Aunt Mimi's house was much farther removed from Mr. Edwards's establishment than John would have preferred, the house being situated at the other side of the city, which made it difficult for him to travel between the two as much as he would have liked. Although he had been glad to leave to live on his own when Mr. Edwards had first offered him the room, the longer he was away from home, the more he missed his aunt and the more he wished he at least lived closer to her. He wasn't certain how long it had been since his last visit, the last couple of weeks having passed by too swiftly for him with all that had happened to keep proper track of time, and he felt nervous at the apprehension of what kind of welcome he would be given after such a long time of not having received as much as a word from him, never mind a proper visit. There was not a flicker of doubt in his mind, however, that she would not be happy to see him, and it was this knowledge that made John knock on the door of his aunt's house and not turn away soon after.

He held his breath as he waited for someone to answer to door, preparing himself for to odd chance that it was his aunt herself, which happened only rarely when either her servants were otherwise engaged or had a day off, and repeated the few rehearsed lines in his head that he had prepared as an excuse for his absence over the last couple of weeks, if not months. He could hear rattling behind the door and hushed voices talking to each other about something that John was unable to hear, the words coming muffled through the wooden door. Much to his surprise, it was not any of the servants nor his aunt herself who opened the door for him, but instead a young man who was a couple of years older than him and whom John had not seen before.

"Good morning," the young man said in an cheery voice, a large pleasant smile appearing on his lips as he looked John up and down. "What can I do for you?"

"I am here to see my aunt. Is she at home?" John replied in a firm voice, unsure what to think of the man before him, as he tended to be suspicious of anyone who seemed unusually cheery without apparent reason. Moreover, as far as he knew his aunt hadn't mentioned anything about employing a young man or anything along such lines, which was strange as she always told him everything about such matters, seeing as he in a way still lived here and left her a considerable amount of his weekly wages. What surprised him even more was when the man's face brightened at his words as he extended his hand for John to shake.

"You must be John Lennon, Mrs. Smith's nephew. Yes, she has told me about you. I am John Cavill. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Please, come in," he said in a kind voice and John shook the other man's hand politely before stepping inside, where he started unbuttoning his coat as he turned to the other man.

"And who, if I may ask, are you exactly, Mr. Cavill? I must admit I haven't heard my aunt make any kind of mention of you."

"I suppose you haven't, no. I haven't been here long, you see. Your aunt was kind enough to let me rent a room here. I'm a student at the university," Mr. Cavill explained as he offered to take John's coat from him, which he allowed, albeit with mistrust, still being unsure about him. He had to speak with his aunt first.

"Your aunt is in the parlour," Mr. Cavill added as he hung the coat on a peg, smiling as he noticed John watching him curiously, his eyes narrowed as he studied his features, trying to decide what he made of him. For a moment he did not reply, but then he nodded and thanked him as he turned around and made his way to the parlour, pushing the door open and stepping inside to see his aunt sitting in an armchair by the fire reading a book, her glasses riding low on her nose, daring to fall off, but kept in place only just by her nostrils. She glanced up at the sound of someone coming into the room unannounced and had been about to complain about wanting them to knock first when she saw it was none other than her nephew who was standing there, a nervous grimace on his lips as he closed the door behind him, his eyes never leaving his aunt's form. She was growing old, the light wrinkles in her face having deepened since he had last seen her, and she was growing thinner, her already slender form having slimmed to such an extent that John could see the bones of her wrists and fingers as she removed her glasses from her nose and laid down the book on the mantelpiece. Her voice, on the other hand, was still as forceful and demanding as before.

"I see you have finally decided to pay your dear aunt a visit. Come here, then. Have a seat." She sounded ill-disposed as she spoke to him, clearly disappointed by his lack of visits, though there was a hint of warmth in her tone of voice that told John somewhere she was glad, if one could use that word in relation to her, to see him. John, feeling as if he were only sixteen again and suspended from school for a couple of days after making inappropriate noises at his teacher, approached her at a careful pace, and leaned down to kiss her cheek before doing as she had said and sitting down in the seat opposite hers so he could look at her directly and still be kept warm by the fire. He decided not to go into the reasons why he hadn't been able to visit as much as he normally would, knowing she would not accept whatever reason he would give her, and instead he changed the subject matter, hoping she would not ask further if he did.

"I have met Mr. Cavill."

"Ah, yes. Such a polite young man, don't you agree?" aunt Mimi said and took a hold of a small silver bell which she rung twice before setting it back down and continuing. "Would you like some tea?"

