Text of a letter given to John by Stuart on 1 October 1960, not read by John until 8 October 1960.

“14 August 1960

Dear John,

I’ve asked Stuart to give you this letter when the time seems appropriate.  I don’t know if the time will ever be appropriate or if you’ll ever read these words, but I’m compelled to write them in the hopes that you’ll someday be ready to listen. 

Stuart, whom I count as a dear friend and nothing more, told me of your reaction to the knowledge that he and I had sex.  I’m very sorry to be so blunt, but there’s simply no way to say it politely.

I apologize for hurting you.  Please don’t deny it, it simply won’t work with me.  I know you’re hurt and feel betrayed by your friend and by me.  I never meant to hurt you, and Stuart would never have done anything had I not made the first move with him.  I hope you can get over your anger with him, as you and he have a wonderful friendship, and I would hate to be the cause of destroying that.

I suppose I should explain what happened, but I doubt you’ll listen, so I’ll keep it very short and simple.  Whether you can understand this or not, I was afraid I couldn’t respond to you the same way as I had on our first night together.  I thought my ex-husband had ruined all of that for me.  Stuart helped me to overcome my fears, and I’m grateful to him for that.  It wasn’t ever repeated, because neither of us wanted to continue it.  Had you asked me about him, I would have told you the truth, but I wasn’t going to volunteer the information.  Whether that was right or wrong, I don’t know.  But I’m terribly sorry I hurt you, and I’m equally sorry we parted on bad terms.

I remember you with great affection, and I’ll always treasure the memories I have of the enjoyment we shared.

Fondly,

Sharon”

***

Text of a letter written to Sharon Castle, posted the same day it was written.

“Hullo, Sharon,

I know you’re problee wondering why I’m writing.  Stu gave me your letter, I read it ‘bout a fortnight ago, had to think things over for a while before I answered.  Don’t think I’ll ever like what happened between the two of you, but maybe reading what you had to say about it helps a little.  I s’pose being in the band and living and working together kinda forced me and Stu to sort things out.  Took a few punches and lagers, but we’re friends again.

Stu’s found a bird here, he’s head over arse about her, and she feels the same way about him.  Her name’s Astrid, she’s a nice girl and she’s taken some absolutely brilliant photos of the band.  Stu asked me to tell you (and he told me to quote him), “tell Sharon I’ve found her, and she’s everything I dreamed.”  I think he’s pretty daft sometimes, you know.

By the way, we call ourselves The Beatles now, dropped the ‘Silver’ bit, never liked it much to begin with.

Our contract’s just today been extended to New Year’s, so we won’t be coming home until then.  We’re playing ev’ry night and the band has gotten really tight, the club owner and the Krauts keep urging us to mach shau (make a show), so it gets a bit mad sometimes.  I wish you could see us play, we’re a lot better than we were in the summer.  The German beer’s great and the girls are pretty, but you have to make sure they’re girls before you ask for a kiss, it’s a rough area, if you get what I’m saying.

Anyroad, guess I’m rambling a bit, just wanted to say hullo, and thought maybe we could have tea or something when I get back to the ‘pool after the new year.

Cheers,

John

20 October 1960

Hamburg, Germany”

***

(20 October 1960)

The chill weather of mid-October nearly cut through her coat as she waited at the bus stop, and Sharon thought she’d have to pull her heavy weather clothing from the back of the closet a bit early this year.  It looked as if it would rain later in the day, too, and a cold early winter rain just didn’t seem very appealing. 

But she had a nice nest egg built up, and jobs and a roof over her head, so she couldn’t begrudge the wait for the bus, although it was apparently running behind today and she’d arrive late to the club.  She climbed onto the vehicle when it finally arrived and found herself a seat near the back, eyes nearly closed in reflection as the elderly bus bounced along the streets on the journey.

Yes, she had a flat and a couple of jobs and life was...... tidy.  She sighed as she wryly considered that there was no lover to welcome to her little home, but that was a fairly standard way of life over the past nine years, and Sharon told herself to stop complaining.  She’d had a lovely, if abbreviated, affair during the summer, and she’d best simply forget about it and quit her woolgathering.  John obviously wanted nothing more to do with her and that was that; he’d never responded to her letter, but she hoped that he and Stuart had patched things up between them.  It was a sorry shame that everything had ended the way it had, but that was life and whoever said it was fair?  Sharon knew she had memories to warm her for the cold winter ahead, and she’d survive; she always did.  Janice was a help, she’d been the one with the confidence to pick her up by the scruff of the neck and shake her, and life had returned to an even, if lonely keel over the past two months.  And her Master had never left her, that was a blessing; the single, solitary, all abiding love of her life was never very far away.  She was still dancing at the club and working at the cafe and she was......’awright’.

She got off the bus at her stop and hurried down the street.  She pushed open the door to the club and greeted the club owner.

“Hullo, Toby, how are you today?”

“Grand, Sharon, yerself?”

“Fine, Toby, thank you.  I’ll go get ready then, my bus was a little late this morning, the traffic was dreadful.”

She walked back to her dressing room, pausing for a quick hello to Leonard and William, then did her stage makeup and stretches before dressing for the first dance.  When it was time, she stepped out on stage and performed for the businessmen as she did every weekday, losing herself in the sensual movements of the dance, letting Janice take care of everything.  It was simpler to do that, it allowed her time to dream.  She tried not to think of the past, it was the present and the future that was important, so she set her dreams to the future and kept her thoughts away from her summer affair.

When the show was over, she washed off her stage makeup as she did every day, then changed back into her work clothes.  Toby had her pay packet, and she chatted with him for a moment.  She’d persuaded him and the lads to stop walking her to the café in mid September; it had seemed ridiculous that a grown woman required an escort in broad daylight.  She got along by herself very well in the evenings and mornings, why should the afternoons be any different?  Really, she’d grown over-reliant on friends and lover during the summer, and she’d needed to relearn her independence. 

“Goodnight, Toby, goodnight, lads,” she called as she walked to the back door of the club.  “Have a nice weekend, everyone!”

“Ya doin’ anythin’ this weekend, Sharon?” Toby asked diffidently as he walked with her, stopping at the door to his office.

“I thought perhaps I’d go see a play, Toby,” she replied with a friendly smile, trying not to give him any encouragement.  “That’s something I haven’t done for quite a while and I’ve been missing it.”

“Ya don’…… ya don’ ‘ave anybody…… are ya seein’ anybody right now, Sharon?” the man blurted.

“Toby!” she scolded gently.  “I’m sorry, you’re a dear friend, but that’s none of your business.  I hope you have a lovely weekend, I’ll see you on Monday.”

