The next couple of days were mercifully busy for May as she worked hard on the film set. The train scenes were only to last for another four days, so the pressure was on to get everything done correctly and to schedule. Being occupied helped her keep her mind off Jack and in the evenings she had George and Ringo to concentrate on, cooking them dinner and listening to stories of the Beatles.
May appeared a lot happier, and George hoped that whatever Jack had said to her on the phone had changed her mind about going back to him. Not because he wanted her to stay with him, George told himself, but because he didn’t want to see her hurt. However, George decided to put down what had happened the other night to the effects of alcohol, on both parts. May was married, rightly or wrongly, and it was obvious the only man she wanted was her husband. Besides, he rationalised, why would I want to bother with a married woman? Like Ringo said, it’s just an invitation for trouble. George could pretty much have any girl he cared to flirt with; Girls like May are ten a penny. In fact there was a pretty blonde model, who was an extra in the film that appealed to him.
Still, it was nice to have May around and she could certainly cook better than him or Ringo. They had mostly relied upon their neighbours, Fred and Carol, previously. And he did genuinely like her, as a friend. She had a similar sense of humour to him and he found he could have interesting conversations with her, unlike most of the female Beatles fans he had met, whose topics didn’t stretch much further than Beatles, Beatles and more Beatles. Very flattering but after about the fiftieth identical conversation, also very boring.
“There’s that Oxford thing tonight,” Ringo said over breakfast two mornings after the phone call to Jack.
“Oh, forgot about that,” George moaned.
“What’s that?” May asked sipping orange juice, cold from the fridge.
“We’re having dinner and drinks at a college in Oxford. It’s a charity thing.”
“Very tedious,” Ringo added.
“D’ya wanna come?” George asked her idly.
“Don’t you think you’d better ask Brian first?” Ringo said. It was usually a deal for the main four only.
“Why not?” George said, “You wouldn’t mind lurking about in the background, would yer?” he said to May, “Perhaps we could do somat afterwards. You know, I keep reading about these wild and crazy lives we’re all living. We might try it sometimes.”
May smiled, “ A train and a room, a car and a room, and a room and a room.”
The two Beatles blinked at her blankly.
“The film?” she said, “Haven’t you read your own script?”
Brian begrudgingly agreed that May could accompany them to Oxford, but only after George implied that otherwise he might take another unscheduled jaunt to Wales. “But on the conditionshe comes as a secretary or an assistant to me, or something,” he said, “and you sit on separate tables, and absolutely no pictures.”
Filming broke slightly earlier that afternoon, and the Beatles attended a ‘drinks’ at Vincent’s, a very exclusive establishment for members of the Oxford University Sportsmen’s club. The presence of ladies was not exactly welcomed at this very all-boys-together club, so Mal offered to take May to the town instead so she could pick out a dress for the evening meal.
“Oh no,” May said politely, “you join the others, I’ll be okay on my own.”
“Shhh!” Mal hissed to her, “Don’t make me go in there! I can’t stand all those upper class twits, poking and peeping at the bizarre, but ever so fashionable working classes!”
May giggled.
“They only invite the Beatles because they’re the flavour of the month. They probably don’t own a pop record among them! And Brian accepts the invites! Well, I guess that because he’s one of them, or wants to be…” Mal continued ranting, wandering off. May followed, nodding and humouring him.
She found a new dress quickly, a blue one, which was a little daringly low cut. Jack would never approve May thought, viewing herself in the mirror at the shop, and she firmly decided it was definitely the one.
She travelled with the rest of the Beatles entourage, reduced that night to only Brian, Alistair Taylor and his wife, and May had to take Brian’s private assistant, Wendy Hanson’s place, which she gave up a little too eagerly for Brain’s liking. The meal was at Brasenose College, an old, grandiose building filled with paintings of old, grandiose college deans and lecturers, mostly posing with books under their arms. The dining hall had three long tables and one smaller head table, where the Beatles were seated as guests of honour alongside the central members of the fundraising organisation. It was in aid of Oxfam and the fundraising Oxford had done for it, although the whole affair seemed to be more of a backslapping exercise than an awareness-raising effort. The man who had arranged the meal sat himself down next to John and in the centre of the table. His name was Jeffery Archer, as he kept reiterating during his speech and the young man seemed to May over confident and with decidedly shifty eyes.
A couple of other dull and dusty speeches followed Mr. Archer’s before the food was to be served. George picked May out of the crowd, despite her sitting so far at the back of the room she was practically outside. He caught her eye and pulled a face at her. May stifled a giggle, and Brian sitting next to her frowned at George, who if he had noticed, pretended he hadn’t.
The food, on the other hand, was easily the best May had ever tasted, four courses of cordon bleu and stylishly accompanied throughout by a harpist and flutist in the corner of the room. When the meal was reduced to empty bowls and screwed up napkins, Brian sat back in his chair and patted his full stomach.
“Wendy was a fool to give up that!” he said to May.
May nodded, “That was the nicest thing I’ve ever eaten.”
As the affair was more or less over people had gotten out of their chairs and started mingling. Brian spied a few very dignified young Oxbridge candidates and taking a glass of wine drifted over to speak to them. George took his place at the table next to May, slightly startling her as she hadn’t realised he was there.
“Don’t do that!” she laughed at him.
“On the wine again?” George asked.
“Don’t start that again!” she said with an exaggerated sigh.
“Mind if I take a picture?” said an eloquent voice from the other side of the table. A blonde boy gripped a camera smiling eagerly. “It’s for the University paper.”
“Yeah, go on then,” George said, repositioning himself in the chair, “If you’re quick about it.”
“No pictures Brian said,” May reminded him in a whisper.
“Its only for the school paper,” the photographer coaxed, framing up his camera.
“Won’t hurt.” George agreed and he put his arm around May. The boy took his photo and scurried off to shoot John and Ringo. “We’ve got to head off back to London soon,” George said to May when he’d gone.
“Oh? So soon?”
“Yeah, more bloody train work tomorrow, isn’t it? We’ll all be permanently walking like this soon!” He swayed from side to side as if he was on a rocking train. May chuckled. “You like that runner’s job though, eh?” George asked, still swaying.
“Yes, I do. Stop that, you’re making me dizzy!”
George stopped moving, “Was that what you were doing at uni then?”
“No, I did journalism in a more broad sense. I had a part time job for ATV London, before I met Jack. But I gave all that up.”
“What for?”
“Jack said it was pointless. What kinds of jobs are there for women in the media? Cinema usherette?”
George laughed, then stopped seeing May’s face, “Oh no,” he said, “There are lots…”
“Other than make up and costume?”
“Oh, maybe just a few then. There are some though. You should give it a go.”
“Yeah, well, being stuck in mid-Wales isn’t exactly ideal.”
“How’s about a nightcap somewhere when we get back to the city?” George asked, swiftly changing the subject. Since the phone call they hadn’t spoken about Jack and Wales, and George felt it was still a bit of a prickly subject.
“It’s a bit late,” May replied, glancing up at the antique clock that dominated the hall.
“Perhaps another night then,” George said dejected.