The Devil In Her Heart (Beatles Fan Fiction)

Chapter 14

June 3rd 1965

George lay on his side, staring at the rose pink wall. There was a shaft of bright sunlight cast across it coming from the window, but he couldn't bear to turn and look at the blue skies outside. It didn't feel appropriate. With the early morning sun had come regret. Bruised pride and hurt feelings had lead to rash decisions. When George had agreed to come back to Grace's flat with her, he hadn't intended to sleep with her. The idea had occurred to him when he had wanted to shut her up, stop her talking, but it didn't seem like such a fantastic idea in the cold light of day.

The bedroom was as beautiful as the whole flat. A perfect balance of the modern and the traditional, tasteful even down to her bed sheets; satin, silk and pima cotton. A lovely feel on naked skin, as George was aware. His mind ached but it wasn't a hangover. He hadn't drunk enough. George tried to picture where he had discarded his clothes in the journey from the living room to the bedroom. He wondered if Grace would bring them to him.

He had pretended to still be asleep when she had gotten up a short while ago, but in truth he had been awake since dawn, alone with his thoughts. He had considered getting up and going home but he felt unable to, so hours later he was still lying there. Beds normally felt like safe places, but this one didn't.

"Good morning, darling," Grace purred, as she came in carrying a breakfast tray. She wore a black opaque dressing gown, tied only loosely at the waist. George couldn't remember her putting it on. Perhaps she kept one in the kitchen for such an occasion.

She sat down on the queen sized bed next to him, folding her legs underneath her. "I made toast," she told him. "Do you crave honey... or marmalade?"

"Neither," George said with a cough and wriggled to sit up, keeping the bed covers up to his chest.

"I'm surprised if you haven't worked up an appetite after last night."

"No, well. Perhaps we need to... talk about that."

"Oh, George, are you telling me you're still fretting over that girl?" Grace said, buttering a round of toast.

George blinked at her flippancy. "That girl? Pattie? Your best friend, supposedly?"

Grace handed him the toast and George took it anyway. "Don't you put this on to me now," she said, her voice even and calm. "You were the one who..." she cleared her throat, "...jumped, on me!"

George bit into the toast and said nothing.

"Now, sweetheart, let's not quarrel," Grace said.

"Could you... could you have made a mistake?" he asked, not looking at her.

"No, George. She's definitely sleeping around. She tells me all the details... except for who he is, of course."

"Why won't she tell you who?"

"She say's it wouldn't be fair. Not until they've had a chance to tell you. His girlfriend is a mutual friend too, apparently. Poor girl hasn't a clue."

"Yeah, well, neither did I," George replied, resentfully.

Grace turned to him and frowned concerned. "That's why I had to tell you, George," she said, snuggling up to him. "You do understand that, don't you, love?"

"Yes."

"I couldn't let her carry on making a fool of you." George's spirit dropped again. Grace saw his face and kissed him, not quite on the mouth. "Everything will be alright," she said. "In fact, everything will be just perfect."

"I think I should talk to Pattie," George said, trying to imagine what that conversation could possibly sound like.

"Yes," Grace agreed. "No loose ends."