She turned her back and continued her walk down the hallway, leaving him behind.  She stopped at the door and looked back, hiding a smile when the club owner swiftly ducked into his office.  She knew he’d been watching her with those deep, soul-searching glances he’d taken to giving her of late.  She sighed and shook her head.  The poor man!  Sharon wished she could be the person Toby obviously thought she was, but she had no attraction towards him and couldn’t pretend to it even though she was lonely.  Taking him as a lover would simply ruin their friendship and possibly her employment. 

And truth be told, she simply wasn’t interested in taking another lover right now.  If she were to be honest with herself, she’d have to admit that she was still in mourning over the last one.  Sometimes late at night when she couldn’t sleep, huddled in her lonely bed, she’d think of her summer affair and her restless fingers would try to recreate the magic, but would only succeed in taking her to a pale memory of the loving she’s so enjoyed.  Thankfully, the tears she invariably shed afterwards were becoming fewer and fewer as the lonely weeks wore on.

Sharon shook herself from her dreary thoughts and peeked out the door to the alley, sighed and opened her brolly as she stepped into the even drearier weather.  It was a cold rain and had turned into a nasty, dark day, and she shivered and pulled her coat closer about her as the door shut behind her. 

As she took a step towards the street, she heard a splash behind her, a footstep in a pool of water?  She turned and the brolly was knocked out of her hand to land in the little alley, upside down and catching water, unnoticed as she stared into the face of her ex-husband.  He got a hand over her mouth and pushed her against the wall opposite the club door before she could scream.  Her heart was pounding so loudly, the rain was coming down in sheets, and she could barely hear his words, although his face was so close to hers that she nearly had to go cross eyed to focus on him. 

“Did you think I wouldn’t exact a nice revenge for what you did to me, Sharon?  I just wanted you to grow careless,” he hissed.

He was alone, with no cronies at his side to hold her, thank God! 

Sharon struggled, she fought, she scratched and bit and did everything she possibly could, but she couldn’t get free from his grip.  She couldn’t even do her old trick of bringing her knee up into him, he stood slightly sideways to her as if protecting his assets. 

Desperation drove her and she got a hand away from him and into her coat pocket, grabbing the knife she hadn’t yet been able to purge herself of carrying.  She brought it up and into his shoulder, felt the blade slice through his jacket and seeing blood sprout on the material as he howled in anger and outrage.  The slap he aimed at her face spun her ‘round and knocked her back into the wall, her temple hitting the brickwork and making the world turn dizzily.  The knife fell from her nerveless fingers and landed with a splash to the ground.  She dropped to her knees as her legs gave out and she lunged for the knife, fear turning her stomach ‘til it threatened to spasm, but she gritted her teeth and kept searching for her weapon.  Her desperate fingers found the knife just as a booted foot kicked it away.

“Knives, now, is it?  I can do a lot with a knife, dear Sharon, I have a lovely little one here, you might like this.....”

She was grabbed by the hair and forced to her feet, knocked back against the wall with the slim blade of a flick knife at her throat, the steel pressing in until she wasn’t certain if she felt rain water or blood trickling down her neck.  She gasped for air, lightheaded with the effort it took to draw breath into her lungs.

“Oh, yes, my dear,” he purred, mere inches from her face, the knife trailing down her flesh from her throat to her neck to her breasts, her coat open from the struggle, the material of her blouse parting under the razor sharp edge.  “I can do a lot with a knife, you’ll enjoy it.”

She spat in his face.  Well, Janice spat in his face, anyway, Sharon was so frightened that the only reason she was breathing was because her body was doing it automatically.  His hand was tight on her throat as the cold steel of the knife caressed her breast whilst she stood frozen in place, trying to keep from panting in fear.  He’d well and truly kill her this time, she was certain, but not before he hurt her badly.  Perhaps she could make it quick and painless.

“You’re a vile, despicable excuse for a human being,” she choked out.

He laughed at her!  “Thank you, my dear, I’m studying for a role in a play about Jack the Ripper, and I’m going to do a bit research with you.  It’s good to know a little about the roles you play, isn’t it?”

“Why do you want so badly to hurt me?” she asked breathlessly, her fear turning to horror as his casual comments hit home.  Jack the Ripper?  Research?  Words enough to make a grown man weak, and words more than enough to make any Englishwoman queasy with fear.  She tried to draw air into her lungs, she was simply rigid with terror.  “What did I ever do to you?” she gasped.

“It’s not what you did, dear, dear Sharon,” he hissed.  “It’s what you didn’t do.  You never, ever loved me.”

“I did!” she choked out in surprise, despite the fingers that further tightened ‘round her throat.  He was mad!

“No, you never did, you bitch.  There was always something more important to you, your dance, your theatre, your life.  You should have worshipped the ground I walked on, but you never did, did you, Sharon?”

The knife pressed into her breast a little harder, the sharp point of the blade slicing her bra as it toyed with her nipple, hard and tight with cold and fear.  The absolute terror she felt took her breath and she knew she was going to faint, perhaps he’d kill her whilst she was unconscious?  She could only pray.

As the blood was draining from her head, as her vision grew dark and fuzzy, she thought she saw the door to the club opening at his back.  Too late, she thought in despair, too late.

***

A voice was calling her, it seemed to come from a long distance away.

“Shar!  Shar, c’mon, lass, wake up, luv.  C’mon, there’s th’ girl, stand up, lemme ‘elp ya.  It’s too cold an’ wet t’ be layin’ in th’ alley like this.  C’mon, sweetheart, c’mon, Shar, lemme ‘elp ya, luv.”

Sharon blinked her way to awareness and then shivered.

“William?” she asked, looking up at the man kneeling over her.  She was nearly lying down, half-propped, half-sitting against a wall.  In a puddle.  And the rain was falling all around her, but William was holding a dripping brolly over her.  Oh dear, what had happened?  Where was she, why was she so wet?

“Yeah, it’s me, Shar, c’mon lass, let’s get ya back t’ where it’s dry,” the man said gently. 

“What happened?” she asked in confusion.

William tilted his head to the side, a smile on his lips.

“Don’ worry, luv, yer gonna be right as rain.  Len clocked th’ bast’id a good one, ‘e went down like a sack o’ rubbish.  I jus’ wanna get ya inside whur it’s dry, then I’ll come back t’ ‘elp ‘im do th’ job right.  ‘e won’t hurt ya again, I promise.  Glad we came out when we did.  C’mon, oopsa daisey, there’s th’ girl.  Jus’ lean on me, luv.  I don’ think yer hurt, jus’ scared, right?”

Everything suddenly flooded back, the fear, nay, terror, the certain knowledge that she was going to die, that her ex-husband was going to hurt her badly before he killed her.  Sharon climbed to her feet too quickly, had to cling to the lean guitarist to steady herself.  Her clothes were disheveled, her blouse and bra cut with a knife, and she pulled her dirty and wet coat around her tightly.  A glance on the other side of the alleyway showed a grim faced Leonard standing over a body lying still and silent at his feet.  The broad faced drummer looked over at her and his expression changed; he gave her a cheerful smile.

