The Devil In Her Heart (Beatles Fan Fiction)

Chapter 6

February 1st 1965

Brian sighed.

He tried to surreptitiously look at his watch. Disappointingly, it had only travelled on three minutes since he had last glanced at it. As tedious dinner parties went, this one was a stunner. Brian tried to remember an occasion when he had been at a more dull party and failed. Two years ago he would have been thrilled to just be invited to something like this. Sitting around a crisp, white table cloth, sipping expensive wine and eating foods he couldn't pronounce the names of, but not now. Now, he was just tired and bored. It was a room full of people he didn't know, all talking to him like they were his oldest friends. They were all music business people of one sort or another, but the networking, the hob-nobbing and elbow rubbing - so important in the early days - all seemed redundant now.

Brian placed his napkin on the table and stood up, hoping he might slip away unnoticed.

"Oh Brian," trilled the hostess, Lydia, turning to him suddenly. "You're not leaving so soon are you?"

Brian cleared his throat. "Yes, I'm afraid I must be going," he said smiling as widely as he could. "Early start tomorrow."

"Busy, busy, busy!" she chastised him, and leaned in to kiss his cheek.

"Thanks for the..."

"Why don't you call me sometime?" she whispered softly in his ear.

"...lovely meal," Brian finished as she leant back from him. He nodded slightly. "Good night, Lydia," he said firmly and headed for the door.

The hallway of the house had been turned into a make-shift cloakroom with lots of coats, hats and scarves piled onto an anique chest standing beside a telephone table. Brian began to dig through the jumble looking for his own overcoat. A tap on his shoulder interrupted him and Brian looked around, still entangled in the scarves and coats, all seemingly knotted together. A short, smartly dressed man was standing behind him.

"Excuse me. You're Brian Epstein, aren't you?"

Brian coughed. "Yes," he said, and braced himsleft for it; I've got a lovely little pop group...

"I thought it was. I remember seeing your picture in the Times." The man swirled brandy in a large glass. He was dressed in a sharp navy blue pinstripe suit, perfectly tailored to his stout build and ample stomach. He had light blonde hair, plastered down with slightly too much Bryl Cream, and piercing blue eyes which stared cooly at Brian through round spectacles. "Oh, do forgive my manners," he said. "Michael Archer," and he extended his hand out to Brian.

Brian dropped his knot of scarves and shook his hand.

"I must say," the man continued. "I have long been an admirer of yours."

Brian was taken aback. He blinked. "Oh, I, er... thank you."

"NEMS Enterprises? It must be quite a little empire by now..."

"Oh, um, yes, I suppose it is," Brian replied, feeling a little embarrassed.

"Do you ever have people trying to take over or buy you out?"

Brian raised an eyebrow. "Now and then," he said carefully. "But it's not for sale."

The man laughed. "Oh no, I bet it isn't," he said.

"Quite," Brian replied and casting his eyes down finally found his coat on top of the pile he had been wrestling.

"Ah, you're leaving?"

"Erm, yes..." He pulled the coat out and slipped it on.

"Oh dear, and I was hoping to talk to you. I have a proposition for you."

"Well, if you give the office a call perhaps you could arrange an appointment..." Brian said, finding a business card in his pocket and offering it to the man.

"It's quite a delicate matter, actually." he replied, taking the card and studying it. "I'll come clean with you. I have made a bit of a study of NEMS and I think if you gave me a few months I could turn it around for you."

"Turn it around?"

"Yes. Maximise profit. Minimise waste. You deserve the spoils after all your hard work, don't you?"

Brian and opened the front door. The man took a step closer to him and leaned in, lowering his voice. "Do you even realise how much money you've been throwing away needlessly?" he asked.

"We seem to have managed rather well so far," Brian said, defensively. "Throwing money away on what exactly?"

"Oh, just small things, but they all add up, you know..."

"We do alright, thank you." Brian started to button up his coat, finding he had one button too many when he got to the top.

"I don't mean to criticise."

"Of course not," Brian said flippantly, still trying to work out his buttons.

Putting the brandy glass down on the telephone table, Michael Archer took a step closer. He brushed Brian's hands away and started to fasten the coat buttons for him. "Don't misunderstand me," he said looking up into Brian's eyes. "I think you are one of the finest entrepreneurs of our time, but what you need is a business manager."

"I have one..." Brian said, feeling his cheeks colour involuntarily at the proximity of the stranger.

"Yes but I mean a specialist," Michael said, and finishing with the last button, stepped back from Brian again. "Someone who really understands the inner workings."

"Yes, well, thank you for your advice" he said dismissively and turned towards the open door.

Archer put his hand on Brian's forearm. "I'm a member of a private club, not too far from here. The sort of... Gentleman's club a man like you would... appriciate. Perhaps we could adjourn there and discuss this further?"

Brian stopped, he looked at the young man carefully. "A club?" he asked.

The man nodded. "Yes, one for the man who prefers the... finer things."

"Oh," Brian said. "Well, I suppose I could take the time for a nightcap."

Michael smiled. "I knew you would." he replied confidently.