Into My Life

Chapter 11

Chapter 11

On Tuesday morning, Mal drove us to a train station outside of London. We boarded there, away from crowds. Mal got us into our private compartment quickly, stood guard outside until the train was underway, then joined us. Poor Mal. Paul had invited him to bring his wife along but Rose couldn't get away from her job right then. I am sure Mal felt like a bit of an intruder on that trip. He excused himself and spent most of his time in the dining car, only coming back occasionally to see if we wanted anything. We did, but there was no lock on the door so we had to settle for talking and trying not to get each other too hot and bothered but still unable to keep our hands off each other. (We figured we were doing well to keep all four feet on the floor!)

As he had for the last three days, Paul steered away from the subject of my staying in England. That was fine with me -- I didn't even want to think about leaving. Or about the fact that he wasn't saying "I love you," much less "If you have to go, I'll come visit you." Not even "I hope you'll come back to see me when you finish school."

We arrived at our station late in the afternoon and since there were only a handful of people around, we had no problems disembarking. Mal had arranged for a rental car for the week and it was waiting for us. We went on into the little village and Mal found the office where he was to get the keys and directions to the country place where Paul and I were going to be staying. Paul got out of the car and waited for me to slide out after him but I was having a little crisis.

"I'll wait here," I said. Paul thought nothing of that and went on into the shop with Mal while I sat in the car, certain that in a town this small, everyone knew everyone's business. I could imagine that by now word was spreading that the cottage had been rented by the single Beatle and he had brought a woman here with him. All up and down the street people would be trying to get a peek at the soon to be fallen woman who was about to shack up in their lovely little hamlet with Paul. I wasn't having second thoughts about what we were doing, just about people knowing about it!

Mal and Paul took forever getting the key and when they came back out, they strolled, meandered, ambled, moseyed ever so slowly and unconcernedly back to the car stopping to chat with a shopkeeper out sweeping the entrance to her shop, then pausing to buy some fresh fruit from in front of the market. I just wanted to get out of town.

Instead of getting back in the car, Paul opened the door and leaned in to talk to me. "Tess, let's walk over to the Inn with Mal. I want to ring up Alistair before he leaves the office for the day."

Mal was going to be staying at the inn and Alistair was the person Paul had working on the nursing school thing. When I had asked him who Alistair was, he had just laughed. "Alistair Taylor. He is the one we go to when we need something out of the ordinary done. Busy man," he had grinned.

"I'll just wait here," I said once again.

"I thought we would have dinner there before we go out to the cottage."

"Here? In town?"

"It won't be a problem. There is hardly anyone around! It's great! And there is a little junk shop down the way I want to stop in. They've an old gramophone in the window."

He was thoroughly enjoying this, and I hated to be a drag. I plastered a smile on my face and got out of the car but he had caught the dismay on my face.

"What's wrong?"

"I just realized that it will be pretty obvious to the locals that you and I aren't renting a house in the country to go bird watching," I said with a weak smile.

Paul looked at me, uncertain what to do. He looked so befuddled by the idea of someone not wanting to be seen with him, it was comical.

"It's OK," I told him. "I don't think anyone here will rush to call my mom."

That got a smile from him but he said, "We don't have to stay here long. Just let me call . . ."

"No, its alright. Just as long as no one whips out a camera."

Paul turned to Mal. "No pictures," he said. Mal nodded and I knew immediately that no photos would be taken today in Wickenhamfordshirecross or whatever this place was.

We walked down the street, Paul skipped the junk shop, and we went into the Inn. There were only three other customers in the dining room, older people who scarcely glanced at us. The innkeeper's wife was our waitress and she seemed to know who Paul was but scarcely looked at me. We ordered and Paul went to make his call.

When he came back he reported that Alistair was making contacts but had no answers yet. We talked over dinner about whether Mal was really needed here. The little town was so quiet it hardly seemed likely that a mob of Beatlemaniacs would form. Paul was so obviously happy with the fact that he could walk around undisturbed that when he hinted that Mal could leave if he liked, Mal recognized immediately that the "if he liked" part was politeness. I was uncomfortable with Mal leaving. Mal represented the power and reach of the whole Beatles organization. Without Mal, I would be responsible for Paul's safety -- as if Paul couldn't take care of himself. Trouble seemed a remote possibility here, but even so, it was a little worrisome. Paul, no doubt thinking my look of concern was about not having Mal available to maintain my privacy, assured me we wouldn't spend time in this village, we'd be off sightseeing. "No one will know where we are staying or in how many rooms," he said. Mal tried to hide a grin and I laughed with him. He and I were in agreement that no one would believe we were spending the nights in separate rooms.

