The Devil In Her Heart (Beatles Fan Fiction)

Chapter 30

11.30am

Paul stood in first floor window of the reception of NEMS offices over looking Argyle Street. "Come on, George, come on, George," he chanted softly to himself, as he watched the street below.

The narrow road outside was busy, jammed with cars and people hurrying past, but as of yet – there wasn't a sign of George.

"He won't turn up," John said into his newspaper. He sat across the room from Paul on an old wine coloured leather sofa.

Paul turned back from the window. Ringo was sitting next to John, looking uncomfortable. John made himself at home, as he did with any space he occupied for any length of time – feet up on the coffee table, slouched in his seat, reading a newspaper as if he was in the front room of his own home. The receptionist, a new one – one Paul hadn't seen before anyway – was making a good job of pretending not to be eavesdropping, sitting behind her desk, shuffling papers and answering the occasional phone call.

"He'll be here," Paul said confidently, adding Don't let us down, George, in his head.

John snorted contemptibly. "Like he's arsed about this fuckin' band?"

Paul looked away from him and cast his eyes around the room – anywhere but at the door that George still refused to walk through. The reception room was immaculate and stylish. Good taste right down to the paintings on the walls and the tie–backs on the curtains. The mixture of the antique and the modern sat next to each other perfectly. The two sofas, Paul suspected, were older then him, John and Ringo put together – but after all, behind the entertainment and music empire, the furniture business was where Brian's expertise had been.

It was comforting to be somewhere that was so undeniably Brian, after he had been 'missing' for so long. It showed he was still there, still the steady, levelheaded support behind The Beatles. So long as we have Brian, everything will be okay, Paul thought.

No one had seen Brian since the dressing room at the Ed Sullivan show. Not once had Brian emerged – even when they had returned to England, amid press rumors and tabloid headlines about arguments, walk outs and splits. Not so much as a phone call. If Paul hadn't spent so much time worrying about George and The Beatles coming apart at the seams, he would probably have been worrying about Brian instead.

"You can go through to the meeting room now," the receptionist announced. Paul picked up on an ever so slight tremble in her voice.

John folded his paper and stood up, knocking some magazines from the coffee table as he lifted his feet off it. "Can't you see we're not ready yet?" he said, a little abrasively. "We are still waiting for Mr Harrison. We will 'go through' when we're good and ready, Miss." He added the 'miss' with some venom. Paul caught his eye and smiled. John pursed his lips and looked away. He picked up the magazines from the floor and dropped them back on the table.

A silence descended for a moment. Paul listened to the people walking past outside, trying, hoping to recognise George's gait, his boot heels on the pavement, but still he didn't come.

The office door, the one that read 'Brian Epstein' in black lettering on gold, opened and Michael Archer leaned out. He glanced briefly at the three Beatles and then turned his attention to the girl behind the desk. "Didn't you ask them to wait in the meeting room, Miss Croxley?"

"Yeah, she did," John said, before the girl could reply.

"They're waiting for Mr Harrison," she said, timidly.

Archer sighed and checked his watch. "I have a meeting across town," he said. "I'll have to leave. This will have to keep for another time."

"It won't," John said firmly. "We're having it out here and now."