Pride, Prejudice and Jasmine Field

by Melissa Nathan

  “Move to your right, Brian.” Harry's voice was full of cold fury.

  Brian was so terrified that he moved to his left, blocking Jazz entirely. She started giggling and waved to Harry from behind Brian.

  Harry was unimpressed.

  “YOUR RIGHT!” he bellowed. Brian leapt to his right, revealing a beaming Jazz behind him.

  “Hello again,” said Jazz. “Who turned the lights out?” She was having a brilliant time.

  Eventually, after Harry had tried every trick in the book to get Brian to move to the right place at the right time - to no avail - he finally instructed him to stand stock still throughout the entire scene. It would have been what Darcy would have done anyway, Harry concluded.

  Watching Jack Hayes rehearse, on the other hand, was a pure delight. His movements, his voice and his expression were now to Jazz utterly Bingley. And he could switch it on in seconds. He could also repeat the same line hundreds of times without showing the slightest bit of impatience or fatigue. And every time Harry gave him some other idea or movement to add to his words, he seemed sincerely grateful. She had to admit it - Harry Noble knew what he was doing. With just a change of tone or slight twist of the body, he could transform Jack's performance beyond recognition, adding layers of meaning to the simplest of words. She began to see what Harry had meant by the word "honesty" when describing good acting. It was as if Jack wasn't acting at all, but speaking from his heart. Jazz wondered why the actor wasn't more famous. She mentioned this to Sara one day, while they were both sitting next to each other on stage, waiting for Brian and Jack to be blocked by Harry.

  “Oh, he's a genius,” replied Sara in a stage-whisper. “It runs in the family, you know,” she added, with a self-mocking smile that didn't suit her and a faraway look that did.

  Flabbergasted, Jazz discovered that they were brother and sister. “But he hasn't got the drive that Harry has,” sighed Sara. “It's a tragedy. That's why he'll never be great, like Harry. They were at RADA together.” She was off on her favourite subject. “That's how Harry and I met. I was still at college then, but that's when I decided my future. I would be an actress.”

  Jazz knew that being an actress wasn't the only part of her future Sara had decided on when she met Harry. As far as she was concerned, they would make the perfect pair.

  “They're quite simply blood brothers,” Sara went on. “Jack would lay down his life for Harry. And Harry guides Jack completely.”

  Jazz was intrigued by Sara's definition of blood relationships.

  Possibly the nicest thing about Jack though, was that he was quite obviously head over heels in love with her sister. At every possible opportunity during rehearsals he would find his way to George's side and the two would talk as if no one else was in the room. To be honest, Jazz couldn't work out whether their roles as lovers had added to their mutual attraction, but nevertheless, it was fascinating to watch them at work. Jazz always enjoyed observing sexual chemistry between two people, but when it was between her sister and someone that Jazz liked, it gave her a particularly warm glow. Whenever he looked at George, Jack's eyes looked like they had little lightbulbs behind them, they were so bright. Every now and then, when George looked briefly away to offer him a glimpse of her face from a different angle, Jazz noticed that he would quickly blink, slightly self-consciously, and clear his throat. Then when George looked back, his eyes shone straight at her and his smile widened. Every now and then he would lightly touch her arm or her back, and she would either smile disarmingly sweetly or she would not, just to ensure that he didn't get cocky. And then she would lean forward or tilt her head towards him, so that he had to try and hide the fact that he was now forcing his attention on her face and away from her smooth, honey-coloured bustline. Until she flicked her hair back or pretended to look at the floor for a moment, giving him just enough time to take it in. She was a master at her unspoken art, marvelled Jazz, stopping herself from giving her sister a well-deserved ovation.

  “This is it, Jazz,” George said as she dropped Jazz home after rehearsal number three. “I've finally met Mr. Right. Jack is everything I've ever been looking for. Have you noticed how white his teeth are when he smiles? He's going to be famous one day, I know it.”

  “Hmmm,” replied Jazz, explicitly. “What about Action Man?”

  George went quiet. Jazz wasn't going to let her get away with that.

