second question... ~ Paul McCartney (2nd book)

•Part 9•

May 26th 1967

It arrived as sudden as the blaring sunlight coming through her blinds in her bedroom. It was time for the secret assignment. She always said to herself that she didn't make it as a journalist, she would join MI7 or some sort of spy agency and these confidential missions only encouraged her to feel this way. The event wasn't due to commence until five thirty that evening so she occupied herself by doing some sight seeing.

Although she was alone, Amelia enjoyed having some time with herself. However, she couldn't help but recollect when she came on the American tour only a year ago with Paul and traveled through LA. But this time she had the space to do what she wanted for a couple of days instead of being stuck inside a hotel room or venue for hours. Amelia sank into a sofa in the small coffee shop she was in. As she thought deeper about what happened on tour a small flicker of desire and longing arrived. She was beginning to think she was missing him.

Paul.

For a while, Amelia had tried to permanently block him out of her life just like she did with the blind back in her office. However, she couldn't help but feel they were being drawn back together some how.

But how could that possibly be?
She questioned, she was in another country for goodness sake.

At least that's what she believed.

Amelia focused back on her now lukewarm coffee and brought it to her lips. It was only recently that she had got into this sort of beverage and she had also obtained a strong taste for top quality red wine. When her cup was empty, she gathered her things and decided to take some more photographs of the monuments and general artistic architecture that caught her eye.

She made a mental note to purchase a scrapbook when she arrived back home to make a journal from this trip. Afterwards, she checked her watch and decided to head back to her hotel room and prepare her self for the evening ahead.

Amelia jumped in the shower once more, took the beautiful dress out of its casing after and then applied minimal makeup to her face. Everything was enhanced and she looked as though she was a movie star. She beamed at herself in the mirror admiring her own reflection. Then she whisked her hair up into a low bun that Lisa had actually taught her and said it was what she and all her friends were doing at this moment in time and much to her surprise, it looked good. Finally, she coated herself in a sweet yet daring scent of perfume her grandmother had given her that instantly boosted her confidence and perseverance.

Thankfully, the evening was warm and felt no need to accompany her ensemble with a cardigan of some sort. All she added was her relatively small clutch bag containing a handkerchief, a pen, a notebook, some money and of course her camera.

But no amount of miscellaneous items were going to prepare her for what was to come.

Her chauffeur effortlessly pulled up outside the address she had been given. The venue looked rather grand and much larger than she was used to, almost like a tall terrace house yet slightly wider. Photographers loitered at the entrance where she soon deducted she was at a press conference but what on earth for? She was snapped a few times before fully emerging through the door and into the reception of the conference. As per usual, she was greeted by important looking men who smiled and shook her hand. Amelia collected her journalist pass and proceeded to find out why she was attending. She was surround by large posters of colour but couldn't make out what it was for. Various brass instruments on what seemed to be a bandstand was set in the corner.

Then she walked further down through a corridor and into a room where laughter seemed to be heard and it was extremely familiar. For some reason, her mind was flown back to when she was set her first assignment with Mr Miles.

That was the press conference for "Help!"

A small flutter of anxiousness and adrenaline rushed through her at the thought of that happening again and possibly this time. It couldn't be, she thought. Amelia pressed on the door that was only half open and made her way into the crowed to more men. Smoke arose from various cigars and cigarettes of the hands of people. Her beady eyes fell to a low point in the corner of the room where a gentleman was sat smoking in an arm chair.

A very familiar gentleman, almost too familiar.

Frozen she gazed at the oddly joyful man, who now lacked any facial hair at all, sat a few feet away as her conversed with another gentleman about something or rather. He then left leaving the recognisable young man alone on his seat. Ripping her feet on the floor, it took every drop of courage in Amelia's body to approach the gentleman. Almost subconsciously she reached him and his eyes widened immensely.