"What about Liverpool? Won't Paul need you down there?" I asked him.

Mal looked to Paul and Paul shrugged. "We've got people there we can call, don't we Mal? It is just a quick visit with some people to tape an interview. No big thing."

Mal said he would take care of it and so it was decided. Mal handed over the car keys to Paul. After dinner we said goodbye to Mal and left town following the directions to the house someone -- Mal or Alistair? -- had arranged for us. It was a few miles out of town but we found it easily. A curving lane opening into a little valley. A whitewashed cottage with roses climbing up over the door to the thatched roof.

We got out of the car and unloaded the suitcases. Inside was a sitting room with Victorian furniture, a big kitchen with a big trestle table and a fireplace that looked easier to cook on than the huge cookstove. The refrigerator and cupboards were stocked with food for the week.

"Can you cook?" Paul asked, suddenly realizing he was far away from his housekeeper and favorite restaurants. He sounded just a little concerned about spending four days at the mercy of someone who couldn't.

I just laughed at him. "I hope you like hamburgers and hot dogs!" Idle threat. There was no ground beef or good old American hot dogs in the place.

In the bedroom was a fireplace and a bay window looking out over the valley, and a huge four-poster bed piled high with a feather comforter and pillows. Paul carried the suitcases in and put them on the window seat. I went to him, and as soon as I was in his arms, I wanted him. He kissed me gently and said, "Let's go outside first. The agent said we can see the sea from the top of the hill." He took my hand and we went outside.

We climbed the hill beside the house and came up on a rolling grassy pasture. Across the field the world dropped away and the ocean reached to the horizon. We walked across the rocky field and stood on the high cliffs looking out over a narrow strip of beach far below. Huge waves rolled in and crashed on the rocks. I was in awe. Except for a glimpse of the Atlantic ocean from the plane before we climbed above the clouds, I had never seen an ocean. Paul smiled at my reaction and talked about how different the water and beaches of the Bahamas had been from the English coast.

"I've seen so many places on tour, but it was like seeing pictures, not being there. That was the good part about making that movie - we got to spend some time out of the hotels, really see some things. Now that we've done touring, perhaps I'll get to do some traveling and actually see the places I go to."

The sun was just beginning to set. Paul stood behind me, arms around me and we watched the sun set. I kept thinking of Thomas Hardy and all the symbolism of nature in "Return of the Native." There had to be some symbolism in the two of us on this rocky point overlooking the crashing Atlantic waves as the sun set. I didn't like any of the symbolism that occurred to me; hard, rocky, cold, vast, distant, waning, end.

"We should have gone someplace on the east coast and watched the sun come up," I said.

"Why?" he asked.

I explained my Hardy thoughts and the lack of a positive connotation.

He thought about it for a moment then chuckled. "Well the sun is slipping into the ocean and I am going to slip inside you!"

I started to laugh, and he added. "And it does it every night, just like I am gonna do you!"

I groaned. "That is terrible!"

"Well it may not be literary, but girl it is true!"

We stood there watching the sea and sky change colors and, terrible literature or not, I felt the rise of sexual heat as the sun touched the sea and slipped quickly out of sight. We headed back across the field in the rapidly fading light. It was nearly dark and very chilly when we got back to the cottage. I took Paul's hand and led him straight into the bedroom. We sat on the edge of the bed and he kissed me gently. I shivered, cold or anticipation or fear, I wasn't sure. "Light a fire," I said.

He grinned at me. "I plan to," he said, sliding a hand between my knees for a teasing moment before he went to start a fire in the fireplace. I got up and pulled back the covers, then went to my suitcase and took out a few things. In the bathroom, I undressed and put on the "nightgown" I had brought. I had thought about buying the ritualistic white negligee for the sacrifice of the virgin, but instead asked Cyn where I could get a white shirt like John's. When I explained what Paul had said about seeing me in it that morning at the hotel, Cyn promptly gave me the shirt.

As I brushed out the tangles the wind had left in my hair, I tried to think about what was about to happen. Any fear I felt of the physical act had all but disappeared in the last two weeks and all I felt was a kind of stage fright. When I went back into the bedroom, Paul had taken off his shirt off and was sitting on the bed shedding his shoes and socks. He looked at me, surprised, and then smiling at the shirt. He got up and came to me, saying softly, "You still make my knees weak." I kissed him and he slowly unbuttoned the shirt, then picked me up and carried me to the bed.