“Don’ worry, luv, we’ll take care o’ this prick fer ya,” he said reassuringly.  “Nobody, but nobody, treats a lady like this bast’id did.  Me mum was a lady, ya know, an’ I gotta lotta respect fer me mum.  I gotta sister, too.  She’s not much of a lady, but still, she’s me sister……”

“Sharrup, ya idiot,” William growled.  “Lemme get ‘er inside, I’ll be right back t’ ‘elp ya.”

Sharon took a steadying breath, trembling from fear and shock.  She stepped away from William, ensured her legs would carry her and then ran down the alley to the street, disregarding the voices at her back, not turning at their hails, desperate to escape. 

“Shar, luv, there’s nuthin’ t’ worry ‘bout, easy, gurl!”

“Why’s she runnin’?  Sharon, don’ worry, we’ll take care o’ th’ bas’tid!”

She had to get away!  A simple beating wouldn’t stop Theodore!  She raced down the street, catching the bus that was just pulling out of the stop, not caring what number it was or where it was going.  She sat in the back and huddled in her wet coat, ignoring the looks the early afternoon bus passengers gave her as she dripped dirty rainwater on the floor of the bus and shivered in reaction. 

The look on Theodore’s face when he’d said she never loved him…….  He was simply mad and he’d never leave her alone, she’d been lucky today and she’d been lucky twice before as well; she couldn’t count on a beating from Leonard and William to turn her ex-husband from whatever madness ruled his brain.  Although her friends meant well, any punishment they gave Theodore would merely strengthen his resolve.  He’d simply wait for her away from the club, he’d catch her some day when she was alone and helpless, and he’d do whatever he wanted to her then.  She shivered violently at the thought.

No, a simple beating wouldn’t stop her ex-husband.  It would only make him more determined.

What did they say in America, three strikes and you’re out?  This was her third strike, but for some reason, she’d been given one additional chance.  She had to get away, she couldn’t waste her unexpectedly good fortune, there was no question about it.  If she stayed and he caught her, he’d make certain he wouldn’t fail the next time he struck, and she trembled even more as she wondered what manner his attack would take. 

She’d never feel safe knowing he was somewhere nearby.

Sharon knew she had to leave, right now, and she had to make sure Theodore never hurt her again; she had to get away from his clutches and his regard, she had to do whatever it took.  She had to get as far away from him as possible, beyond his reach, away from his obsessive madness.

When Janice stepped up and took charge, Sharon gave over her control with gratitude to her old friend. 

By the time she made her roundabouts way to her flat, the plans for escape were firmly set in her mind.  She pulled off her wet and ruined clothes and stuffed them in the rubbish bin, then bathed quickly, washing the dirt and grit of the alley out of her hair and trying to allow the hot water to ease her shivering.  Once clean, she dressed and packed only what she needed; she left everything else behind without a backwards glance, stopped at the bank to close out her savings account and took a cab to the airport.  She was barely conscious of what she did or said or asked, relying on steadfast Janice to take charge of everything.  Thank God for her old alter ego, thank God for Janice’s confidence and support.

***

Stuart walked into the Kaiserkeller with a puzzled, unhappy look on his face.  A cold mid-November breeze followed him inside.  John eyed his friend.

“What’s wrong, Stu?  Ya look like ya lost yer best friend.”

Stuart wordlessly handed him an envelope.

“What’s this?” John asked, taking the item and squinting at it in the darkness of the club.

“I stopped by the post an’ picked up th’ mail fer all of us,” Stuart replied worriedly.  “This looks like th’ letter ya wrote ta Sharon last month.  It’s been returned.  The mark on the envelope says she doesn’t live there anymore, an’ she didn’t leave a forwarding address.”

John felt a cold chill travel down his spine.  A bad night was made even worse later in the evening as George was arrested for breaking curfew and being underage in the clubs past midnight.  The police were deporting him in the morning. 

Life in Germany went steadily downhill from that point.  Pete and Paul pulled a stupid prank and were arrested for trying to burn down the Bambi Kino, then they were deported back to England.  John dodged the police and stayed with Astrid and Stuart for a while, but finally headed home in early December with his amplifier strapped to his back for fear of it being stolen.  It was hard saying goodbye to Stu and Asser, but it was past time to return.  He had some unfinished business to attend to.

The day after John made it back to the ‘pool, he stood in front of the door to Sharon’s flat and knocked several times, calling her name.  An elderly woman poked her head out the door down the hallway.

“Quit making such a noise, young man!  What d’ya want, anyway?” she asked querulously.

“I was lookin’ fer Miss Castle,” John replied.  Would this old nosy neighbour have any information for him?

The woman harumphed.  “She’s gone.  Disappeared one day ‘round late-October.  Inta thin air, like.  Nobody saw anything, nobody heard anything, she left the cupboards filled and all her clothes, her books, everything.  Just disappeared like that,” the woman said, snapping her fingers.  “Ya know what I think?  I think one o’ them men she had hangin’ ‘round took her off into the white slave trade, that’s what I think!”

John swallowed his nervous irritation, tried to ignore his increasing worry and asked a few questions of the older woman who seemed disposed to chatter on about anything and everything.  John escaped her clutches as quickly as he could and found himself knocking on the door to the landlord’s flat.  The door was opened quickly enough, and John faced an older man dressed casually, the telly blaring in the background.

“’scuse me, are you Mr. Ryan, th’ landlord t’ th’ building?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’m Mr. Ryan.  Can I ‘elp ya, son?”

“Errr, yeah, I was lookin’ fer Miss Castle, th’ lady upstairs said she’s gone.  I was hopin’ ya might know where she went.”

The man shook his head, eyeing John sternly.  “Nah, happens sometimes with th’ renters, they just up an’ leave.  She left a lot o’ stuff behind, though.  An’ who might you be?”

‘Up and leave?’ ‘Disappear?’ That wasn’t like Sharon at all, and John was growing more and more worried.  He blinked, trying to remember what the man had asked. Oh, right......

“Errrr, I’m jus’ a friend of ‘ers, that’s all, me friend an’ I…… well, Stuart an’ me……”

“Oh, Miss Castle’s nephew!  Why didn’t ya say so?  C’mon in, lad, c’mon in, ya must be ‘er nephew’s friend John?  Nice lad, that Stuart, a good Irish boy.  Ya don’ sound Irish, though, but if Miss Castle’s with ‘er nephew, then yer gonna ‘ave ta look over ‘er things an’ arrange shipment fer it.  C’mon an’ ‘ave a look, I got it all in me spare room, c’mon in, lad.”