"Mimi, what is he doing here?" John asked, ignoring the question. One of the maids came into the parlour, alerted by the sound of the bell, and before she had had the chance to enquire what she could do for them, Mimi told her to bring them some tea and biscuits, to which the girl replied with a silent nod before hurrying out of the room to do as she had been asked. John repeated her name to urge his aunt on in her answer, but what he got in return was a foul look.

"He is a student at the university here, John. As you could have been if you had done your best in school. He was in need for a room so I offered him one."

"And why, may I ask, did you offer him one?" John pressed on, ignoring the little jibe she had made at him, and like before his aunt remained silent for a while, keeping her eyes straight on her nephew as she let him wait before she formulated her answer, which was built to leave him, frustratingly enough, with more questions.

"You know very well why I offered him that room, John. Or you would have if you were to take more interest in your aunt," she said, but when her nephew did not respond, she sighed and continued. "The last few weeks have been hard on me, John. I need the money."

"The money? But Mimi... I thought you were managing fine with the money I send you every week."

"I used to, only... There is some trouble with the bank. You know your uncle left us with a generous amount when he passed on, or so we thought, but some of it was claimed by a Mr. Crook. Gambling debts, they tell me," Mimi explained, her expression turning more and more sour as she spoke. John shuffled his chair closer to her, his body turning cold as he feared the answer to his next question, being well aware what kind of debts his late uncle had been able to get into, especially when he was drunk, which he had been more often than not those last few weeks of his life.

"How much did he claim?" he asked, jaw tight as he awaited her answer. Mimi glanced up at her nephew before bowing her head in shame and uttering her answer.

"Enough. A couple hundred. My allowance has dropped more than I can afford and I have already needed to let most of my staff go, John. Theresa is all I have left. But I need some kind of income if I want to continue my life here in the manner I am used to, so I rented out the two bedrooms upstairs to a couple of students. The pay is enough for me to keep up the life I am accustomed to."

"Mimi..."

"Do not belittle me, John! I know what kind of life I wish to lead and I am more than willing to make sacrifices to make that happen. I had always known your uncle's gambling habits would come to bite me even after his death and I knew what kind of man I would marry when he asked me for my hand and now I shall have to deal with the consequences," she told him and John nodded in reply as he let out a deep sigh, wishing he could do something for her, but knowing there was nothing. The young girl, Theresa, came into the parlour carrying a tray with tea and biscuits and set it down on the coffee table where she poured it out for them. Mimi thanked her as she handed her her cup and John accepted his own with a thankful nod before she excused herself and left to do her other tasks, leaving aunt and nephew alone once more.

"I am sorry, Mimi," John said after a moment of silence, but she shook her head, taking a careful sip of her tea.

"I will manage. Now, tell me why you are here."

"Can I not visit my aunt without any other reason than that I wished to see her?" John asked. When Mimi shot him a knowing look, he cleared his throat and sat up a bit more as he gathered himself to bring her the news. "I am leaving for Paris."

She nearly choked on her tea at his words. "Paris?"

He nodded and took a deep breath, deciding it was best for him and his aunt if he were to begin his explanation at the beginning, having expected the surprise but not the worry he found in her eyes. "I had intended to write to you about it," he started, hoping to assuage his aunt's anger at him for not having told her anything about what had been happening to him the last couple of weeks, in advance, "but I have been commissioned to do Mr. Paul McCartney's portrait and now he has asked me to join him on one of his trips to Paris. There is an opening for a new art exhibition at The Salon, and because he knows about my art, he asked me to come with him. For exposure, you see."

"You were commissioned to do Mr. McCartney's portrait?"

"Yes. Or rather, his father spoke to Mr. Edwards about it, but because he had to leave for another assignment, he left it to me."

"And now you are joining him on a trip to Paris? To get exposure for your art?" Mimi asked and John nodded, surprised at the ease with which his aunt seemed to take this new information, merely nodding back at him as she leaned back in her chair and thought for a moment.

"How long will you be gone?"

"Not long. A week or two, perhaps. We'll leave this Wednesday."

"Where will you be staying?"

"The McCartneys own a couple of rooms there. Mr. McCartney offered me one of the rooms to stay in. The costs will be covered by him as well," John explained, frowning as his aunt hummed in response, seeming deep in thought as she considered his answers, though he could understand her mistrust. "He will also translate for me when needed, so the language will not be a problem either."

"And you have agreed to this?"

