“When it ended, it was awful. Jane came home to find Paul with Francie Schwartz, a groupie from New York. It was terrible for Jane. Francie was not just in the house but in the bed she shared with Paul. Jane was in a state of shock and her relationship with Paul ended there and then. There were fans waiting at the gate as usual and they tried to warn Paul that Jane was approaching. But Paul thought they were joking. He couldn’t resist another woman. Jane’s mother came down later to remove all of Jane’s belongings. I remember she also took all the household things that were Jane’s. There was a set of pans she was particularly attached to. Paul stayed discreetly well out of the way. Paul was absolutely devastated. Jane’s departure shattered him. I have never quite been sure if it was because he really loved Jane or because he was so shocked that she had the nerve to turn down Paul McCartney. And let’s not forget, they were engaged by now. She wasn’t just his girlfriend, she was definitely going to be his wife. Afterwards, he had a succession of one-night stands, although often the relationship did not even last that long. It’s the only time I ever saw him totally distraught and lost for words. Normally he was so flip and cool and permanently full of confidence in himself. It was then that I realised how close we had become because I was the shoulder he cried on. We spent weeks together after the end of his love affair with Jane. It completely threw him. He pleaded with Jane to forgive him but she was implacable. She didn’t want to know. She is a very strong and highly principled lady. I think she was deeply in love with Paul. And it wasn’t just the Beatle stuff; she wasn’t interested in fame or money. She loved Paul for himself. She loved his humour and his energy and she believed in him. Paul literally cried on my shoulder. We hit the bottle together. Hard. He always seemed to feel lonely at night and the phone would go and Paul would say, ‘Al, get a cab and come on up to Cavendish.’ I didn’t mind because he was a friend in pain. Yes, he was my boss in a way, I suppose, in that he was one of Brian’s most important acts. But I thought the world of Paul. He was like the younger brother I’d never had. He was talented, charming and often very kind. I had watched his love for Jane grow from early infatuation into a deep and passionate love affair. Paul told me how much he had learned from Jane and her talented family. He wasn’t a yobbo before he met Jane, I’m not saying that. But he was relatively unsophisticated. Jane introduced him to fine wines, art, films and all aspects of culture. Jane’s mother taught the oboe at the Royal College of Music. This was a whole new world for Paul and he loved it. He absorbed it like a sponge. Of course, being a bright bloke he was a very fast learner but I’ve always thought that a lot of Paul’s taste comes from Jane. She taught him what good taste was. That’s why he found it so shocking when she dumped him. He went completely off the rails. He couldn’t believe what he’d done and he couldn’t have said that to any of the other three Beatles. Sure, musically they had become almost like one person and they were rock solid then in anything that threatened the Beatles. But individually they never liked to accept weakness. Paul would have hated John to think that he was upset about a woman, even if she was Jane Asher. We would sit up at Cavendish Avenue until 3.00am and he would talk about what a prat he had been. ‘I had everything and I threw it away,’ he would say. ‘Jane wasn’t just my woman, she was my closest friend. I’ve told her everything inside me. She knows what makes me tick down to things that happened as a kid. I went right through all the stuff about my mother dying and how I dealt with that. With Jane, I could just relax completely and be myself and that seemed to be what she wanted. With the other women, I’m a fucking millionaire rock star who just happens to be about as shallow as a puddle.’ Other times he would just turn up late at night at my house. It would be midnight or 1.00am and Lesley and I would have long gone to bed. The doorbell would go and there would be Paul. ‘Has Lesley got the kettle on?’ he’d ask cheerfully, and I would know that I’d be up half the night going through how wonderful life had been with Jane. And he would put his arms round me and cry. Paul was never ashamed about crying. Afterwards, he’d try and crack a joke about it. ‘I thought Jane was the drama queen, but it’s me,’ and he’d laugh weakly.”
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