In total confusion, John let himself be pulled into the flat and found himself in a room containing many boxes.  Sharon’s nephew?  Irish?  He didn’t dare ask, but he’d have to write Stuart and see what his friend had to say about this.  Whatever the misunderstanding was, at least the man had let him in and was going to let him look through Sharon’s things, p’rhaps he could find a clue to where she’d gone!  The man puttered about and finally pulled out several boxes from a corner of the room, moving them to the center of the room and then standing back with an air of satisfaction.

“I’m dead sure those’re hers, take a look an’ see.”

John knelt on the floor and opened one box, found it stocked full of books.  Another box was filled with clothes, and a light honeysuckle scent rose up around him as he pawed through the items, searching desperately for a note or some clue as to what had happened.  A third box contained a few housewares, cups and plates and cutlery, a tea kettle and a few pots and pans.  The last box contained more books, and a few magazines.  He dug through the box until he found the theatre magazine from 1950 and pulled that out, climbing to his feet and clutching it in his sweaty hands.  The bird’s entire life, stored in four boxes?  That didn’t seem right. Where was she?

“Errr, I’ll ‘ave ta arrange shipping a bit later.  Are those ‘er posters?” he asked, seeing the rolled up items leaning in a corner.  The man nodded.  “Can I take those now, t’ give ‘em t’…… t’ Stuart, ‘er…… nephew?”

“Right, go ahead, son, but be sure an’ arrange t’ ‘ave these boxes taken care of quick now.  Don’t need ‘em ‘angin’ ‘round ‘ere, they just take up space.”

John took the posters and the magazine and escaped.  The girl hadn’t many precious things ‘round her flat, but her posters and that magazine had obviously been something important to her.  Yet she’d left it all behind.  What had happened, where had she gone?  She’d never received his letter, so it couldn’t have been that she simply hadn’t wanted to see him again.  Had her ex-husband come back, had he done something to her?  John was utterly chilled at the thought.

He carefully stowed the posters at Auntie Mim’s and then took the bus to where Sharon worked.  No one at the café knew anything, they just shrugged and said she hadn’t shown up for work one day towards the end of October and had never come back.  October twentieth, the cook remembered, and John realized she’d disappeared on the same day he’d written his letter to her.  He should have come back to the ‘pool before now, he should have come back and started looking for Sharon, what had happened to her?

Feeling miserably worried, John turned up his collar and walked ‘round the corner to the club; he was certain he’d learn something there.

***

The door opened and let in the chill December air along with a young man shivering in dirty jeans and scruffy leather jacket with his collar turned up against the wind.  Toby looked him over with a practiced eye; the boy didn’t look the sort to have money for the show, which is probably why he’d waited ‘til now to enter.  The regulars had all returned to their jobs and it was just him and Len and Will in the club at this hour.

“Whatcha want, son?  Can I ‘elp ya?”

For some reason, the boy looked somewhat familiar, and that’s the only reason Toby wasn’t throwing him out on his penniless arse.

“I’m lookin’ fer Miss Castle.”

Toby narrowed his eyes.  “She doesn’t work ‘ere anymore.  What d’ya want with ‘er?”

“Errrr, I…… I mean, me an’ me mates were th’ backin’ band earlier this year, in th’ summer.  I jus’ wanted ta say hullo, see ‘ow she was.  D’ya know where she’s gone?”

So that’s why the lad looked a bit familiar.  But it didn’t make any difference.

“No,” Toby growled.  “Now get out ‘fore I call th’ bobbies.”

“Look, I jus’ want t’ talk to ‘er, she can’t ‘ave jus’ disappeared like that, she’s a friend o’ mine, I jus’…….”

“If she’s a friend o’ yers, she’d o’ tol’ ya ‘erself where she’s gone.  Now get out.  An’ don’t come back!”  Toby clenched his fists threateningly; he didn’t want to hurt the boy, but he didn’t want him hanging about, either.

“Ya don’ unnerstand, I need ta find ‘er, I been by ‘er flat an’ th’ café……”

“I unnerstand plenty, now get yer arse outta ‘ere an’ don’ plan on showin’ yer face ‘round ‘ere again!” Toby growled.

The kid was a cocky piece, and Toby ended up arguing with him for several minutes before Will and Len made their presence known, eager for a bit of a fight.  They’d changed recently, and Toby thought he might have to replace the strippers’ musical accompaniment if they kept this up, they were a bit too bloodthirsty for his peace of mind, nearly looking for trouble these days.  Their entire attitude made him uneasy, and he wondered again about the newspaper article that he’d read shortly after Sharon had disappeared, about a body found beaten and bloody in a nearby park, an as-yet unsolved murder of a London actor.

Toby resolutely turned his thoughts aside, but a small voice in his head insisted he just might know who had murderered Sharon’s ex-husband.

“Don’t hurt th’ kid, just send ‘im on ‘is way,” he instructed the men, then left them to have their fun.

He walked back into his little office and shut the door, sat down at his desk and looked at the back-side of the door, stared at the poster he’d hung there, of ‘Janice and her Seven Veils’.  Keeping his eyes on the poster, he blindly reached into his drawer and pulled out a letter, well worn with frequent readings.  He knew it by heart, yet he still read it, just to feel her touch by looking at her writing.

   “22 November 1960

   Dear Toby,

   I’m sorry I left so abruptly, but I had to run. William
   and Leonard probably told you, but I had another
   confrontation with my ex-husband and I had to get
   away.  I doubt I’ll ever return to my home, I simply
   can’t face it, knowing Theodore could be waiting
   for me anywhere.  I’m sorry to be such a coward.
   I want you to know that I appreciate you more than
   words can say, you were a wonderful employer
   and a good friend.  I’ll miss you.  Please be well.

   Please thank Leonard and William for rescuing me,
   tell them I sincerely appreciate their concern and
   assistance, and please, please don’t tell anyone
   where I’m writing from.

   Fondly, Sharon”

The envelope had been postmarked from New York, in America, but there was no return address.

Toby carefully folded the letter and put it back in the envelope, tucked it in the drawer, then stared at the poster and sighed.  Leonard and William had never said a word to him, had appeared as shocked as he when Sharon hadn’t shown up for work on that Monday in late October, and he’d never had the courage to ask about it once he’d received the letter.  But he wished he could contact the girl, wished she’d given him an address.

“Ah, Sharon, luv, I wish ya hadn’t run,” he murmured to the poster.  “I wish ya’d come home.  Ya got nuthin’ t’ worry ‘bout anymore, luv, th’ bastard’s dead an’ gone, he’ll never bother ya again.  Oh, lass, most of all, I wish t’ God I’d told ya how I felt ‘bout ya.”

