Carnival of Light || Paul McCartney/Beatles

09. Beauford House

Carnival of Light

09.

It seemed very likely that Tara and Nicki were going to become estranged, and Tara was doing everything he could to avoid thinking about it, which meant taking a lot of drugs and avoiding their house in Eaton Row. In the days after the party, Tara spent a lot of time with me at Beauford House in between staying the night with Suki at her flat in Chelsea.

Tara was one of only two people – the other being Matthew – I'd entertained at home. It wasn't that I wasn't allowed to have people over, it just didn't feel right. Beauford House was my family's house. There were oil paintings of my dead relatives hanging on the walls and outrageously grand rooms that were never used. My housekeeper Mrs Fitz had worked for my family for thirty years, and before me, she'd looked after my father.

But I'd started inviting Tara over for tea and lunch, and because he was the well-mannered heir to the Guinness fortune, Mrs Fitz didn't mind.

It was unseasonably hot for June, like high summer had come early. Tara came around to hide from Nicki and we went out to the courtyard, which was west-facing and got a wonderful amount of light. The courtyard wasn't large, but it was very charming, the floor made of great slabs of white stucco, and carved neoclassical columns and railings to match the house's exterior. It hadn't been looked after for decades, so all the planters were overgrown, thick with wild greenery, and there were some very nice trees, including a sweet cherry blossom and a lovely eucalyptus.

Tara and I sat down at a rusty wrought iron table and sparked up a joint, both of us wearing oversized tinted sunglasses that did little to ward off the bright glare from the sun above.

"We need sun loungers out here," Tara announced, taking a drag.

"You're obsessed with bloody sun loungers," I peered at him over the top of my shades. "Where on earth would we even get them from?"

The next day the bell rang, and Mrs Fitz opened the door to Tara and a man-with-a-van bearing two great brown boxes containing sun loungers. We set them up in the courtyard and stretched out on them, grinning because it was quite indulgent, almost like being on holiday with the sun so bright overhead. We smoked grass and played music through the window to the day room, and Mrs Ftiz served us finger sandwiches and tea.

The next day when the bell rang, Mrs Fitz opened the door to Tara wearing swim trunks and a Hawaiian print shirt, a bottle of wine in hand, and I laughed at him as she let him over the threshold into the reception hall.

"Go on, Bea Bea," he grinned at me. "Put your bikini on, I bet you look marvellous."

I put my bikini on and threw my dressing gown over it – I loved that dressing gown. It was pale green silk embroidered with black thread with a long sash with tassels. A very indulgent present to myself in Paris. I popped on a pair of sunglasses and Tara and I sat out in the courtyard, sunning ourselves and drinking cold wine. He turned pink and had to hide under the shadow of the cherry tree, but I went golden.

The bell rang again the next day, and I skipped down to the reception hall, already wearing my bikini and dressing gown. I reached the landing just as Mrs Fitz opened the front door, revealing Tara in his swim trunks again, and also Paul, who was wearing a thin short-sleeved shirt, jeans and a rather groovy pair of round, tinted sunglasses. He had a guitar case with him too.

My heart gave an evil little leap seeing Paul there dressed like he was on holiday. Seeing him in my home, especially after what happened the last time I saw him when things had felt so... complicated. I had been doing my best not to think about him with limited success since then.