  “Are you just going to pretend he doesn't exist or do the decent thing and give him the elbow?”

  “I'll do the decent thing,” said George quietly. “As soon as Jack does something indecent.”

  “You are incorrigible. Spare a thought for those of us living a happy single existence.”

  “You won't be single for long. I've seen the way Wills looks at you.”

  Jazz was taken aback. She'd certainly been enjoying rehearsals that little bit more whenever Wills was there. It wasn't as if they flirted with each other, they just had a lot in common. A shared disdain for Harry Noble, for one thing. It seemed they were the only two who felt the same about him. No one else seemed to realise that his rudeness would be unacceptable if he weren't so bloody famous. Yes, he was a good director — not that Jazz knew much about directing. But she did know about people, and Harry Noble was a nightmare. As far as Jazz was concerned there was no excuse for it. Oscar or no Oscar. Dynasty or no dynasty. Adonis or no Adonis.

  And then during rehearsal number four, she had a scintillating conversation with Wills about the side of Harry Noble that no one sees.

  It happened when they were having a coffee break together. The morning had been exhausting. Harry had been trying to get Brian to be more arrogant in his first scene. Jazz had been astonished by how rude he was to his cast. She even pitied the obnoxious critic.

  “For God's sake, Brian,” shouted Harry, pulling his hands through his hair. “You're an obscenely wealthy, devastatingly handsome, ridiculously eligible man. Not a nervous supply teacher.”

  Brian went puce with embarrassment.

  “For Christ's sake, man, stand tall,” and Harry walloped him on the back and almost punched him in the stomach. “Darcy has no concept that anything he does is wrong. He is rude, arrogant and condescending. Watch me.”

  Jazz and Wills exchanged some eloquent eye-contact and Jazz was surprised by the intensity of a short, sharp ripple of excitement at this recognition that Wills shared her secret opinion of Harry. Their director was blissfully unaware that he shared all of Darcy's worst personality traits. And unlike everyone else, only she and Wills were shrewd enough to look beyond his fame and money to see him for what he really was.

  They watched in astonishment as Harry manhandled Brian out of his space and stood in for him. And then in an instant, he transformed himself into Darcy. He swelled his chest out and with the slightest change in his expression, showed utter distaste for all around him. Despite herself, Jazz was impressed. How could Harry not see that he himself was perfect for the part?

  As Harry unhurriedly moved his eyes around the room, disdain oozing from every pore, he gave a running commentary of his thoughts in a clipped, upper-class accent. It was, as Gilbert would have said, a living, breathing Fitzwilliam Darcy.

  “How utterly vile they all are.” (Jazz had never realised the word "vile" could be so descriptive.) “With their vulgar clothes and their dizzgusting habits. I shall have to ask Brown to draw me a bath when I get home.” (Everyone laughed.) Harry looked at Jazz who was in place as Lizzy on a chair by a makeshift table. His eyes bore into her. “Tolerable,” he clipped, visibly sizing her up, staring rudely at every bit of her anatomy as if she were a pig up for auction. “But certainly not enough to tempt the likes of me.”

  Jazz looked back at him, furious, humiliated. She found herself thinking “Thank Christ for that.”

  Staring at Jazz's expression of disgust for perhaps a little bit longer than was necessary, Harry dropped the act.

  “Perfect, Jasmin,” he said quietly. “Perfect.”


  Jazz stared him out. “I wasn't acting,” she replied, just as quietly, and turned her face away.

  For a moment Harry didn't seem to know what to say. “Well, you should have been,” he said finally. “This isn't a free show,” and he slowly walked back to his place.

  Once there, he clapped his hands loudly, making everyone jump. “Now try again man, and don't waste any more of my time.”

  Brian stood up slowly, looking as happy as if he was about to be burnt at the stake.

  His performance was no better but Harry didn't seem to mind as much this time. In fact, he didn't even seem to be watching this time. He called a break immediately afterwards.

  Wills, it turned out, had forgotten to bring any food or coffee, and Jazz was only too happy to share some of her flasked coffee with him and a precious Hobnob or two. That's how much I like him, she thought to herself.