He pulled out a small box from the drawer, opened it and stared with burning eyes at the ring he’d bought in the early autumn, thought of his plans to offer the piece of jewelry to the girl at Christmas time.  Toby sighed again as he closed the jeweler’s box and put it away, and then began to work on the day’s receipts, putting his wishes behind him once again. 

He reminded himself that if wishes were horses, beggars would ride.

***

(9 February 1964)

Sharon unlocked the door to her flat with a weary sigh.  It had been a very long day, but a very satisfying day.  All the hard work was finally paying off, and there was a good possibility...... no, there was a good probability, that this play was going to be opening on Broadway before long. 

She smiled as she hung up her coat.  It was very satisfying to have come so far.  After nearly two and a half years of work in off-Broadway plays, she knew she was ready for the lights and this play was the one that would go there.  Choreography was a demanding profession, but she had the background for it; it had taken time, but she hadn’t minded because it was work she loved and her Master was benevolent and kind to her.  Even though she wasn’t dancing herself, the work was fulfilling and wonderful.  She’d kept up her stretching to maintain her mobility, and she occassionally danced by herself in the studio, abandoning herself to the movements, reminding herself of her beginnings and letting herself dream once again.

Sharon reflected that she was…… happy, for the most part.  She mainly ignored her loneliness and worked hard at her chosen profession, enjoying the city and the art galleries, the theatre and the excitement of living in America.  New York was just as they said, “a wonderful town” and she was finally comfortable in her adopted city.

She slipped out of her shoes and tucked them into the closet of her flat (studio, she reminded herself for the umpteenth time since she’d moved in nearly three years ago), then sighed at the enjoyment of padding barefoot on her carpet as she fixed a pot of tea. 

Yes, she’d grown to love her adopted town, it held some elements of Liverpool and reminded her of the good things whilst not making her remember the bad times.  And the bad times were what had caused her to flee her home so many years before.  The knowledge that Theodore could still exact his revenge had caused that frantic flight to America.  Why America, she’d wondered after arriving, but Janice had been responsible for the entire plan, Sharon had simply been along for the ride.  Perhaps it had simply been the fact that it was far away from England and yet America and England had a common language.  Although the New Yorkers rather butchered the King’s English!  She wasn’t sure she’d ever grow accustomed to the accent, it was still difficult to understand some of the shopkeepers and taxi drivers!

As she waited for the water to heat, she reflected on the past few years.  Once she’d arrived in New York, she’d applied for a work visa and had hunkered down with her nest egg, praying it would last until she found work.  It had been difficult and frightening at times, wondering if she could find a place for herself here in the United States, but she’d eventually gotten settled and established and had finally stopped jumping at shadows.

And now, she very nearly felt at home.  There had been definite upheavals along the way, not the least of which had been the murder of the young American president only a few short months ago, such a sad day that had been, and with so many sad days following it.  The sadness seemed to pervade the entire country, and New York had not been immune to the sorrow.

The kettle whistled and interrupted her contemplation; Sharon fixed her cuppa and wandered into her living area with teacup in hand.  She flipped on the telly out of habit, although it was too late for the evening news.  Perhaps that American variety show was on?  She sat down in her easy chair and sighed with relief, sipping her tea.  It had been several weeks since she’d seen the show and she wondered if that funny little puppet character would be on tonight?  The tube warmed up and she heard the voice before she saw the picture.

“......stirred by these youngsters from Liverpool......”

She lost a bit of the host’s comments as she blinked in surprise to hear her hometown mentioned on national television.  The picture came into focus and she watched the man on the screen

“Now tonight, you’re going to be twice entertained by them, right now and again in the second half of our show.  Ladies and gentlemen, The Beatles!” the dour looking host proclaimed, and a group of young men with long hair and posh suits began singing. 

“Close your eyes and I’ll kiss you, tomorrow I’ll miss you……”

The tea in her cup grew cold as she watched them, a slow smile spreading across her face.  She didn’t recognize the drummer, but the other lads were instantly recognizable, even after several years and looking so much fancier than when she’d seen them last.  It was the Silver Beatles, George with his big ears and skinny legs, Paul with his lovely eyes......

And John, looking so much the same despite the hair down on his forehead and nearly hanging in his eyes.

Sharon ignored the pang in her heart.  Beautiful, beautiful boy, probably just past 23 years old now.  She had a smile at herself and the old habbits, she was doing it again!  Beautiful man, not boy!

Sharon realized that Paul was playing the bass, had Stuart quit the band?  More importantly, had he and John ever become friends again?  Her smile faded and she was saddened anew to remember that she’d been the cause of John and Stuart’s broken friendship.  They were such wonderful young men, and she treasured her memories of them, despite the sad way everything had ended.

But perhaps the young artist had simply returned to his first love and had quit the band.  It was difficult, if not impossible, to serve two Mistresses, so perhaps Stuart had left the idea of a life in music behind.  She wondered if he’d ever found his dream girl, and if she’d been as wonderful as what he’d deserved.  She hoped so.  And she hoped that he and John had resumed their friendship over time.

She watched as George and John shared a microphone, and nearly laughed at George’s cocked eyebrow; he looked no different from the last time she’d seen him, behind her on stage whilst she’d stripped for the businessmen. He’d been red faced with embarrassment then, but the black and white picture on the telly didn’t allow her to wonder if his cheeks were rosy with embarrassment or not.  But John seemed to nearly ignore the camera, cool and calm, confident; he looked wonderful......

This was simply amazing, she’d never heard them singing before, and they were absolutely marvelous!  The audience definitely thought so as well.  Sharon wondered if they had a record album available for purchase?

Paul finished singing his song and the audience simply errupted!  Sharon laughed to see the young girls in the audience, screaming for their favourite, even during the songs!  And some not so young girls, too!  When Paul started another song, ‘Til There Was You, the girls in the audience screamed as each of their favourites were shown on screen with their name.  George simply couldn’t keep his eyes off the television screens that were obviously overhead, it was brilliant to watch him watching himself, Sharon had a good giggle over that!  She smiled as a closeup of John was shown with a sign across the bottom of the screen, “Sorry girls, he’s married”, and when John obviously noticed the banner, he smiled somewhat self-consciously.  She idly wondered whom he’d married, and she hoped he was happy.

When they finished their third number, the noise was such that Mr. Sullivan couldn’t even speak over the sound!  Sharon sat through the other acts, hoping the men would come back on stage, and was rewarded in the second half hour of the show when they came out for another two songs.  At the end of it, the four of them came over and shook hands with the host; they waved to the screaming crowd and then they were gone.  Sharon decided she’d definitely plan to be home the following two Sundays, The Beatles were going to be on again!

