Carnival of Light || Paul McCartney/Beatles

06. Paul's Harem Parade Vol. 1

Carnival of Light

6.

Matthew returned from Brighton, bringing me a beautiful pair of diamond and emerald earrings the size of my thumbnails, which must have cost a small fortune. They weren't really my taste, but I wore them with a black, sharply-tailored Ossie Clark suit when we stopped by Robert Fraser's flat a few days later. We went early before the party started because we were still being well-behaved. Matthew had the brilliant idea that I should ask Fraser for advice about the artwork for my book, and Fraser was more than happy to oblige.

We only stayed for an aperitif and a quick chat, and as we were leaving, Paul was arriving, and clinging to his hand was a pretty blonde wearing a turquoise swing dress.

I recalled the girl sitting on his lap at Bag O Nails, which I'd heard more about from Poppy the next day. She and Ringo went to the Scotch, where they'd had a cheeky snog and done some more dancing while Paul went home with the girl he'd been so dismissive of earlier. Of course I assumed he was unfaithful to Jane, but I hadn't seen it before, and it left me with a very bad taste in my mouth, especially when he'd brushed her aside so easily in front of me. And now here he was with another girl.

"Hullo, you two," Paul greeted us cheerfully, dropping his date's hand.

"Alright, McCartney," Matthew shook his hand jovially. "Say, how's that Aston Martin of yours?"

"Purring like a kitten, mate," Paul grinned and turned to kiss my cheek. "Hullo, love."

"Hello," I said. "How have you been?"

"Oh, just fine, thanks," he squinted at my earrings. "Christ, those are some rocks you've got there."

"They reminded me of her eyes," Matthew beamed at me and I smiled back at him, taking his elbow as I forced a smile for Paul.

"Lovely to see you," I said coolly.

One of his eyebrows twitched up as he re-took his date's hand, I could feel his eyes on me as I guided Matthew away.

***

The next week Matthew and I were at the Kasmin Gallery on New Bond Street for a new David Hockney exhibition. The opening had been a few days before, and after taking a look around, Matthew bought a few things and we shared a glass of champagne with Paul Kasmin, the gallerist who'd discovered Hockney.

We were getting ready to leave when Paul arrived with John Dunbar and two girls who might have been models from the same shoot, both brunettes with Vidal Sassoon haircuts and monochrome mini dresses. Paul was holding one of their hands, which he released when he saw us.

Matthew grinned: "McCartney! Fancy seeing you again!"

Paul replied: "Alright, McCleary! Fancy that!"

And then Matthew said: "Say, how're you finding the clutch on your Aston Martin? A pal of mine has the same model and he says it's a bit sticky."

And Paul grinned: "Oh, she's not sticky for me, mate!"

It occurred to me then that Paul was making fun of Matthew, and my expression soured as he turned to me, leaning in to kiss my cheek.

"Hullo love," he said.

"Hello," I said coldly. "How have you been?"

"I'm alright, thanks," Paul offered me a friendly smile. "And yourself?"

I pretended I didn't hear him and turned away to look up at Matthew. "Shall we go?"

"As you wish, my darling," he beamed at me.