Patrick George Callaghan

Episode 15 When her toes touched the carpet she felt the cold emptiness of a hollow bottle of wine beneath her feet. Rose had not bought her tea, and Edward must be at breakfast by now. In the dimness of her bedside alarm clock it looked like ten minutes to eight. In moments she had crossed the adhesive lino-floor barefooted and into the bathroom. She drew water to the bowl and sunk her face into its icy coldness. In the bedroom she pushed her feet into fluffy lilac slippers and lifted her nightdress over her head. The tingle of its folds caressed her pert breasts like erotic fingers and she sat nude on the satin-laced stool and gazed into the gilt ornate mirror placed on the onyx dressing table. That reflection had not been uncomfortable to her lately. She lifted the lid of a blue powder box and with her fingers gently blotted areas of suspect skin. Calmness came with the heavy red bruises around her painful lips that brought a reminder of that midnight passion. S...

For over 50 years I had communicated with American photographer Peter Gowland. He and his wife Alice often found time to write back to me on matters concerning the art of photography. Sadly Peter died in 2010 at a good age, having spent a lifetime photographing some of the world’s top actors at his studio home in Santa Monica, California. Peter and Alice still have a wonderful and most interesting website, so just hit google search and enjoy. Peter was the son of silent movie actor Gibb Gowland and that in itself provided him with the introduction to much of the Hollywood Studios. Their website is a fascinating insight into the lifestyle of one man and his woman.