There was a controlled excitement in his voice. His eyes were darting round all of them as he spoke. Except for Jazz. “I think you're all wonderful,” he was saying. Was he going to cry? He looked down as he said the next bit. “And I want you to know that I've learnt as much from working with you as you may have learnt from me doing this play.”
There were some very happy faces among the cast.
“It's been an honour to work with you,” Harry finished quietly. Then he looked up again and rubbed his hands together. “Now. There are people out there who are willing us to fall flat on our faces.”
Jazz thought with some shame that he was talking about the hacks and columnists who had been calling him misguided and shallow. Edward Whilber in The Nation's Voice had called him a "shambling, hollow performer" who was trying to recapture his career by jumping on the cancer charity bandwagon and producing a play "performed by amateurs and sycophants who couldn't help but make him look good". And this, only days after calling him "a hero of our times" in Patrick Clifton's play. As for Brian Peters, his review of Clifton's play had gobsmacked even cynical Jazz. Not one of the humiliating experiences he'd undergone while attempting to act had even begun to teach him that Harry Noble was truly gifted at the art. In fact, his hubris was worse than ever. To read his scathing remarks on Harry's acting, you would think that Brian Peters could act him off the stage.
Harry was getting very animated now. “But there are more people out there willing us to be fantastic. My mother for one.” Everyone laughed. Sara managed to imbue her laugh with such meaning that everyone assumed she knew his mother personally. Scraggy cow, thought Jazz menacingly.
Harry was still talking. “Now, unlike any other play you or I are likely to act in, we've only got one night to wow all our critics. One night to prove that we were right all along. And, of course — let's not forget,” he reminded his cast, fully aware that every single one of them had done so, “only one night to dedicate to those who have suffered and are suffering the pain of breast cancer. I don't know about you, but that makes this the hardest play I've ever been in. But I haven't got a single doubt in my mind that it's going to be fabulous. And that you're all going to be fabulous. And you shouldn't have any doubts either. You've done me proud.”
Jazz thought back to this afternoon. Yeah, right, she thought.
“Break loads of legs,” he said. “Beginners in place in fifteen minutes.”
Everyone rushed back to their dressing rooms, talking animatedly. Suddenly, Jazz was aware of someone tugging her arm.
“Quick,” said Mo, pushing her into the corner of the corridor by the stage. It was silent here.
“Gilbert's got his job back!” she announced excitedly.
Jazz stared at Mo. Did she really think she'd be that excited about Gilbert's good fortune?
“Dame Alexandra Marmeduke has changed her mind. His magazine is back in business!”
“And this should affect me how?” asked Jazz crisply.
“Don't be a fuckwit, Jazz. We haven't got time,” said Mo.
Jazz tensed.
“Don't you see? It means he won't be writing the piece about your sister. He doesn't need to, now. They've made him Editor and everything! Isn't it wonderful? We're going house-hunting tomorrow!”
Jazz's eyes lit up. “Oh my God, that's amazing!” The relief was enormous. She managed to stop herself from sobbing because she wouldn't have time to redo her make-up.
“I know!” squealed Mo back. “I'm so pleased. Now you'll talk to me again,” she said, before she had time to stop herself.
They beamed stupidly at each other.
“I've got to get back,”Jazz heard herself say, and they made their way to their dressing rooms.
Purple Glasses was standing officiously in the corridor looking for Jazz. She pounced as soon as she saw her.
“Elizabeth Bennet on stage now,” she hissed.
Mo ignored her. “I just had to tell you before it began,” she whispered. “And it's all down to Harry. He was a star literally.”
“Wha—” started Jazz.
“On stage NOW,” hissed Purple Glasses.
Jazz glared at her, felt guilty for doing so and then ran to the wings.