He eased himself down on top of me saying softly, "Tonight, Tess. You'll be mine."

I touched his face. "I've been yours all along." And instead of saying what was in my heart, that I loved him and I would always be his, I kissed him and pulled him down to me, burying my face in his neck. Burying the thought that the chances of my staying with him were nil, and the chance that I would never see him again after I left strong. Burying the words that were so close to being said.

As his kisses moved down my neck, and his mouth warmed my breasts, thoughts of the future were lost in the need for him now. It had been almost a week and we were both halfway there already. I wrapped my legs around him and he moved back up to kiss me, pushing me hard into the bed. As he lifted up, I slid my hands between us and unzipped his jeans. He eased me out of my shirt and rolled to one side to leave me lying naked beside him as he stripped his jeans off.

"You are so beautiful," he said softly. He ran his hands slowly down over me. "Here . . . and here . . . and here." And his kisses followed his hands, lighting the fire, making me sigh. When the sighs turned to incoherent cries and I knew I couldn't hold out any longer, I pushed him away.

"What's wrong?"

"I . . . If you don't stop, I'll . . . I'll make it." The words didn't come easily. As much as I enjoyed it, there were some aspects of sex I was not yet comfortable with. I couldn't walk naked across a room with him watching, and I still had a hard time with the vocabulary.

"That's the point!" he said with a laugh, reaching for me again.

"I want to wait. For you," I whispered.

"Oh love," he said, "That stuff about coming together, that's all rubbish." He was the teacher again, explaining gently. "It's nice and all, but it doesn't always happen. Not bang on right together, anyway."

It was a decade later before women were allowed to believe -- or men even began to acknowledge -- what he taught me that night. Penetration alone is not what brings a woman to orgasm. At the time, I didn't know exactly what he was talking about, never having been aware until a couple of weeks ago that women came in the first place. All I was thinking was that it seemed logical that if he did it to me -- really did it -- we would come together instead of taking turns as it seemed we had been doing.

"Girls usually don't come that way," he went on. "They need a bit more. In fact," he said with a little laugh, "if she does, it's a right tipoff that she is having you on. And this being your first time, I don't think . . . . Ah, here, love. Just let me do you." And he did.

This time, as the physical whirlwind spun out into that emotional free fall, he moved on top of me. There, in the glow of the firelight, he made love to me. He whispered my name softly as he slowly eased into me. I felt a small but sharp tug of pain and took a sudden breath, more with surprise than discomfort, and he stopped pushing. He waited, watching my face. After all we had done together, all the times he had slipped a finger inside of me, I was surprised that I was, indeed, still a virgin. I lay quietly for a moment, wondering if it would hurt again if I moved, but I wanted to feel more of him. I lifted up, tentatively. It didn't hurt. I smiled at him and he pushed gently.

The sensation surprised me. I don't know exactly what I expected, but this was not a specific feeling. In fact, there really wasn't much sensation at all. Not inside. But the feeling of completeness, togetherness was overwhelming. He was watching me, holding back and giving me time. I touched his face, kissing him, and he whispered "Are you all right?"

I nodded, and he began moving, slowly at first, watching my face. "Oh!" was all I could say. This is what I had been expecting, waiting for. I began to move, and the feeling was incredible. As I felt his excitement, his need growing, I was right there with him, reaching the peak and feeling the waves of pleasure with him. It wasn't the same as what he had made me feel before, it was more emotional than physical. Even so it was incredible because he was in me, taking me with him, feeling it with me. Together.

Afterwards he held me, telling me he had never wanted anyone as much as he had wanted me and it was incredible. "But you were wrong about something," I told him.

"What?"

"It isn't rubbish. When you were in me, it wasn't the same, but it was something. Something special."

"So you liked it?"

"I loved it. And I am glad we waited. So I could feel the difference."

He held me tight and told me he had not waited just the last few weeks for me, but a long time. I was everything he ever wanted, I was made for him. He was so sweet, so loving, that it wasn't until he was falling asleep that I realized he had said everything except that he loved me, but right then, sedated with the drowsy contentment that is the ebb tide of the waves of orgasm, the words didn't seem as important as what his touch told me. He was holding me tight even in his sleep and I slipped into sleep too. Maybe it was just knowing that we had the whole night ahead of us that let us slip off to sleep, but somehow we were more satisfied by this one act of intercourse than on the nights we had done it several times in other ways.