When the show ended, she turned off the telly and cleaned her cup, setting it in the rack to drain.  Well, perhaps she’d stop by a record store tomorrow and see if they had any records.  It had been lovely to see them, and she wondered if they’d remember her.  Or rather, she wondered if George and Paul remembered Janice.

And Sharon wondered if John would remember her, and she wondered if he still harboured a grudge against her?

Oh, how ridiculous, to think he or they had ever even thought of her in the intervening years.  She chided herself for an overactive imagination and went to bed, dreaming the night away of beautiful young lovers.

***

(Autumn 1964)

Sharon sat in the back of the cinema and watched the black and white film unfold before her eyes, astounded at the mere children in the audience who screamed joyously when their idols appeared on the screen.  Oh, the men on the screen were all so much larger than life, and so close she could nearly touch them all.  Simply amazing.  A lighthearted and happy film, and she thoroughly enjoyed it.  But it simply couldn’t be like that in ‘real life;’ the very thought of such an existence was impossible!

Sharon looked around at the screaming children in the theatre and wondered if she’d have to revise her opinion!  If things were this noisy and frantic at a mere cinema feature, what must it be like in reality when the lads were appearing live?

She learned the men had been on a concert tour of the United States during the summer, but she’d just missed their stop in New York.  Well, there was always next year.  Not that she’d see them personally, of course, the new phenomenon of “Beatlemania” had swept the United States and people were simply mad over them!  Sharon daydreamed of meeting up with them again, then had a laugh at herself and put her foolish thoughts aside, throwing herself into the work she loved.

***

(Summer 1965)

Sharon sat in the back of the cinema and watched the colour movie unfold before her eyes.  She laughed at their antics, such a silly film focusing mainly on the drummer lad, but all of them appeared to be enjoying themselves on what was obviously a lark.  They were still so young, and she found herself counting years.  John must be nearly 25 years old by now, and he looked simply wonderful, she thought with a sigh. 

She’d taken to buying an occasional magazine that featured the lads, and had learnt a bit about them.  The magazines made them out to be such sweet and innocent lads, and she had a laugh over that, they might have been sweet, but they were never innocent!  Well, perhaps George had been when she’d known him, but he probably wasn’t any longer!  So she took what she read with a grain of salt and tried to read between the lines.

It had been in one of those magazines that she’d learnt of Stuart’s death so many years before, and the brief mention had greatly saddened her.  She thought of the headache that had kept him awake all night on their single night together, the night of comfort, the gift of loving he’d given back to her, the joy he’d allowed her to rediscover.  She cried when she read about his death, and the sadness didn’t leave her for many weeks.

The Beatles were on tour again, but she missed her chance to see them as there was an awards banquet on the night they played New York.  And really, did she want to see them?  It was certain they wouldn’t remember her, and it was possible that John wouldn’t want a thing to do with her.  But Sharon found herself wishing she could contact them, just to say hullo and to wish them well.

***

Text of a letter sent addressed to John Lennon, read by a secretary and discarded.

“15 October 1966

Dear John,

I don’t know if you remember me, but we knew each other back when you and the others were called the Silver Beatles.  We didn’t part under the best of circumstances and it’s taken me over a year to work up the courage to write, but I thought I’d just like to say hello and offer you my congratulations on your success.

I don’t suppose I have anything more to say, but if you’d care to write back, my address is listed on the stationary.  It would be lovely to keep in touch.

Sincerely and fondly,

Sharon Castle”

***

Text of a letter sent addressed to John Lennon.

“1 July 1967

Dear John,

I doubt you remember me, but I remember you from when you and the lads played in a group called the Silver Beatles.  I wrote once last year, but didn’t receive a reply.  I’m hoping that you don’t still harbour a grudge towards me, and I’m writing once more in case my first letter went astray.  Rest assured, if you’d prefer not to hear from me again, this will be my last attempt at contacting you.  I merely wanted to say I’m happy for your success and I wish you well.  I saw you on the telly last month, during that world-wide show for peace, when you and the other lads did your new song, All You Need is Love.   It’s all the rage now in the United States now, and it’s a beautiful song.  It was wonderful to see you, John.  I hope you’re well.

 With sincere best wishes,

Sharon Castle”

***

Text of a letter sent addressed to John Lennon.

“January 13, 1968

Dear John,

I was simply shattered to receive your letter this week!  You see, I’d given up hope of hearing from you.  I’m sorry you never received my first letter, but exceptionally happy that you received the last one, no matter how late!  I’m also very happy (shocked!) to know that you remember me.  You always were a charmer, and so very good for my ego.

Yes, I learnt of Stuart’s death a few years ago, and the news devastated me.  He was a loving and gentle soul and I shall never, never forget him.  I remember him very fondly, and I was very happy to learn that you and he didn’t let what happened drive you apart for long.  Thank you for telling me what you did, it was a great comfort to know of Astrid; I’m so very happy that he found his dream girl.

I was quite surprised to learn that you’d attempted to find me after your return from Germany in 1960.  I’m afraid I was in a state of shock when I left England and came to America, all I could think of was getting away.  I’m sorry to say I’d had another run in with my ex-husband, so I cut all ties with everyone I knew and simply ran like a coward.  I’ll never return home for fear of seeing him again.  I’ve made a life for myself in the theatre here in New York and I’m comfortable, but please believe me, if I’d known you were searching for me, I’d have certainly, somehow, gotten word to you that I was well.  I can understand your anger, and I apologize for being the cause of it.  Regardless, I’m extremely happy to know that you hold no grudges towards me; I’ve always remembered you with affection, and to know that you think of me the same way is beyond expectation.

I’m afraid I’ve never heard of Transcendental Meditation, and I don’t know anything about this Maharishi of whom you speak so fondly, but I certainly hope that your trip to India next month is everything you desire.

You’ve had your ups and downs, as well as unbelievable success, haven’t you, John?  I’m sorry to hear that your friend and manager died last year, and I’m equally sorry to hear that you and your wife aren’t getting on very well at the present.  I hope that things work out for the best for you.

Well, this has been a long letter, so I’ll close now.  Again, it was lovely receiving your letter, it brought back many memories of home.  If you’re ever in New York, I hope that you’ll think of ringing me to say hello.

With fond best wishes,

Sharon”

***

Text of a letter addressed to John Lennon.

“7 February 1968

Dear John,

It was lovely to receive your reply so quickly.  I’ll enclose my card, it has my phone number on it, which you requested.  It would be wonderful to hear your voice.  The American accent is quickly becoming the norm for me, but to hear a bit of the old ‘pool slang would be music to my ears.