"Yes, of course. I mean, it is a chance in a lifetime, Mimi. I won't be offered this again. He says he sees some good potential in my art, and who knows who might be there at the opening! How could I possibly not agree?" His aunt hummed once more in reply. "Mimi?"

"I apologise, John. I realise this is a wonderful opportunity for you - one of the best you have had since you decided to leave school rather than aim to get a place at a university, for which I know you had the potential - it is only that... you and I both know what kind of stories go around about that family, and that worries me. Mostly because... I can vouch for some of them," Mimi explained and John stared at her for a moment, before he understood what she was implying and found his voice.

"You have met them?" he asked, intrigued, and Mimi nodded, letting out a deep sigh as she leaned towards her nephew, having a quick glance at the door to make sure it was closed before she began to speak.

"I cannot say I knew them personally, but I was once invited to one of the few balls they have held in their manor. It must have been a good twelve years ago now, because the sons were still young, children of perhaps seven or nine, and Mary McCartney was still alive. I do not remember much about them, but Mr. McCartney was much like how people describe him: unpleasant, arrogant and strict, but in a way cruel as well. I only saw him dancing twice that evening, both times to please his wife, while he mostly sat in a corner watching his wife as she spoke with the guests, occasionally having a brief conversation of his own with some other important fellow. Even to his own children he was strict and he handled them with a firm hand, punishing them with a slap of his own hand whenever they behaved in a manner that he considered to be inappropriate for children of such high stature and ordering them around to do as he wanted.

"The boys themselves, on other hand, were much lovelier, much more like their mother, with good manners and were kind and gentle as they spoke with the guests or played in one of the nearby rooms. They were spoilt, though, and obviously so, feeling entitled to whatever they desired, that being toys, sweets, pets, clothes, anything you could name. Even their nannies did whatever they desired. Michael was shy, being the youngest, and mostly hid behind his much more eloquent brother. They were both handsome and delightful, but Paul was charming to the point where he was manipulative, knowing how to get exactly what he wanted, when he wanted it, from everyone, his angelic features, chubby cheeks, and lasting baby fat making him even more adorable, which he knew how to take advantage of for his own benefit. He used to tease his own mother too, I noticed, manipulating her and making fun of her whenever he got bored, turning people into toys to be played with for his own and his brother's entertainment. I do not doubt Michael was any better, however, and it would not surprise me if they have grown up to be much like their father after their mother had passed away.

"All I can really say, is that having seen them in person, the rumours that go about the streets do not seem as far-fetched as you might think, John. Even back in those days, shops would close down when the McCartneys were disappointed with the service they provided and Mr. McCartney did unapologetically close down many of the theatres and pubs a couple of years ago, deeming them both sinful, full of lies and deceit, and a breeding ground for moral decay. It is not hard for me to imagine that the stories of people being sent from their land, or fired without decent warning, might be true."

John remained quiet for a while, letting his aunt's words sink in as he considered them, the things she had said about Paul being rather at odds with the image he had of him in his mind. After all, although he was arrogant, he had always been kind with him and Dot and had not tried to manipulate them to do anything, nor had he seemed particularly entitled to anything. If anything, he had seemed nice. Unless of course, he had meant to come across like that. John attempted to push the thoughts away as doubt began to cloud his mind.

"Listen, John. I do not mean to keep you from going to Paris, but I do want you to be careful around that man and his family, you understand? I do not want you to do anything you might regret, so I thought it was best to let you know this. I know many people have probably already told you, but this man really can either make your life or destroy it," Mimi said, laying a supportive hand on his knee as she caught his eyes with her own, offering him a reassuring smile. John took a deep breath and nodded.

"Thank you, Mimi," he muttered.

"Besides, maybe he will have a positive effect on you and you will finally learn some discipline and respect," Mimi replied with a wink, causing John to laugh, his body relaxing once more. His aunt was right, he could not pass this opportunity up; he just needed to be careful.

***

The wait until that following Wednesday did not take long. Mr. Edwards had returned home from his assignment that Monday and had been more than happy with the process he had made on the McCartney portrait and was excited to hear about his trip to Paris, slapping John firmly on the shoulder as he told him he had already known he could do it when he had first offered him the assignment, being overtly proud of his apprentice. Stuart too was happy for him, knowing how much the opportunity meant to him, but his warnings to be careful around Paul had increased to an almost hourly event, slowly driving John insane to the point where he had needed to lock himself into his room every couple of hours to escape the other man. Still, his concerns were appreciated, certainly after what his aunt had told him about the family, although he still had trouble believing it.