I woke up later, arm full of pins and needles from being under his neck. I eased it out and turned my back to him, snuggling against him, fitting my body to his. His arm reached over me, pulling me close, and I lay quietly in his embrace, his hand on my breast.

I couldn't get back to sleep. Now the thoughts about what he hadn't said, thoughts that I had pushed away earlier, were fighting to be heard. The sheet on my side of the bed was wet, and I felt sticky and had to go to the bathroom. I carefully untangled myself from his arms and legs and slipped out of bed. When I came out of the bathroom I was wide awake. The fire was dying and it was chilly, so I put on John's shirt and quietly added more wood to the fire. Not wanting to wake Paul and knowing that those unwelcome thoughts were going to keep me awake for a long time, I went to sit on the window seat, looking out over the valley.

There was a half moon in the sky and the stars were brilliant, close enough to touch. Mists blanketed low spots in the valley, softening the world. I wished the mists would creep in around me and soften the hard edge of pain in me. All I could think about was that I was going to have to leave him. If he had not said he loved me here in this room as I gave myself to him, then he didn't. All his sweet words didn't mean anything. He was experienced and made his living writing sweet love songs. And as wonderful as tonight had been, it was just sex. When I left, it would be over. Just like I had planned it.

I went over the same tired old arguments in my head. "You knew what you were getting into, you knew the risks, you knew it wouldn't be easy to leave." I tried to revive the old litany I had stopped believing so long ago; "It is just a summer romance," and went on to the list of impossible hopes that had kept me going over the last few weeks. Brian will somehow talk or buy my way into some school here. Mom and Dad won't disown me. He'll say he loves me. Then my mind wandered into forbidden territory. Maybe he just needs more time. Maybe I should forget school. I wanted to be a nurse, but I wanted him more. If I left I didn't have a chance. Stay here and maybe . . . That sounded almost reasonable until an image of Cyn's unhappy face crossed my mind. What if we ended up like that? John must have loved her once. That hadn't been enough, and it was more than I would be starting out with.

On top of that there was the whole complicating factor of who he was and the life that was so different from everything I was used to. And of course there were the skeletons in that closet I kept locked. Pink robed and powdered skeletons who answered telephones. What if I stayed and lived with Paul and then we split up? No job, no money. What then? Crawl home and hope I could forget having been such a fool? And even if I did get into a school here, what would I do if Paul left me? Stay in London alone?

"Tess?"

Paul was awake, sitting up in bed looking at me. He got up, pulled a blanket off the bed and came over to me. With the blanket around his shoulders, he slipped in behind me, pulling me back to sit between his legs. Folded in his arms, wrapped in the blanket and leaning against him should have felt wonderful, but the tears that had been threatening slipped down my cheeks.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"This isn't going to work out. I am going to have to go."

He held me close and said softly in my ear, "Shh, don't say that. We don't know. Alistair might be able to arrange something and even if he doesn't . .. Don't leave, Tess. You know I want you to stay."

"I can't." I struggled to get my voice under control. "My parents will never stand for it. I would do it anyway, but Alistair isn't going to be able to pull it off on such short notice, and even if he did . . ."

"Even if he did?"

"I might not be able to make it. Nursing school here might be too different." I was giving him the least of my concerns. "And I don't know if I can fit in with your life." Closer to the truth.

"You'll do fine in school, and . . ." He turned me sideways, lifted my legs over his leg, and tucked me back in his arms. "You fit right here. That's all that counts. The rest will sort itself out."

"Will it? You can't be sure of that."

"Tess," he said softly, "I want you to stay. There is something special between us. I know you said from the beginning you had to leave, but please, Tess. Stay. Give us a chance."

"Oh Paul, I want to believe it would work. I have thought about it every day, every night. The thought of leaving you tears me apart but the thought of staying scares me. I could end up here all on my own. My parents will raise hell if I try stay. They will make me come home and if I come right back as soon as I turn twenty one . . . they will just . . . I don't know. They will never forgive me."

"They will get over it. And you won't be alone, you'll be with me."

I swallowed hard to steady my voice and asked "Will I? What if we don't make it? If things don't work out between us I will end up without you, without my nursing degree, without my parents. I could lose everything. I just . . ." My voice was so shaky, I had to stop.

"Oh, Tess. Come on, luv. That won't happen!" He sounded surprised that I was so worried.

"Why Paul?" I demanded. "Can you give me a reason to believe that?" That was as close as I could come to asking him to tell me he loved me.