I must say that the news article you sent, regarding the unsolved murder of Theodore Dupree so many years ago, gave me the deepest shiver, but mainly of relief.  It’s a comfort to me that I never again have to worry about meeting him in a dark alley.  Thank you, thank you for sending the clipping!  Perhaps now my nightmares will finally cease.  Thank you, my dear friend, I can’t say it enough.  It’s amazing that you were able to dig up the information, but you must know people in various professions that would be honoured to help a famous Beatle.  Yes, I’m teasing you!

With the knowledge you’ve given me, perhaps I will make a trip home this springtime, as you suggested.  Thank you for the offer of a limousine to pick me up at the airport, I’ll let you know my decision upon your return from India.  I suddenly find myself desperately homesick for England and old friends, and so I believe I’ll be answering your suggestion in the affirmative.

In closing, I send my most sincere best wishes and very fond thoughts.  I hope to see you soon, John, it would be simply wonderful to share a cuppa and catch up on the past eight years.

Yours,

Sharon”

***

(Spring, 1968)

Sharon looked in the mirror of the tiny loo and brushed her shoulder length hair nervously.  Should she have gone to the beauty salon for a trim last week?  She sighed, wishing she didn’t feel like such a schoolgirl; she was 42 years old, no nervous teenager!  Well, she looked very well for her age, and she reached mental fingers to touch Janice and thus draw confidence from her old alter ego and friend before returning to her seat and tightening her safety belt in preparation for landing.

The landing was a gentle touchdown, and they were shortly at the gate.  Off the plane and down the steps to the terminal, she looked ‘round for the described man, smiling when she saw him standing with a sign that spelled out her name, holding a large bouquet of flowers and some balloons; it was hard to miss him!

“Hullo, I’m Sharon Castle,” she said as she walked up to him.

A big smile split the man’s face, causing his heavy framed glasses to wobble alarmingly on his nose.  “I’m Mal Evans, pleased ta meetcha.  John’s pretty excited ‘bout seein’ ya, miss.  If you’ll come this way, we’ll get yer bags an’ get ya t’ th’ car straight away.”

“Thank you, Mr. Evans, I appreciate you picking me up today.”

“Ah, jus’ call me Mal, ev’rybody does.  An’ it’s not a problem, like I said, th’ boss is lookin’ forward ta seein’ ya.  ‘e ‘asn’t talked ‘bout much else since ‘e got back from India.  ‘e ‘ad me clear off ‘is schedule fer th’ week, ‘e ‘ad an art exhibition ‘e was gonna go see, some artist bird ‘e met a few years ago, but ‘e figgered next week or next month’s soon enough t’ see ‘er show, ‘e wants t’ spend as much time as possible with ya.  Oh, these are from John,” he added, handing her the flowers and balloons.  “Baggage claim’s this way, let’s get yer bags.”

“Oh, thank you, well, errrr…… I…… errrrr, I’m looking forward to meeting John’s wife and son,” Sharon said. 

She wasn’t quite sure what to say about Mal’s statements.  It was lovely to think that John was excited about seeing her, but she wasn’t exactly sure what to think of the fact that he was apparently prepared to wait on her hand-and-foot all week, to the point of delaying and canceling things he’d already scheduled!  Red roses, too, she thought with an appreciative sniff of the fragrant bouquet.  Oh, beautiful, and a lovely token of affection.  How very sweet of her old friend!

They arrived at baggage claim as Mal replied to her comment.

“Ah, well...... errrr, ya may not see much o’ Cyn.  She an’ John…… well, they’re not gettin’ on very well, John’s livin’ away from ‘em right now.  But ‘e doesn’t want ya worried ‘bout that, th’ flat’s got plenty o’ room fer guests.”

 “Errrr...... the flat?  I thought I’d be staying at a hotel.”

“Well, a ‘otel just wouldn’t work, ‘e can’t go out anywhere public like that, th’ Beatle thing, ya know.  ‘e was ‘opin’ you wouldn’t mind stayin’ at ‘is flat, there’s lotsa room, miss.  An’ ‘e said ta tell ya , there’s a housekeeper, in case ya feel a bit strange.”

Sharon indicated her suitcase and Mal picked it up easily, then led the way out of the airport.  She followed him to the car and he held the door for her, closing it firmly and then getting behind the wheel.  Sharon looked out the windows as the car pulled away and she sighed as the old familiar scenery soothed her travel weary nerves.

She reflected on her thoughts and the recent conversation with Mal as the driver negotiated the twists and turns of the road.

John’s letters had been greatly affectionate, and they’d teased each other quite a bit when he’d called on the telephone; it had been simply amazing how comfortable she’d felt talking with him.  He was living in a flat and was separated from his wife.  He was prepared to be at her beck and call during her vacation to the apparent exclusion of all else, but he’d wanted her to know that he had a housekeeper.  For the sake of propriety?  Since when did that bother her, she wondered with a little laugh?

John was giving her some very conflicting impressions here, she mused, including red roses, the token of love. 

Sharon smiled and gave herself a mental shake.  Oh, she was simply being foolish, he was just an old friend, looking forward to seeing an even older friend.  And most men didn’t really understand the significance of red roses, he’d probably simply had someone pick them up for him, and she had a secretary or errand boy to thank for the flowers.  She smiled at her silly delusions, it was just that she had become a Beatles fan (a guilty pleasure for a 42-year-old woman!) and she was feeling a bit giddy about meeting him and them.  What a silly goose she was; she knew three quarters of the group, there was nothing to feel giddy about!

Once they reached the apartment building, Mal parked the car and took her up the lift to the flat. 

“John’s in studio t’day, ‘e’ll be back quite late, but ‘e said ta make yerself at ‘ome an’ ‘e’ll see ya in th’ mornin’.  Me number’s by th’ phone, if ya need anythin’, me wife an’ I live fairly near an’ I can be ‘ere in a flash.  John’s number’s there, too, but I’d try t’ avoid callin’ ‘im if I was you, things are kinda tense in studio some days.  ‘ere we go, right in ‘ere, miss.”

The room he ushered her into was simply beautiful, larger than her entire studio in New York, and she was astounded at having such luxury as her own for the coming week.   She thanked the big man and said goodbye as he left the flat. 

Once she’d unpacked, she fixed a sandwich and tea in the sumptuous and well-stocked kitchen, then peeked into each and every room of the flat. The ensuite to her room was lovely, with a tub that would fit two quite easily, and she was dying to try it out.  Oh, and this room must be John’s, she thought, quickly closing the door to a masculine bedroom, not wanting to…… well, snoop.  A housekeeper was nowhere in evidence during her exploration, perhaps she had the evening off? 

