The Devil In Her Heart (Beatles Fan Fiction)

Chapter 37

November 16th 1965 5.30pm Kinfauns, Esher, Surrey

George waited impatiently in the hall of the bungalow, arms folded, toe tapping. "Grace, c'mon!" he shouted, in no particular direction. "Birds," he added, quietly to himself.

For some reason, perhaps it was the impending business of the evening, George had chosen to wear a suit – one of a set of four Beatle suits at that – the other three matching outfits in their respective owners wardrobes. It was navy mohair with fabric covered buttons. They had been tailor made for some early TV appearance, George couldn't quite recall. He could remember however, arguing with Brian over the colour. They had wanted black. Brian had said they would look like four funeral directors in black suits. Eventually they'd compromised with the Navy Mohair fabric. The TV show had been broadcast in black and white anyway.

Grace appeared from the bathroom, pushing George out of the way so she could see herself in the hall mirror, and running a brush through her long hair. "It's not me who was late, was it?" Grace complained, meeting George's eyes in the reflection.

George smiled and came closer to her, standing behind her. "You look nice," he told her, putting his hands on her waist. She wore a dark red velvet dress with a side vent to the skirt.

"Where have you been anyway?" Grace continued, ignoring the compliment.

"I had some stuff to take care of," George replied, he lifted her hair off her shoulders and pulled it back, leaning down to kiss the back of her neck.

"I thought you were in a hurry," she said.

George looked up at the pair of them in the mirror. Grace's face was blank, unreadable.

"Do you love me?" Grace said.

George stopped and stepped back. "You're right, they'll let the reservation go if we're too late," he said and turned away.

"Well, I'm ready," Grace said. She lifted her coat from the hook on the wall and put it on.

George nodded and opened the front door. The phone began to ring. "Ignore it," George said. "We're already late."

Grace glanced at the phone and then back at George. "I have to talk to you."

"When we get to the restaurant then, eh?" George said, shepherding her out of the door and closing it so that it locked. "We can't stay out too late, I'm meeting John and the others later."

Grace walked to the side of the silver Aston Martin. George thought she hadn't heard him and was about to repeat himself when she said, "Paul, too?"

"Yes, perhaps." George opened the driver's door and climbed in.

Grace stood, motionless beside the car door. George sighed and leaned over, opening the passenger door for her. "Get in," he said, his patience wearing thin. She looked down at him. "I'm not getting out again," he said, testily.

Grace got into the car, a sulky look on her face. George ignored it and put the key in the car's ignition. "Do you remember when we first met, Georgie?" she asked, closing the door.

George nodded and started the engine.

"It was because of this car," Grace said dreamily and looked out of her window, leaning her elbow on the frame.

November 16th 1965 8.30pm The Underground Club and Restaurant, Greek Street, London

George checked his watch, impatiently, not bothering to hide it from Grace. She sighed at him.

"I should call John," George said. "He's coming round tonight. We've got things to discuss..."

"It's not even nine yet," Grace replied.