The silence was horrible. I couldn't imagine what was going on in his head, why he didn't answer, didn't say something, anything, any soothing if meaningless reassurance. If he couldn't say "Because I love you" he could at least say "Because I care about you." Or "Because I wouldn't do that. I'd see to it you could finish school." Dear God, Paul. Just say something!

Hope was spiraling out of existence as the seconds ticked by. Funny thing about hope though. It only takes one word, one gesture to bring it whirling back. Paul did that, let hope rush back after his silence had let it spin away. He pulled me tightly against him, so tightly that because I was sitting sideways to him, it was awkward enough to hurt. He held me in that vise-like embrace until my lungs were begging for air and then let me go. Completely.

"You're right, Tess," he said slowly, words heavy with regret. "There aren't any guarantees."

No "I love you, Tess. Please stay with me." No more pleas for me to stay at all. Just that, then aching silence. I stared out at the stars, cold and distant now. I couldn't say anything. My heart was falling apart, disintegrating. Paul sighed and tipped his head back against the wall.

I didn't cry. Didn't beg. Didn't get up and walk away. I leaned back against him, needing to feel his warmth for as much longer as I could because I knew then I would be leaving and it was over. Oh, I could have stayed. He wanted me to, that much was obvious. But whatever was going on in his head, Paul didn't want me the way I wanted him. All I could do was end this with as much dignity as possible.

We sat quietly for a while, each wrapped up in our own thoughts. I was bracing myself for the next painful step of letting go. Some kind of emotional post-mortem exam of what we had meant to each other. I had loved him and he had "cared" about me.

When he finally spoke again, it was to say the words I wanted so badly to hear, but to say them in a way that left me bewildered: "If I said I love you, would you stay? Would that be enough of a guarantee to get you to risk it?"

My heart hurt. "If?" What was this? Some kind of test? A bribe? I couldn't tell from his voice what he wanted or expected to hear. It was almost as if he had brought in some third party, a neutral observer to ask the question for him. I sat up and moved away so I could turn to face him, hoping for something in his face. But his face, lit by firelight, was that unreadable mask he wore when no one was allowed to see.

"Would you?" he asked again.

I was bewildered. Why was he asking this? God, how could I answer that question now, asked this way? I had assumed that hearing those words was all that I would need to make the decisions to stay. But now it wasn't the same. It wasn't the rapturous, tide-turning moment I had expected. It was decision making, weigh the pros and cons moment. A moment for thought, not just emotion. I closed my eyes and tried to pull my thoughts together. Would I stay? Should I? Nursing had been my goal for so long and I had worked so hard and was so close to reaching that goal. I didn't want to add another year or more, I didn't want to change schools. I wanted to go home and finish school there. My parents wouldn't like the idea of me coming back to England and Paul the minute school was out, but going home to finish school would give them time to adjust to the idea. If I stayed here now they'd go crazy. It would be a field day for the press and worse, I didn't think that I would ever have a good relationship with my parents again. But if he said he loved me . . . Oh, if he really loved me . . . I couldn't let that go. I couldn't. Oh, but how could I stay?

Paul lifted his hand just then to touch my face. Just a whisper of a touch, a soft stroke of my cheek by fingers that were shaking. It wasn't the touch of neutral observer at all. I opened my eyes and saw what I wanted. I wanted it all. Paul and nursing and my family. All or nothing, I couldn't settle for less. The stakes were high but I was playing for keeps. It was time to go for it.

I took a deep breath but my voice was shaky anyway. "If you said you loved me then it would be easier for me to leave. I could go knowing the whole Atlantic Ocean doesn't matter, knowing that we would be together as much as we could until I finished school and could come back to you."

He looked stunned for a moment before another feeling-- anger? panic?-- took over. He took my face in his hands. "I don't want to make it easy for you!" he said fiercely. "I'm afraid if you leave, I'll lose you! You'll go back to your world, back to your friends, your family, back to school and you'll start to believe that fairy tale nonsense and think you don't belong here with me!"

I shook my head. "No --"

"And you'll realize that you don't need me complicating your life anyway."

"No!!"

"Ah, Tess, you don't know. You've never . . ." He sighed, frustrated. "It is hard enough when two people are together and we'd be half a world apart." He went on, now with a hard note in his voice, "I've been in love before and even without that, I messed it up."

I froze, startled at that turn. Jane? What had happened between them? Before I could think what to say, he came back to me with a groan, held me very tight for a minute, and then, his voice barely a whisper, confessed "I don't know if I can do this, Tess."