Paul arrived at his door at ten o'clock in the morning as they had agreed and let his driver carry John's suitcases into the carriage while he spoke with Mr. Edwards, inquiring about his own trip and explaining about the art exhibition in Paris. John knew he should listen as well, but his nerves made it difficult for him to focus, seeing as he had never even left Liverpool before, except to visit family up in Scotland, which he did not think counted. They would stay in London for a day and a night before they would catch the boat to France, where Paul had arranged for another carriage to pick them up and drive them all the way to Paris with only two stops on the way to let the horses rest and regather strength. He wondered what London would be like, knowing only what he had heard from others, most of whom had been more than positive, having loved the city and all it had to offer in terms of art, food, fashion and girls - although John hoped the last was also true for boys - but some had been less enthusiastic, thinking it filthy, dangerous, and expensive, and the people rude and up-tight, with more beggars and fools than there should be in one city. Still, John doubted he would dislike it. But as for Paris, he did not have the faintest idea of what to expect.

"Mr. Lennon? Are you all set to leave? We have a long journey ahead of us and I do not want to miss our boat," Paul said, watching him with a polite smile that made crinkles appear in the corners of his eyes and his cheeks round up, making him appear even more attractive than he already was, which caused John's stomach to churn from both anxiety, worrying whether he was actually manipulating him, and something else that he could not - or did not want to - name. He swallowed thickly in an attempt to reduce his nausea and offered the young man a grin of his own.

"We can go," he said and Paul nodded in return before turning back to Mr. Edwards to shake his hand and say goodbye, promising him he would look out for John in Paris and London and that they would send a letter when they were to leave for Liverpool again.

"Thank you, Mr. McCartney. I hope you will have a pleasant journey. And John? I know for certain they will appreciate your work there; they will be stupid if they don't," Mr. Edwards said, turning to his apprentice to shake his hand and say goodbye, pride reflected in his eyes. John could not help the grin that appeared on his lips at the praise and muttered a deeply-meant thank you before turning towards Stuart who stood silently beside him, hugging him close to him as he told him he was going to miss him and to send his regards to Cynthia and Astrid when he would see them again. Stuart agreed immediately and hugged his friend back as he told he would miss him too now he would have to work alone again. When John pulled away from him and turned towards Paul, he frowned as he noticed the somewhat sour expression on the latter's features as he watched him and Stuart, but he decided to make no mention of it.

Wishing the others goodbye one last time, John felt excitement spread throughout his body as he made his way towards the carriage, unsure what to expect from the coming week or two, and he muttered a thank you as Paul offered him to step inside first. His hands were sweaty as he crawled his way into the carriage and sat down on the surprisingly comfortable bench, smiling nervously as Paul climbed in after him and took a seat opposite him before closing the door behind him. They had barely been inside the carriage or it started moving, driving them away from home, through the city, and finally into the rural landscape of Northern England on their way to the south.

It was a dull, grey day with heavy clouds covering the blue sky overhead, thus blocking out the sun and toning down the colours of the many trees, bushes, hedges, fields, and flowers as they drove past. Horses and cattle stood grazing in the fields, grouped together like school children as some hurried from one group to another and back again, and John watched them in silence as he listened to the rolling wheels of the carriage over the streets and the dirt pathways, the sense that he was going on an unknown journey overtaking him and causing his heart to race faster from excitement.

Paul sat across from him, legs crossed and attempting to read a book as they were tossed about the carriage due to the rough roads they were driving over, looking surprisingly unaffected by it, his expression stoic as his eyes flickered over the page, unaware of the other man's interest in him. From what he could see, the bruises John had noticed the last time he had seen him had almost vanished, being barely more than a yellowish stain he had attempted to hide with some clever application of make-up, but John still wondered where he had gotten them from, knowing that the chance that he would fall from his horse twice in such a short period of time was slim. He had considered asking him about it, but he also knew that the chance of Paul sharing this information was slim as well, already being able to hear him saying it was not important, as he usually did. So, instead, in the hope to pass some time, he asked him something else in a weak attempt to make conversation with him, figuring he might as well, as they would have to spend two full weeks together.

"Say, Paul? Why did you ask me to come with you?" he asked. The question at least caught the other man's attention, his eyes pausing briefly on the page before he glanced up at him, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"I appreciate the company. And besides, as an inspiring artist I thought you would appreciate the exposure it would give you. Not everyone gets a chance like this, you know."

"Well so you've said, but why really? I mean, why me, why now? It cannot all be for my benefit?" John asked, and Paul sighed as he closed his book, turning all his attention onto John as he answered.

