Decisive moments don’t last.

In London, on business back in 2000, I made a point of taking some time off and rambling around the charmed streets of Mayfair, where my hotel happened to be.

Something of a throwback as I had not seriously indulged in street photography since leaving New York in 1987, having left London – heaven for street snappers – ten years earlier.

On this trip I brought along the Leica M6 (a camera with a flawed rangefinder which flared out at the drop of a hat) and but two lenses – the 35mm Asph Summicron and the 90mm Elmarit-M. You could go around the world with little more and have just the right equipment for nearly all photographic opportunities. And this was before everyone passing through an airport was subjected to deadly levels of rays passing for security. Not so good for film stock either.

This decisive moment stuff is not as difficult as it seems, with a bit of practice. The secret is in anticipating the juxtaposition of subjects a few seconds before things come to pass. The result is unhurried and fairly predictable, though a stroke of luck never hurts.

For those who love London – and absent the weather what’s not to love? – these obviously wealthy women were making their way down Conduit Street from Berkeley Square. I always made a point on London trips of paying a visit to the Rolls Royce dealer in Mayfair, not as a prospective customer, but merely as one gawking at the latest and greatest in their showroom. That day it was a gorgeous yellow pre-war Rolls.

I spotted them some fifty yards away, allowing me time to mess with that awkward meter and pretending to gaze at the car in the showroom. As they passed me it was the work of a second to raise the camera to eye level and press the shutter. Only as I was doing so the street smart one of the two cast a backward glance of undiluted anger at me. On the one hand she was probably concerned that her privacy had been invaded. On the other, she couldn’t quite be sure whether her likeness had been captured or whether this was just one more tourist taking a picture of an exotic car. Adding to her confusion was the fact that I was wearing my ever present Harris Tweed cap, like a proper Englishman. You can see my reflection in the front side window of the car.

The Angry Woman. Rolls Royce dealer, Conduit Street, London, 2000. Leica M6, 35mm Summicron.

I delayed pressing the button for the merest moment as she looked back at me and the picture was in the bag. It says everything I like and dislike about the English dowager in one decisive moment and is a pleasant memory of a fine trip.