Confused and scared to hope and certain of only one thing, I knew what to say. I reached up and put my arms around his neck and said, "I love you, Paul. I don't know anymore than that. I just love you." It didn't matter anymore if he said it first or even if he said it back. I had to tell him how I felt.

He held me, dropping his head to my shoulder and burying his face in my neck. I waited for him to say that if I left it was over between us. After a long, painful silence he raised his head and looked at me.

"I'll try, Tess," he promised, his voice strained. "You go home. Go to school, and I'll come and see you whenever I can. I'll stay with you as long as I can. And I'll try."

I couldn't breathe.

"Because I love you," he said as though they were the hardest words he had ever had to say. But saying them seemed to open something inside of him because when he said them again, the strain was gone and the words were the way I had always wanted to hear them. "I love you and I can't let you walk out of my life. I love you! I don't want to hurt you, don't want to risk this, but I can't let you go! I love you. I love you so much." He kissed me so long and hard I was dizzy when he let me go.

"I love you," was all I could say, over and over as I kissed him, and he was saying it too. He carried me back to the bed and was on top of me, in me. It was so fast, so wild. There was no gentle touching, no sweet words. Just an immediate need to him to have him deep inside me. Blind passion, demand and submission all together, his pounding thrusts bringing me to the edge of a climax. But it was too hard, too fast and then Paul was coming, crying out my name and as he exploded in me. But he didn't stop and as he rocked me with more gentle thrusts, he slipped his hand down between us for the touch that took me over the edge in an orgasm that was so hard, so deep, it was almost frightening. Then I cried. An explosion of hard gasping sobs of emotion too long held back. He held me and told me over and over he loved me, that we would make it work. Slowly his voice and his hands soothed me and I fell asleep exhausted, held tightly in his arms.

I awoke to early morning sunlight streaming over the bed. Paul stirred a little as I stretched. The shock waves of the night before echoed through me as I looked at him. I softly kissed him awake. When he opened his eyes, he smiled and rolled over to pull me on top of him. "I love you," I whispered, half afraid to say it out loud, thinking maybe I had dreamed everything.

"I love you, too," he answered. After an interval of wake up kisses and wandering hands he said softly, "And if you hadn't been so insistent that you didn't want me to, I would have told you so ages ago."

"What? I never said that!"

"Not in so many words. But you made it clear you were leaving. Summer romance is all you wanted," and there was a note of teasing in his voice.

"Because that was what I promised you! I said I wasn't asking for anything but a good time and I had to stick to that. Trusting me was hard for you, and I didn't want to risk losing what little time I had left with you."

"That's why you never told me how you felt?" He was serious now, the teasing gone from his voice.

I nodded. "God, Paul, I couldn't even begin to believe that you were real, much less that you loved me! I was so afraid of driving you away by letting on that I was falling in love. If you had told me how you felt, maybe . . ."

"I couldn't!"

"Why!?"

"Oh, bloody hell, Tess," he sighed. "Lots of reasons."

"What reasons?"

He shrugged, eased me off of him, sat up, reached for his cigarettes and lit up.

"So can you cook? I'm near starved."

He seemed to want to leave it at that, but I couldn't. "What reasons??"

He took another long drag on the ciggie, stalling for time while he thought how to answer. "You were so set on leaving. I wasn't about to go and fall in love with you!"

"I was that convincing?"

He chuckled, "Quite so."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I saw through it."

"But why . . .?"

Another hesitation, then the other reason, given with difficulty by a man who seldom had to admit to being wrong.  "Tess, I am such a fucking selfish bastard. I came so close to telling you so many times. But you kept talking about going home and I wanted you to say "Forget school, I'm staying with you." I hadn't even thought about your parents, what they would do, but even so . . . I just wanted you to want me more than you wanted to finish school. I just wanted you to stay here with me and I didn't think about what it would mean to you."

I sat up and scooted over behind him and put my arms around him. "It's all right --" I started to say, willing to forgive him anything because he had said it.

"No it isn't," he said. "I should have said it before I brought you up here. At least before . . . before I did you. I knew you loved me. It was so bloody obvious. Every time you looked at me. Every time you touched me."

I had nothing to say to that. I had wanted to hear it so badly and it would have meant so much if he had said it when he made love to me. If I said anything he would hear the hurt in my voice so I didn't answer.

The silence hung on while he finished the cigarette, thinking about something and frowning. I waited until he stubbed the cigarette out in the ashtray before I finally asked, "Is there another reason?"