  Harry was sitting in solitary splendour, as ever, one hand through ruffled hair, a pencil in the other, eyes in the distance. The director never lowered himself to actually mix with his cast. Only Sara and Jack Hayes, Matt and sometimes Purple Glasses (who always carried her clipboard and spoke too loudly at him in a failed attempt to cover her nerves) went up and talked to him, and Jazz was convinced that a silent fame hierarchy was at work. There was no one there on the same level of fame as Harry, so he couldn't be seen to make the first move and talk to anyone. Jazz wondered briefly if he ever got lonely.

  Just now, Sara was approaching him. Jazz and Wills loved to eavesdrop on this daily exchange while they pretended to do the crossword together - it was a ritual that happened every time Harry sat down. This afternoon it was particularly interesting.

  It started as usual with Sara smiling at Harry with what she thought was her prettiest, most innocent-looking smile.

  Harry raised his chin to show he was all ears.

  Sara then sighed a very loud, girlish sigh, sat down next to him and asked him how it was all going.

  “Fine,” Harry told her. Then: “How can I help?”

  Wills and Jazz both smirked at his curt reply, their eyes focusing on the Down clues.

  “Well actually,” said Sara, as if it was painful to bring up the subject, “since you ask, I wouldn't mind your professional opinion.” Then she lowered her voice as if it was all very sensitive. Jazz and Wills had to really concentrate hard to catch this. “Between you and me, I'm finding it rather hard in the scene with - with — oh, whatshername?”

  “Jasmin.”

  Sara tinkled a laugh. “Yes, that's right - Jasmin. How did you guess? Oh dear,” she laughed, “I'll never remember that funny name.”

  Harry said nothing and she was forced to keep going.

  “I'm just finding that I can't get enough emotion in my reactions to her and I think it might be because . . .” Sara fought hard to find the right words “. . . there isn't enough emotion coming from her.”

  Wills' shoulders were beginning to shake. Jazz grinned, but couldn't help feeling angered and hurt by Sara's cunning performance that would have made even Miss Bingley proud.

  Harry still said nothing.

  “I know she's your protegee, Mr. Noble, and I don't want...”

  “We'll work on the emotion again after the break,” said Harry. “Maybe I need to have a rehearsal with Jasmin alone. Thank you for bringing it to my attention.”

  And with that, he started to pore over the script, leaving Sara no option but to leave him alone, wishing she hadn't said anything. Wills pretended that Jazz had said something funny and the two of them laughed loudly. Eventually they looked back over to Harry. He was now gazing thoughtfully at his fingernails.

  “If only his Oscar-winning public could see him now,” hissed Jazz.

  “Oh, I'm sure they'd love him all the more for it,” Wills said gently. “He can do no wrong.”

  “Yes, I've noticed that. But do I detect some bitterness in your voice?” Jazz had meant it as a joke, but Wills was serious.

  He stared at Harry as he spoke. “It's because of him that I didn't get the part of Maurice in It's Nearly Over.”

  Jazz was stunned. “How? Why? How do you know?”

  “Harry knew Howard Fleaback, the producer, from working on Heart of An Englishman, and Howard asked Harry what he thought of me because they considered me perfect for the part. I'd already auditioned for another film that never saw the light of day. It turned out that Harry told him I was immature, self-obsessed and unfocused as an actor. He also said I had a drink problem.”

  Jazz gasped.

  Wills continued, “My agent knows Howard and when I didn't get the part, she phoned him up and asked why. He said he'd been told on the best authority that I wasn't cut out for Hollywood. When pressed, he explained it more fully.”

  Jazz couldn't believe her ears. She needed to be sure. “So Harry ruined any chance you may have of a Hollywood career?” she asked incredulously.

  “Yup.” Wills drained his coffee cup and dripped the dregs on the church floor.

  “Why on earth would anyone do something so mean-spirited? Especially someone who's made it themselves?”

