Carnival of Light || Paul McCartney/Beatles

15. Cavendish: Part 1

Carnival of Light

15.

Maureen Cleave was an arts and culture writer for the Evening Standard, and a personal friend of the Beatles. She was poised and friendly-looking, her hair cut in a cute bob, her pinafore dress and patterned shirt a little dowdy but professional. She was waiting for me at a table at the restaurant we'd agreed to in Park Square.

I had dressed simply – slim jeans with a white man's shirt loosely tucked in, a thin gold necklace and flat leather sandals – avoiding anything overtly swinging or groovy. Maureen's eyes swept over me, taking notes.

"Hello," she shook my hand. "It's nice to meet you, Miss Beauford."

"Beatrix, please," I smiled at her and we sat.

I was grateful when she didn't open with "So, you're friends with Paul McCartney?" which I felt like I'd had to defend more times than I cared to count recently. Instead she asked me about Oxford. I had been at Somerville and she had been at Queen Anne's, and we spoke about being women at Oxford and our mutual experiences there, which bled into questions about my influences, which ranged from William Blake and Virginia Woolf to Marcel Duchamp and Michelangelo Antonioni, and she was keen to hear what excited me about London's counterculture.

And after I told her, she finally asked: "So you're friendly with Paul McCartney?"

I hesitated. "Yes, we have a lot of the same friends and I'm always running into him."

"I interviewed Paul in March," she explained. "He was excited about many of the same things you are."

"Well," I paused thoughtfully. "We're at an exciting moment in time where our society is changing, the old rules no longer apply. And that especially applies to art and ideas about what art should be or can be. If you throw the rules out the window the possibilities for expression are endless. The Beatles are changing the rules about what it means to make pop music. They're a perfect example about how taking a different path can lead to extraordinary art."

Maureen smiled and took a note.

We spoke for ages and I asked Maureen about herself until she reminded me I was not interviewing her. We finished up an hour later than we were meant to, and I'd sort of forgotten I'd agreed to meet Paul until I stepped outside into the sunshine, and saw him waiting for me across the street beside the gate to Regent's Park.

He was wearing dark jeans and a tee-shirt beneath an unbuttoned blue shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and he had an Old English Sheepdog puppy on a lead with him. He smirked when he saw me, but as I crossed the street and walked toward him, I only had eyes for the dog, which looked like a tangled ball of yarn with a tongue.

"Oh, hello!" I said, dropping down so I could pet it. It jumped up and started licking my face as I gave it a cuddle and cooed at it like a lunatic.

"Who's this?" I looked up at Paul.

"Martha," he said, looking amused. "I take it you like dogs."

"I love dogs," I sighed. "Hello, Martha. HelloHelloHello!"

And a bit more like that until Martha and I were satisfied with each other and I straightened up, brushing myself off.

"Sorry," I grinned and wiped my cheek. "You probably won't want to kiss me now."

Paul's eyebrows rose as he stepped towards me. "Course I do."

He put his hand on my shoulder and we exchanged a brief kiss on the cheek. Then he inclined his head to the park.