He put the ashtray back on the bedside table, then lay back down on the bed and looked up at me as if debating whether to say any more. Then, apparently deciding against it, shook his head.

"What is it?" I demanded.

There was a moment of hesitation before he answered and the thought crossed my mind that he was changing the subject, but then I was caught up in what he was saying. "Well, at least I had a little better reason for not telling you last night than plain old stubbornness," he answered. "After waiting all week for you to give in and say you would stay, I realized this weekend how wrong I was. What if you had said to me "Give up music and I'll stay."? I had no right to expect you to give up everything for me. So all the way up here on the train, I was planning to tell you. And then I talked to Alistair." Paul sighed as if regretting he had made the call. "He didn't just say he didn't know anything yet. He said he was having trouble getting anyone to even agree to meet with him to discuss it. "Not at all promising," he said. I couldn't tell you then. You were going to leave. I knew you loved me, but you were going to leave. Telling you how I felt wouldn't change things, it would just make it harder for you."

Well, when he decided to be unselfish, he went all the way. I wished he hadn't held back but there was somehow more love in his not telling me.

"See! You aren't a bastard at all," I reassured him. "You are a nice guy." I was still kneeling next to him, sitting back on my heels, and now I leaned over him to kiss him softly.

Instead of the smile I expected, a shadow passed over his face. I lay back down next to him and he put his arm around me, slid his hand up into my hair, and pulled my head down onto his shoulder. As I snuggled comfortably up against him he said, "No. I'm not and I hope you never find that out for yourself."

I didn't know what to say to that. I wondered what he was thinking of. What memory of something he had done that wasn't nice. Something involving Jane? He was holding something back and I decided quickly I didn't want to know. That was the distant past. His past. I wanted to talk about us.

"Paul, didn't you ever think about coming to see me in the States? Trying to keep this going even if I left?" I asked as my hand wandered across his chest, stroking him as if to take any accusation out of the question.

"No, not really," he said softly. He kissed the top of my head. "I told you I am a selfish bastard."

"But you changed your mind."

That finally brought a little smile to his voice. "How could I not. You said you loved me."

"But you knew that!"

"Yeah, but what I didn't know was just how much I was asking of you. I was so sure of how much I wanted you here with me, I never gave a thought to what would happen to you if we broke up. I didn't know how scared you were."

He sighed and turned on his side, scooting down just a bit so we were face to face. "Tess, I am sorry," he said, softly. "I let you give yourself to me without telling you I loved you. I'd give anything to go back and fix that. I just didn't understand, didn't think about all you are risking with me. I just knew I wanted you and you wouldn't be staying and there was nothing I could do about it. It seemed like telling you how much I cared would only make it worse for both of us. I don't say "I love you" easily, Tess. Never have." He sighed, as though he thought I couldn't possibly understand or forgive. "I am so sorry."

I was tearing up again. He was so miserably penitent. All I could was murmur that it was alright, that I understood, that he had told me and that was all that really mattered.

That got a surprising little chuckle out of him. He pushed himself up on one elbow and smiled down at me. "I don't know how I got up the nerve," he said. "After you told me all the reasons you were afraid to stay, I had to really think about it, sort it all out all over again, consider whether . . ." He stopped, his smile gone, and looked at me as if uncertain if he should go on.

"Consider what?"

There was a moment of hesitation and then he said, "At that point, I wasn't at all sure that saying it would even begin to be enough."

"So you asked me if that would be enough to change my mind."

He nodded. "And as it turns out, it wasn't. You said "If you love me you'll wait for me." He laughed and pushed me down onto the pillows. "You drive a hard bargain, girl!"

"Ah, but I won, didn't I? Won for both of us?"

"I hope so, love. I hope so," he said fervently and kissed me.

"Yuck! Cigarette kiss!" Fervent or not, kissing him right after his cigarette was still like licking an ashtray. Laughing, he pinned me down and kissed me until I wouldn't have cared if he tasted like the cheapest old stogie cigar. Breakfast would be delayed for quite a while.

Over eggs and sausages and toast, we talked about our plans. "I need to get Mal or someone setting things up in Minneapolis. I'll need a place to stay, security people, a studio with some basic equipment so I can work on the movie score, musicians, some back up people. I can stay with you for a couple of months, get the movie thing going, but then we have to get started on a new album. . . Can you come here over the Christmas Holidays?"

"Yes! We have three weeks then, and another week in the spring."

