Carnival of Light || Paul McCartney/Beatles

20. Cavendish: Part 2

Carnival of Light

20.

Matthew arrived in London via Paddington the day after Paul's incredibly charming and romantic goodbye, and I met him at the station.

"Darling!" Matthew gathered me up in his arms. "Oh, I missed you to bits and pieces, my love."

"I missed you too," I kissed him. It was safe and it brought me back to earth where I could live comfortably and happily instead of floating in the clouds where I could come crashing down to break my neck at any moment. "Oh, I'm so pleased that you're back."

I suddenly had tears in my eyes.

"Oh, darling, don't cry, let's go get a drink, shall we?"

We went for cocktails at Home House. We got a bit pissed and had a swim. We got dressed up and went to Kettner's Townhouse for dinner and champagne, and then we walked around Hyde Park, basking in the glow of being together again.

This was why I loved Matthew. It was just lovely and easy to understand and I knew exactly who he was and where I stood with him. It was uncomplicated.

We were in each other's pockets all week, going out for dinner and dancing and to parties. Then we took off to Portugal on an impromptu holiday. I actively ignored the newspapers, which we traditionally read in bed together every morning over coffee in our pyjamas and dressing gowns. Matthew read the papers and caught me up on how horribly the Beatles American tour was going. Their stop in Memphis seemed especially terrible.

"Those poor chaps," Matthew sighed. "I wish we could do something. This must be ghastly for them."

"Mm," I agreed, focusing on my book. I was re-reading Simone de Beauvoir's She Came To Stay, a novel about a Ménage-à-Trois gone wrong.

We came back from Portugal lovely and tanned, and we had a few nights out in London before we went to Lisemore for a long weekend. Lavinia was five months pregnant and showing quite a bit more now, and Barney was pleased as punch about it. We went for a ride — i was very out of practice — and had a Sunday Roast at the village pub and took lovely walks, taking picnics with us. I even managed to have one nice exchange with my mother. She was pleased I'd made such a "good match" with Matthew, which surprised her because I never seemed to do what pleased her.

"I'm happy to see you and Matthew getting on so well," she said, eyeing me curiously. "You seem very happy, Bea Bea."

"I adore him, Mamma," I beamed, and her mouth twitched into the closest thing I've ever seen to a smile.

On the train back to London, Matthew and I discussed a trip to Australia in the new year. His sister was living out there, and she was about to give birth to her second baby. Australia was so far away it was foolish to only go for a short time. Three or four months seemed enough to really soak it all in, and by 1967 we may have grown tired of swinging London anyway.

"I may go to Paris sometime soon," I mused. "I have these art dealers to meet, but really I just fancy having a wander around on my own, you know? Kind of get lost with myself." 

"You're such a romantic, darling," Matthew beamed at me. "I adore that about you."

Back in London, we were out all the time again. My writing output had been rather pathetic since Matthew came back from Scotland, which I chalked up to being so wrapped up in him. I tried to carve out time in my day to write like I normally would, but the words weren't coming out like they had been. It was like the tap had been turned off .

It was the 1st of September, and I was sitting in front of my typewriter, struggling with my fourth chapter when the telephone rang. I heard Mrs Fitz answer it down the hall, and then she shuffled into my study with a sour look on her face.