* * *
George was already there, waiting silently. She turned and grinned a massive grin at Jazz, her eyes shining in the dark. What the hell did Mo mean? pondered Jazz, then forced it out of her mind. George held her hand tight and Jazz tried to think of all the people in the audience, in an attempt to steady her nerves and focus herself. All her family would be there. Mark and Maddie, too. Harry's parents, of course. Gilbert's cronies, some of whom she'd worked with in the past. And then there were all the celebs who were filling up the front rows. And the cameras that would be catching every nuance, every mistake, for posterity. Yep, it was working: she was focused. Was there time for a last trip to the loo? She looked behind her and saw Mr and Mrs Bennet, Kitty, Lydia and Mary, all standing silently in a row.
The music started, the lights dimmed and the curtains rose. She walked purposefully on to the stage and began.
The first half was going smoothly. Mrs Bennet's bonnet had almost fallen off at one point, which had unnerved her slightly, and William had got his cane stuck in a chair. Jazz had been quite impressed at the way he'd slowly and calmly and completely in character — slid it out, given her a charming smile and exited. He was good. Very good.
The next time she got a chance to talk to Mo was just before the interval. She caught up with her while the last scene was going on.
“What did you mean, Harry's a star?” she said.
“Well, I was sworn to secrecy but bugger that for a bunch of fairies,” said Mo, untwisting her tights and pulling them up to the crotch again.
“SSSSSHHHHH!” Purple Glasses glared at them. Mo glared back and they went to the side corridor again.
No one would hear them here.
“Last week, Harry went to see his aunt - you know, Captain Marmeduke?”
“But I thought they weren't talking?”
“They weren't,” said Mo.
“So how come he went to see her?”
“I know - I've got a brilliant idea!” exclaimed Mo. “Why don't you shut up while I talk?”
Jazz smiled. God, she'd missed Mo.
“Monday night after the run through, he went down to Devon to see her, broke a twenty-year rift with her, got on his knees and apologised for writing some letter or other, told her all his family were devastated by the feud and everything. She fell for it hook, line and stinker. He used all his acting skills cried, the works. She told him she'd only wanted to help him, had been watching his career all his life, she even showed him all her scrapbooks full of all his reviews.”
“How do you know all this?” Jazz was totally baffled.
“I'm sorry, I thought I was talking,” said Mo impatiently.
“Sorry.”
“They talked all night and eventually - at about three a.m. to be precise - she brought up the fact that she was closing her mag because she'd been so hurt by Gilbert's treachery. And Harry told her that was utter madness - she shouldn't let her feelings rule her life like they had for the past twenty years. And anyway, Gilbert had been the catalyst that had brought them together. He said that it had been Gilbert's stories about his wonderful patron that had made Harry realise how much he was missing, not knowing her. And that was it. She changed her mind. As simple as that! Then Harry told her that he'd been working with Gilbert and thought he'd make a wonderful Editor.” Mo was beaming now. “He even negotiated an amazing new salary for him.”
Jazz was still looking baffled.
Mo realised she'd need more information. “Then the next night, after the technical rehearsal, Harry asked to have a word with Gil. I came with. Harry explained everything and told him that if he published his piece which, I hasten to add, Gilbert had already finished but was waiting until the day after the play so it would be more newsworthy and make
him more money — he would lose his new, highly paid Editorship. Gil didn't even have to think about it,” she said proudly. “He never loved his tabloid work as much as his theatre work. Especially as the tabloids always pay much more for stories about footballers or MPs. It always made Gil feel like a poor relation. He's promised me he'll give up the tabloids for good, now that he can afford to. So this way he gets a good, steady job doing what he does best and we can settle down.”
It was hurting Jazz to frown for so long.
“I don't understand,” she said. “Why would Harry do all that? He doesn't care about Gilbert. It doesn't make any sense.”
Mo looked at her incredulously. “Jesus, Jazz, are you really as thick as you look? Anyone with half a brain can see Harry's mad about you.”
Jazz started to feel all fizzy. “You mean it's just Gilbert who hasn't spotted it?”
Mo snorted. “Do you mind,” she grinned, delighted. “That's my fiancée you're talking about.”