"When is school out?"

"The end of May. But I'll have to go back for a few days in the middle of July to take my State Board Exams."

The rest of the day was more of the same. We drove miles to see a castle, climbed to the parapets and talked about what we would do if the impossible happened and Alistair was able to get me into a school here. The idea of my staying in England with Paul was a dream neither of us, but Paul especially, was willing to completely give up on. I felt that if he was willing to wait for me if I went home, I had to be willing to stay if somehow I got into a school. I would do what I could to make my parents accept it, pray that they wouldn't take legal action to stop me. That was all I could do.

Paul seemed to assume that if that if things did work out that way, I would stay with him, but I told him we had to maintain appearances for my parents. He said John and Cyn would let me stay there, but I said, "Well, I probably could, but I don't believe there will be a John and Cyn much longer. I will need to get an apartment."

"So we'll get you a flat. It's worth a try, but you don't think your parents are going to believe you are moving to England because you are so moved by the spirit of Florence Nightingale, do you? They'll know there is a man involved!"

We visited the site of one of the historical battles between the Scots and English and planned a calendar for the year. To the States for Christmas if I were here, England if I was in the States. January to the end of March was going to be the worst part. After that Paul hoped they would have an album done and he could spend time with me. He would take me to the Bahamas over spring break. We talked about the things he would show me, places we would go, when he would take me to Liverpool to meet his family and when he would meet mine. He didn't want to take me with him this weekend. His dad did not like surprises, he explained and he had never even mentioned me to him. Reading between the lines I got the impression Jim McCartney was a little suspicious of the motives of anyone his son dated and perhaps not too crazy about Americans in general.

We drove on from there, looking for a pay phone. Paul called Alistair again to see if he was having any luck with a nursing school. I could tell from Paul's end of the conversation that he wasn't. Alistair's "not promising" had turned into "not possible." He had pulled all the strings he could, but even the two school administrators who had finally agreed to meet to discuss it said regretfully but firmly it would not be possible in such a short time frame.

We found another small town and stopped at the inn to eat, my reluctance at being seen in public with him having evaporated. Paul was very quiet through dinner and I could tell he was disappointed. I wasn't simply because I had never really expected it would be possible. I declared an end to the discussion. "I can't think about this anymore, Paul! I feel like I am living one of those puzzles where you have to get the cat, the chicken, and the bag of feed across the river without one devouring another on the way. You, my nursing career, my parents all crisscrossing the Atlantic!"

He laughed and agreed. One way or another, we were going to be together, that was all that mattered. We never talked about anything beyond when I finished school. There was an unspoken agreement not to talk any further into the future than that.

On Thursday, we slept late, then went off to see moors and heather and ruins of a haunted abbeys and to walk miles hand in hand. It was a golden, wonderful day full of memories of being loved in the highlands of Scotland. Paul brought his guitar along and we sat out in the sunshine in the heather while he played meandering bits of songs, little things too new to have names or more than a phrase or two of lyric. Funny little foot tappers, rocking hot licks, twangy country parodies, and soft melodies that melted my heart even before he started to sing along in a voice that was at once the Paul McCartney of "Yesterday" fame and the Paul who said such sweet things while he made love to me.

It was a perfect day. Perfect except for the look that came over Paul's face when I mentioned anything about the time we would be apart. That old unreadable mask would reappear. I wondered if he really thought I could possibly decide I didn't want to come back. Or was he just thinking of how complicated it might be for him to come to Minneapolis? Whatever it was, it was fleeting and his usual optimism and cheerful mood reasserted itself.

I was to take the train back to London early Friday morning, so we went to bed early. Of course, the early train had nothing to do with it, we would have spent the evening making love anyway. Slow, gentle, like we had all the time in the world, because even if the next nine months were going to be difficult, we would be together by summer. That night as I drifted off to sleep, I heard Paul say softly as he trailed sleepy kisses across my shoulder, "I love you, Tess. And I'll try. All I can promise is that I will try." It was an unwelcome reminder not only that I would be leaving England and Paul in just one week, but also, in spite of the joy of the last few days, our future together was not certain. Nine months of a trans-Atlantic love might be impossible to maintain. I pretended to be asleep because I didn't know what to say.

We packed up in the early morning and Paul put me on the train, kissing me goodbye one more time as the conductor looked at his watch impatiently. A few curious passengers peered out into the misty morning rain wondering if that really could be one of the Beatles there on the platform. "I'll ring you on Sunday," he said as he handed me up the step to the porter.