The final room she checked was a beautiful library, and Sharon couldn’t wait to look around!  She looked at the titles on the shelves and found a few books she’d been hoping to find time to read, decided she was glad she hadn’t bought them yet.  As she walked out of the room, she paused and turned up the lights, looking closely at a poster hanging on the wall.  She was stunned to see that it was a beautifully framed poster of her, from when she’d been performing in the London Ballet!  She’d had one just like it on the wall in her flat eight years before!  How on earth had he found something like this?  Nearly in shock, she looked around the room a bit more closely, saw another poster, very similar if not the same as one she’d had at her flat too!  And on the little coffee table, a rather obscure theatre magazine.  She snatched it up and flipped through the pages, yes, it was the 1950 magazine from when she’d suffered her injury!  Where on earth had he found this?

The impressions she was getting from all this were extremely jumbled and confused, she wasn’t sure exactly what to think!  She tried to put it out of her mind and readied herself for bed, but simply tossed and turned for nearly half an hour before giving up that idea.

Although it was late in the evening, she had a lovely soak in the large tub, hoping to relax enough to sleep; the bath oil she picked had a lovely honeysuckle scent that somehow smelled familiar.  Once her fingers started to wrinkle from prolonged immersion, she put on her nightclothes and then found a comfortable chair in the library in front of the fireplace, settled down and lost herself in a book.  She was beginning to grow drowsy when a noise made her look towards the doorway, only to see a familiar figure leaning against the doorframe, watching her with a slight smile on his lips, a single red rose held in his hand.

“Hullo, John,” she said, breaking into a slow smile, standing up to greet him. 

He looked so different from the way he had the last time they’d been in a room together.  Different, but absolutely wonderful.  Oh, dear, she was feeling so nervous and shy, she hadn’t felt like this in many long years!  And when his smile broadened, she felt as if she were blushing!

“Ya ‘aven’t changed a bit, Sharon,” he said.  “Well, ‘cept fer yer hair, I like it a bit longer like this.”

“I used to keep it short because of the wigs I was wearing……at the time…… we knew each other…… back, I mean here in England.  I don’t…… I don’t dance any longer, I just teach, so I started to let it grow a little bit.” 

Sharon was feeling awfully breathless, and it was difficult to get the words out, her mouth seemed so dry that she was stammering.  Silly goose, she scolded herself.

“It looks great, luv.  It’s good ta see ya, Sharon.”

“It’s wonderful to see you as well,” she replied, wishing she could bring herself to walk over to him, but she felt frozen in her very footsteps. 

Silence reigned for nearly a full minute.

“I......I couldn’t help but notice the posters, and the magazine, where on earth could you have found something like that?” she finally asked, simply to break the silence, her curiosity getting the better of her.

He smiled.  “I ‘ad ‘em in storage fer th’ past few years.  Picked ‘em up from yer landlord when I got back t’ England after...... after ya left.”  He shrugged, a small movement of his shoulders underneath his shirt.  “When I moved in ‘ere, th’ walls seemed kinda bare, so I pulled ‘em outta storage, thought they looked pretty nice.”

She didn’t know what to stay, was he joking or was it possible he’d had these things for eight years?  She swallowed with difficulty, a lump in her throat formed of surprise and wonder.  She felt hesitant, shy, nearly afraid to go closer to him, and he seemed content to lounge against the door frame and just look at her.  It made her nervous.  She nearly jumped when he continued.

“Oh, I got sommat fer ya, here.”

He held out a small box, and she finally crossed the room and stood in front of him, taking the wrapped package from him, looking at him questioningly.

“It’s from Stu.  ‘e figgered I’d find ya again, sometime.”

The lump in her throat was enormous this time, and she wasn’t able to get it down.  She blinked rapidly as she tore off the old and yellowed wrapping paper, the brittle tape that held it together.  It was a small jewelry box, and she opened it with trembling fingers.

“It’s a Claddagh ring, ‘e tol’ me ‘bout it, ‘e bought it fer ya, fer friendship.  Said as long as ‘e was yer Irish nephew, ya oughta ‘ave an Irish ring.”

Sharon couldn’t prevent a few tears from tracing their way down her cheeks as she looked at the small silver ring, two hands holding a crowned heart between them.  She looked at the engraving on the inside of the ring.

“’Let love and friendship reign,’” she read softly.

“’e considered ya a good friend, Sharon.”

She slipped the ring onto her little finger, it was a perfect fit, and she shook her head in wonder.

“Hope ya don’t mind,” John continued, “but I invited some people over day aft’a t’morra, jus’ a little party.  George an’ Paul, they’re lookin’ forward t’ seein’ ya.  Ya don’ know Ringo, but he’s comin’, too.  Mal an’ ‘is wife.  An’ a surprise.”

“What surprise?” she asked, nearly beyond surprise at anything else that might happen on this extraordinary evening.

He smiled.  “’member anybody named Toby?”

She simply stared at him.  “How......?”

“’e still runs th’ same club!  Sent Mal ‘round t’ talk t’ ‘im.  Funny, ‘e married one o’ his strippers ‘bout 3 years ago, got a couple o’ kids by now.  ‘e an’ ‘is wife are comin’.”

“I can’t believe you did this, I was hoping to try to locate him whilst on my vacation!”

“Yeah, thought so, kinda figgered ya might like t’ see some o’ th’ ol’ faces.  Toby said yer guitarist an’ drummer moved t’ Italy a couple o’ years ago, didn’t go that far t’ try an’ find ‘em.  There’s some advantage t’ bein’ a Beatle, but I don’ know too many people in Italy.  ‘ope ya don’ mind.”

“I’m stunned, John, I never expected anything like this.”  She shook her head in astonishment.  “I…… I certainly appreciate everything you’ve done, and also for letting me stay here, I’ve really been looking forward to the vacation,” she added.

“I been lookin’ forward to it, too,” he said with a slow, lazy smile.  “Been lookin’ forward t’ seein’ ya again, t’ gettin’ reacquainted with ya.”  John took an appreciative sniff of the rose, looking at her over the petals of the flower with a mischievous glint in his eyes.  “I didn’t think you’d be awake this late, thought I’d ‘ave ta sneak inta yer bedroom an’ leave this on yer dresser.”

“Oh, you’d best be careful, young man,” Sharon teased without thought, trying to cover her increasing nervousness. “A girl could get the wrong impression from that kind of comment!”

He rolled his eyes.  “Don’ be startin’ up with th’ young man thing again, I’ll ‘ave ta take ya over me knee an’ teach ya some respect!”

Another silence lingered as they continued to simply look at each other.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she finally replied, still not quite sure.

He grinned, the same cocky, endearing grin she remembered, his eyes half closed and smiling.

“Try me,” he invited.

C.A.Jones is a long-time fan of The Beatles, but was never lucky enough to see them together in concert. An avid reader since childhood, C.A. only recently tried her hand at writing and now has another hobby with which she consumes her all-too-little spare time. She lives in the Western United States with husband and pets and computers.