* * *
Jazz was walking on air. Wasn't everyone lovely? Wasn't life wonderful? She started listening to one of Mrs Bennet's hilarious, pithy anecdotes while taking off her dress and putting on her new one. He still liked her! Was mad about her, Mo had said! After everything she'd said to him that night when she'd shoved him in the bushes! After everything he knew about her! She looked at herself in the mirror with her heaving bosoms and tendrils of dark hair framing her flushed face. Bloody Nora, she grinned at herself. Bloody blinking Nora.
And then she remembered. She'd been foul to him only that day. Absolutely hideously, ground-swallowingly foul. Suddenly the feel-good factor was replaced by a sense of wretchedness, remorse and grief. She'd practically ignored him at his one-night play and then she'd insulted him when he'd come round that afternoon. She gasped. Of course! That was what he'd been trying to say to her this afternoon - that everything would be all right! He knew it would because he'd sorted it. He'd sorted out her career, her family's reputation and her relationship with her best friend. Just by swallowing the infamous Noble pride.
She had to let him know that she knew what he'd done. She had to thank him. Jazz ran out of the dressing room, and saw him striding down towards her. He'd taken his frockcoat off again and was undoing his tie. Jazz wondered what it would be like to take off the rest of his clothes herself. With her teeth.
“Don't go anywhere, I need to talk to everyone,” he said curtly. “I'll go and get the others.”
“But I want—”
“There isn't time. I have to talk to everyone.” And he was gone.
Buggery bollocks, thought Jazz and went back inside.
She sat in the corner where Jack and George were holding hands and looking dewy-eyed at each other. Everyone was squashing up together and on a communal high. She even smiled at William and then cursed herself.
“Right,” said Harry, running his hand through his hair. His thick, dark, gorgeous hair, thought Jazz. “Well done, everyone. It wasn't as pacy as I would have liked - ”
There were calls of dismay.
“ - but that's OK. I don't think anyone would have noticed. They're a very appreciative audience and we're doing very well. I've just heard from my sources that the Stalwart's critic, Sam Gregson, is bloody impressed. And I'm not surprised, quite frankly. You're all stonkingly good. William - well retrieved with the cane, Margaret - it was perfectly in character that Mrs Bennet's bonnet would do that. You coped well and you didn't get flustered.”
Margaret beamed proudly.
“Jasmin, you need to pause a bit more. Beginners on stage in five.” And he was gone.
Jazz was crushed. She started breathing so quickly from her upper chest she thought she was going to fall out of her dress. Oh God, she was going to start crying.
No one had noticed and she tried desperately to get a grip on herself. He hated her. Or worse still, he thought she hadn't paused enough.
“Don't take it too seriously,” said a friendly voice. It was William. “I thought you were excellent.” He was looking at her without so much as a twinkle in his eye.
She smiled a genuine, grateful smile at him. “Thanks.”
He put his arm round her in a chummy way and she let him. Together they walked to the wings where they could see Harry on stage, watching all the props people, including Purple Glasses, place everything in its allotted space. Harry wasn't on stage again for ages. Purple Glasses was managing to do a job of very little effort with as much bustle as she could, lots of tutting and an exasperated look at Harry which meant, “My job is impossible and you actors don't make it any easier.”
“Thanks, Fi,” Harry whispered. “Don't know what we'd do without you.”
Purple Glasses blushed and came into the wings where she started officiously tidying the props desk. On catching sight of William and Jazz, she gave them both a look of withering scorn. Jazz wished William would take his arm off her shoulder now.
Harry followed Purple Glasses' glance and, on seeing William with Jazz, he instantly looked away again. Then he walked right past them without a word and disappeared round the back to the other side of the stage.
Jazz felt totally disloyal. How could she be seen to be friends with William after Harry had told her what he'd done to his sister? She felt awful. She had to talk to him. Maybe she could catch up with him. Just as she turned round, the lights dimmed, the music started and she and William walked on to the stage, where the rest of the cast joined them from the other side.
* * *
Jazz tried so desperately hard to focus her thoughts, but was unable to rid herself of an overwhelming sense of wretchedness. Worse still, every time she came off stage, Gilbert started following her. He was only in one scene in the second half and he was now determined to convince Jazz that they were still friends. He kept popping up beside her with some crass joke and a meaningful look, which she knew meant “Do you forgive me?” The more she tried to shake him off and find Harry, the more he clung to her.