"Mr. Lennon," he started, looking the other man directly in the eye as he spoke, "it has been a while since I met anyone who did not despise me from the moment they heard my name, and going on my own or bringing a servant along does not appeal much to me for reasons that ought to be clear. So, as I have said, I appreciate the company."

John remained silent at that, not having expected that answer, and being unsure how to react to it. Paul, on the other hand, seemed amused by his lack of response and tapped with his knuckles on the wood of the carriage, notifying his driver of something, before he leaned down to put his book back into his suitcase and got out a small mirror which he used to freshen up, before handing it to John.

"Here," he said, "we will be having lunch soon if I am not mistaken. It is a bit of a high class place so it would do to make yourself look a little more presentable if you wish to avoid any prying questions."

Not two minutes after he had said this, the carriage came to a halt before a rather fancy-looking place where they got out for lunch, although John wondered why Paul had bothered handing him his mirror, still feeling very much under-dressed and out-of-place as Paul guided him up the stairs and into the building, the inside looking much like the upper-end gentlemen clubs John had seen in the posher parts of Liverpool, where they were instantly welcomed by a handsome young man who led them to a table.

After a lengthy lunch, they drove on, occasionally stopping to have a drink somewhere while the horses rested for a moment to regather their strength, until the sun had set and they needed to find a place to spend the night before making the rest of their way to London in the morning. As before with lunch, John was once again surprised by Paul's planning skills when he stepped outside of the carriage and found himself in front of an inn, only to hear the driver, who John had now learned was called Miles and was Paul's personal driver, tell them to go inside and have a drink while he would take care of everything and check them in, claiming it should not take too long as the arrangement have already been made for them. Paul gave John little time to be impressed, however, urging him on to go inside, saying it was too cold to linger around outside and that he was in dire need for a drink after such a long drive, both of which being excellent points with which John could not disagree, not being able to say no to a drink himself.

The inn was a lot less fancy than the other places John had been this day and he felt glad to finally be somewhere where he did not feel out-of-place or unwanted, the inn feeling cosy and warm as they made their way past the reception and into the bar, most of the flooring being simple wood and the walls of covered with what looked like second-hand panelling and wallpaper. The seats and chairs were wooden as well, and the sofas were covered with cheap leather and fabrics as they were placed around two roaring fireplaces on either end of the room. A bar stood in the middle and a set of stairs led up to another room where they were told by a small wooden sign by the stairs more seating was put down.

Paul ordered them both a glass of highly expensive scotch and they both took a seat on one of the fabric-covered couches by the fireplace, hoping to warm their bones from the long ride in the carriage, their coats only being able to provide them so much warmth, which had not been enough for them to feel comfortable. John hummed as he took a sip from his scotch, enjoying the warm burn as he let it run down his throat, feeling better already now he was someplace warm and comfortable with some good alcohol to relax his body and warm him from the inside out. Paul on the other hand, seemed less pleased, taking to staring into the fire as he got lost in thought, worry crossing his features as he drifted away from reality and into the world of his own thoughts. John watched him for a moment, trying to catch glimpses of emotions that would tell him what was bothering the other man, slowly coming to the conclusion that there was a lot more going on with this trip than he let on.

"What are you thinking about?" John heard himself ask after a long moment of silence. For a minute he thought Paul had not heard him, and he had been about to get up to go to the bathroom when he finally spoke.

"It is not important. I tend to think too much. I am sorry for not being very good company."

"You know, you have been saying that it is not important too many times for me to believe it. I don't mind you thinking, but I do wonder what is wrong," John said and Paul let out a deep sigh as he thought about John's words for a moment before answering, shaking his head "no" as he did so.

"It is nothing that you need to busy yourself with. Besides, I think some sleep would be best for me right now, so if you would excuse me, I think I will retire for the evening. Miles should have gotten our keys by now anyway, I think," he said and he finished his drink before he got up. Before he left, however, he turned to John and told him to do the same soon, as they would be leaving early in the morning. "I would like to leave at eight, if you do not mind. We still have rather a long way to go and I would like to be in London for dinner. So... goodnight, Mr. Lennon. Miles will take you to your room."

John nodded in return and Paul forced himself to smile at him before turning around and walking away, leaving John alone with his thoughts and ideas on what was going on with the other man, unwittingly making him even more determined to find out exactly what was bothering the other man now he had the chance.

A/N: I know Mr. Crook is the most original name ever created. Don't judge me. I am not good with names. Also, Paris is happening :)