  “Oh, no actor ever makes it for good,” replied Wills. “That's the cruelty of the profession. You can win an Oscar one year and be passe the next. Even Harry Noble. And remember, for him there's more to lose because all his family are so well-respected in the business.” Wills shrugged and made an effort to look as if he didn't really care. “Harry and I go back a long way. We were in a very bad production of Waiting for Godot together years ago and he detested me then. Made no bones about it. I've never got another job with that director either.” He paused. “The great Harry Noble just doesn't like me and that carries a lot of weight in this profession.”

  But something didn't fit for Jazz. “So why did he give you this part?”

  Wills laughed good-naturedly. “I have absolutely no idea. Maybe he wanted me to see him now he's an Oscar winner. Maybe he gets a kick out of directing me, a lowly TV actor when he's a Hollywood star, when we were once on the same level. Who knows the way his mind works?”

  He looked across at her, his eyes open just a little bit too wide and his smile just a litde too forced. “Anyway, I might never have made it in Hollywood. Who knows? Maybe Harry Noble saved my pride.”

  His brave humility hurt her more than the story. How dare Harry Noble get away with something like that! And to think he was so universally respected!

  “Have you ever told him you know what he did?”

  Wills shook his head. “What would be the point? It would make me look as immature and self-obsessed as he said I was. No. It's enough that I know.”

  Boiling with anger at the injustice of it all, Jazz looked over at Harry. He was staring right at her.

  She turned away immediately.

  Chapter 10

  It was Ben's second birthday party and the family was huddled in Josie and Michael's tiny lounge. Simon had been invited and Jazz didn't know who she was more furious with that he was still on the scene, him or George. She decided it was him.

  Letting him sit uncomfortably on his own, she cornered George and related the amazing story Wills had told her about Harry.

  George was adamant. “I don't believe it, I just don't believe it.”

  Jazz was exasperated. “Just because he's the great Harry Noble doesn't mean he's not human, you know.”

  But George was stubborn. “That's not human, that's evil. And anyway, he'd already won his Oscar, so what possible motive could he have for damning Wills' reputation?”

  “Jealousy? Small-mindedness? Arrogance? Haven't you often said actors are the most petty people on earth?”

  “Not all of them,” said George loyally. She and Jack were going out for a lunch "rehearsal" the next day. Which meant she had to finish with Simon tonight. It was enough to stop her eating any birthday cake.

  “Face it, George,” said Jazz. “Harry's a supremely arrogant bastard and he's done a fine actor out of a brilliant career.” />
  “You don't know that, Jazz.”

  “Yes I do, I heard it from the horse's mouth,” she said, taking another bite of her cake. “One with exceptional flanks.”

  Mo walked over. She was the only person not eating any food.

  “Aren't you eating, Mo?” asked Jazz.

  “No thanks,” she beamed. “I ate before I came.”

  “You're looking fabulous,” said George. Mo had lost a stone in just a month. Jazz seemed to be the only one who preferred her before.

  “Not as fabulous as this cake though,” said Jazz, biting into the rich chocolate and mocha cake Josie had baked. Another of her weekly columns was forming in her head. Josie had had a successful high-flying career before she became a mother, now had a busy social life and, like most of her friends, bought convenience foods, but when it came to her child's birthday cake, she was expected to make it from scratch. Ben was only two, but already Josie felt that a shop-bought cake would mean Mummy didn't love him enough. Where do they pick up these things? she wondered. She looked over at her sister.

  Josie was laughing politely at Great-Aunt Sylvia's joke. You'd never guess Josie was pregnant again.

  Jazz and George followed her into the kitchen with piles of dirty dishes. All the men were sitting in the lounge easing the uncomfortable feeling of having eaten too much, while the women were in the kitchen, tidying up from tea, trying to take their minds off not having eaten as much as they would have liked.

  Jazz had long stopped complaining about the men not offering to help with all the work on these occasions. But it still enraged her that she knew her brother-in-law's kitchen better than he did. She had served him meals in his own home ever since he and Josie had first married. Oddly enough, he had never served her in her home. The very idea seemed preposterous.

  “You OK?” she asked Josie lightly, picking up a tea-towel, while Martha and George presided over the sink, talking loudly.