She knew the only time she would have alone with Harry was in the wings just before his second proposal scene when Lizzy finally accepts him. She had to talk to him. And the only way she could get rid of Gilbert was to tell him she forgave him. She would have to lie to the shit, pretend that it was all OK again. With a monumental effort she turned round to him and interrupted him in a story about Dame Alexandra Marmeduke.
“Gilbert,” she said.
“Hmmm?” said Gilbert with a big smile.
“It's all right. I forgive you.” And she started walking towards the wings where she could see Harry waiting. She knew she only had a few minutes.
“Are you sure, Jasmin?” said Gilbert, speeding up beside her. “Because you don't know how much it means to me and Mo that you're still our friend. Josie's little . . . escapade will go with me to my grave. I promise.”
She stopped walking and clenched her fists. “I'm sure. I love you both. I have to go on stage now.”
She couldn't make out if Harry was facing them or had his back to them.
“I never wanted to write the feature,” gabbled Gilbert. “I was just desperate.”
“I know. It's OK. I have to go now.”
To her growing frustration, Gilbert started hugging her very slowly. She patted him twice on the back.
He started swaying. She tried to move away but he didn't loosen his grip. She could see Harry standing alone in the wings. She had to get to him. Gilbert let out a deep sigh and pulled away, holding her by the shoulders. “Mo and I love you very much,” he whispered.
“That's nice,” said Jazz and ran away.
She reached Harry's side, hoping Gilbert wasn't following her. Harry was standing with his arms folded, staring out at the actors on stage. Jack and George's physical proximity was horribly anachronistic, and Jazz knew Harry would be upset. He looked down at Jazz and then back at the stage.
“Yo, Fitzwilliam,” she whispered and then cringed inwardly. Yo Fitzwilliam?
He smiled briefly. Ja
ck and George were almost halfway through their scene. Once Mrs. Bennet went on, Jazz would have a matter of moments. She didn't know where to start.
“I — I just had a word with Mo,” she whispered loudly. Purple Glasses tutted behind her. There was a sign just above her head that said no speaking, smoking or smooching in the wings. Purple Glasses obviously saw it as her job to ensure the sign was adhered to. Hah! thought Jazz cruelly. If she couldn't get any fun, why should anyone else? Anyway, she thought huffily, her tut was much louder than my whisper.
Harry glanced down at Jazz and then looked back at the stage. Oh God, he was going to make this difficult.
“She told me about you and your aunt.” Her whispering was getting louder. Purple Glasses tutted again, louder still. Jazz flinched, but tried not to react. Purple Glasses was only doing her job. It wasn't her fault Jazz found her ridiculous.
This time Harry looked at Jazz and held his look. She wished it wasn't so dark, she couldn't make out what his face was doing.
“Oh,” he whispered almost inaudibly, nonplussed.
“Yes. And I wanted to say thank you.” Her voice was hoarse. “I'm so grateful, I don't know what to say. You've,” here she gave up whispering and started speaking in a hushed, excited voice, “you've saved my life. And I can only guess how hard it must have been for you to do. And I -I - it's wonderful.” The words seemed so insignificant compared to how totally indebted she felt to him.
Purple Glasses tutted once more. Before thinking, Jazz whirled on her and demanded: “Is there anything wrong? Or have you got food stuck in your brace?” Purple Glasses stalked off, insulted. Jazz was mortified. Where did all her anger come from, for Christ's sake? She'd have to apologise later. Oh God, how hideous. After a moment of valuable time spent feeling guilty, she turned back to Harry; his wide smile was hidden by the darkness.
“And I wanted to tell you how dreadfully sorry I am for acting like a complete twat,” she concluded.
“There's no need to say sorry,” he breathed. “It was done for purely selfish reasons.” He cleared his throat.
Pride, Prejudice and Jasmine Field Page 21
