldly, and Ian realised just
too late that he'd perpetrated a major faux pas. Tonight of all nights,
too. "That was never what you thought it was."

"I'm sorry, I know that," Ian whispered, desperately trying to make
amends for his crass error. "Let's talk about us."

"Right. It's our night, isn't it?" Polly, luckily for her careless
husband, seemed content to let the matter slip. Tim, who'd since moved
to London with his partner, had been a workmate of Ian's who shared his
passions for football and photography - even to the extent of remaining
a fanatical City supporter when such an allegiance seemed positively
eccentric. Ian had stopped inviting him back after he'd begun to
suspect that Tim was calling round, uninvited, while he was heavily
engaged in some work project. Polly had made a big joke about it, then
hotly denied any wrongdoing. The matter was officially closed, but Ian
still harboured secret doubts: doubts, however, that should never have
been mentioned on this very special evening.

"I've got a surprise," Ian whispered as they clinked glasses. "A
skeleton in our closet, no less."

"Really?" Polly chuckled. "I'm fascinated."

"It's those photos.. the nude ones, you remember? In the
conservatory?"

"What?" Polly shouted nervously, turning nearby heads. "I told you,
years ago. I got rid of the film!"

"You made a mistake," Ian assured her, pulling the packet from his
inside pocket. "I found it under some old exam papers in the drawer
upstairs, of all places. I wasn't looking, I just came across
them."

"Oh.." Polly gulped, knowing that she'd probably gone as white as a
sheet. But she'd thrown it away, she knew she had.. she'd thrown one
film away, anyway. The wretched things all looked the same.

"It's okay, don't be shy!" Ian whispered. "Don't look so shocked! Look,
this first one's of you posing on the cane chair with just that fern
thing draped to preserve your modesty. It's very artistic, I think.
Don't remember taking you exactly like that, but.." he shrugged.

"No.." Polly croaked, fearing the worst.

"And this second one, look! It's one of.." he trailed off. "You, that
plant and.. Tim."