The Devil In Her Heart (Beatles Fan Fiction)

Chapter 51

November 18th 1965

Paul studied his reflection in the mirror in the hallway. He adjusted the knot of his tie for the fifth time, and then sighing in frustration, pulled it undone and started to tie it again.

Jane hovered at the foot of the stairs. Paul looked at her through the mirror. “How do I look?” he asked.

“Gorgeous as normal,” she replied with a weak smile.

Paul returned the smile and concentrated on the tie again. Gorgeous, as normal. He couldn’t feel further from ‘normal’.

“Are you sure this is good idea?”

“What?” Paul replied, absently.

“Going to George’s hearing. Isn’t it just going to be circus down there? You’ll just be adding to all the madness being there as well.”

“If I don’t go, George will be on his own.”

“He won’t. He’ll have the barrister with him.”

“Whom he’s never even met. No manager, no assistants, no friends to stand with him.” Paul aimed for casual but assertive, but it came out sounding strangled and uncertain. He felt like he’d been left flying the plane, and he had no idea what to do. There had been no word from John, Ringo and Pattie and Paul was worried. No, worried was what he was last night. This morning it was more like panic, rising up from his stomach in waves every few moments.

“George is a big boy, Paul. I’m sure he can manage.”

Paul turned towards her. “He’s my best friend. More than that, he’s like my brother. I can’t let him go through this alone. I won’t.”

“Really?” Jane said flatly, stepping closer to him. “Your brother? Would your ‘brother’ do this?”

She produced a newspaper from behind her back and pushed it under his nose. It was today’s copy of the Daily Mirror. Goodness knew where she’d got it. The Ashers were strictly Times and Telegraph readers by rule.

2 BEATLES AND THE MODEL: The sordid love triangle between Beatle George, Beatle Paul and model, Pattie Boyd which lead to the death of socialite, Grace Burgess.

Paul glanced at it then snorted. “Well, that didn’t come from George, did it?” he said derisively.

“Who did it come from then?”

“Who knows? What’s it matter?”

“What’s it matter?!” Jane repeated, disbelievingly. “Your name’s being dragged through the mud, Paul!”

Paul dropped the paper in to the wastepaper basket beside the hallstand. “You should know better than to read those rags. Where did you get it from anyway?”

“Someone pushed it through the door.”

“Well, it’s all rubbish. You know that.”

Jane pursed her lips.

“Don’t you?” Paul asked.

“I know what you’ve told me.”

“Look, if all that was true, would I be standing here with you right now? If I’d had some kind of affair with Pattie?” It came out sounding a lot more flippant than Paul had intended. Hurt flickered in Jane’s eyes. He put his arm out to her but she didn’t move into him as he’d expected.

“I just… I just wish this was all over and we could go back to normal.”

“Yes, well. So do I.” He picked his overcoat from the peg where it hung and slipped it on over his suit jacket.