Pride, Prejudice and Jasmine Field

Chapter 9

Sara had arranged to meet her brother for lunch in an exquisitely smart, bijou Hampstead restaurant that was sufficiently off the beaten track to be exclusive. Jack never said no to meeting her - he hated her guilt-trips - and she had overheard that he and Harry had planned to get together that afternoon. She knew that Jack would turn up with Harry, which was why she'd chosen this restaurant. Anywhere else and the afternoon would have been spoilt by people stopping to ask Harry for his autograph. They did it everywhere, even in Hampstead, where they really should know better. But in this restaurant, the waiters were even more condescending than their many visiting celebrities, and no one would ever lower themselves to ask for autographs. Even from Harry Noble. Naturally Maxine had been invited as well and Charles would, of course, be paying.

“And how fares our Ugly Sister?” asked Sara, as they were all being given their menus.

Harry scanned the hors d'oeuvres.

She tried again. “Are you enjoying your biggest challenge since RADA or is it proving too much, even for you?”

Eventually Harry put down the menu.

“On the contrary, I hope I have enough humility to admit when I was wrong.”

Sara could hardly contain her relief and excitement.

“What are you going to do? Where are you going to get another Lizzy Bennet at this late hour? How will you break it to the poor girl?”

“No, I don't mean that at all,” said Harry stiffly. “I mean exactly the opposite. She was the perfect choice. I couldn't have cast a more ideal Lizzy Bennet.”

“Nor a more gorgeous Jane Bennet,” beamed Jack, putting his menu down and rubbing his hands together. “I'm going to have the steak, I think.”

“Ah yes, but Jane Bennet was never in doubt,” said Harry to Jack.

Sara tried to pull the conversation back on track.

“In what way is the Ugly Sister your perfect choice? Do tell, I'm fascinated,” she said, a careful lightness to her tone.

Harry thought about it for a while.

“Everything about her,” he said simply. “Her temperament, her acting, her figure, her face, her eyes. She's perfect.”

Sara found herself staring at the menu without taking any of it in. She discovered she'd lost her appetite. Damnation. She loved their foie gras.

After the waiter took their orders, Jack started waxing lyrical about George. A thought crossed Harry's mind.

“I do hope you're not going to do your old trick of falling in love with your leading lady and then breaking it all off the day before opening night.”

Jack laughed, but said nothing.

“I won't stand for any of that, you know. Not in my production,” said Harry, sipping red wine. “I'll never forget when your Beatrice tried to punch your lights out in the final scene of Much Ado. We could have renamed that production Much Ado About Quite A Lot, Actually.”

Jack smiled at the memory. He couldn't even remember the name of the actress now.

“There's nothing worse than getting involved with an actress while you're in the same play as her,” lectured Harry. “Ruins your focus.”

Jack looked uncomfortable. “Life's about more than focus, old chap.”

“Not if you want to be great,” clipped Harry. “Relationships with actresses are doomed. Biggest mistake an actor can make. Drains him of energy. He'll either be unhappy or unsuccessful.” He gulped down his wine. “Unless of course, she's merely an advert actress. Though why anyone would want one of them is beyond me. Better not to let women in your life at all. Unfocuses you,” he repeated himself grumpily. “Present company excluded, of course,” he said as an afterthought.

Sara wondered desperately if that included marriage. Jack picked at his bread and looked around the restaurant.

“Wine's splendid,” said Charles, belching loudly.

The honeymoon period was well and truly over and Jazz now knew who in the cast she hated, who she found amusing, who she thought ridiculous, and who she liked. Purple Glasses fitted into all the first three categories. Even Jazz was surprised at how much Purple Glasses managed to irritate her. In the beginning, Jazz had maintained a cool but polite distance. But there was always some pretext Purple Glasses found for bossing Jazz around, and pretty soon Jazz could hardly look her in the eye without either laughing in her face or being downright rude. The ruder she became, the more Purple Glasses seemed to seek her out.

“You left your fan on the wrong chair again,” said Purple Glasses after a particularly long and difficult rehearsal, a note of triumph in her voice.

“How will I ever live with myself?” answered Jazz, in as bitter a tone as she could muster.

Purple Glasses ignored her and studied her notes. “You're meant to leave it on the chair Upstage Right, not Downstage Left. How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Since you ask, you've told me quite enough times, thanks.”

“Well, it doesn't seem to make any difference, does it?” said Purple Glasses as if she was telling a small child to stop picking its nose in public.

“Not in the great scheme of things, Fiona, no. It doesn't make any difference at all where I leave a poxy fan.”

Purple Glasses stared at her and then stalked off.

Jazz also didn't like Sara Hayes, but she couldn't quite put her finger on exactly what annoyed her so much about the woman. There was of course, her obvious insincerity; that was entertaining, but it was more than that. From the first moment of seeing her in the audition room, it had been obvious to Jazz that Sara's one aim in life was to catch Harry Noble. Everyone else was happy merely to catch a glimpse of the man, Sara was determined to catch the man himself. Jazz didn't know women like her still existed. Jazz was used to women going out and getting their man, but Sara wanted to turn Harry into a man who would want to go out and get her. It was like watching living socio-history at work. What made it more entertaining to watch was that Harry was oblivious to Sara's charms. It made wonderful viewing. Jazz supposed that was why Sara hated her so much; because she was playing Lizzy Bennet she was taking up most of Harry's time. If only Sara knew, thought Jazz with a smile, how little she thought of the great man. The friction between Sara and herself was beginning to add a certain piquancy to the rehearsals that Jazz was almost enjoying.

“I do like your method of acting,” Sara whispered to her, while they were watching Bingley and Darcy rehearse one afternoon. “It's so refreshing.”

Jazz smiled graciously, and did a very good impression of a genuine thank you, pretending not to understand. It was worth the effort, as she saw Sara's eyes shrink in annoyance. She then watched Sara in awe as Harry slowly paced across the room to Sara's right, and Sara, sensing his presence there, moved her head away from Jazz towards him with such concentrated grace that it fell so as to accentuate her beautiful jawline just as he turned to face them. Amazing, thought Jazz. Her timing was so precise it looked as if the two of them were in a choreographed dance. But then, to her great amusement, Jazz saw Harry look straight through Sara to focus, in familiar frustration, on her.

That was it! thought Jazz. The thing that had been annoying her since she'd first met Sara - it had suddenly clicked! It was that every movement - however minuscule - was completely controlled. Did this woman ever do anything spontaneous? Not a flutter of her eyelashes, not a fractional glint in her eye or a twitch of her perfect mouth was natural. No wonder her acting always seemed so stilted — how could she act natural when she didn't know what natural was? Jazz started wondering if Sara only ever farted in her sleep.

To hide her smirk at that thought, she looked away from Harry to Brian. And there her smirk froze on her lips. The more she watched Brian the more obvious it became to her that casting him as Darcy had been a complete mental aberration on Harry's part. It didn't matter how many first-night jitters this would save Harry in the future, the man acted like a stick. Harry was having terrible trouble getting Brian to even frown properly, let alone deliver his lines with conviction. What Harry didn't realise was that Brian, the critic feared by all, was absolutely terrified of him and the more Harry shouted, the more constipated Brian looked. It would have been amusing if it wasn't so worrying.

Jazz had never before even considered that every tiny movement on stage had to be choreographed by the director. And now that she had seen Brian on stage, she marvelled that in most plays, the actors didn't regularly collide with each other.

At one point while rehearsing a scene with her on the tiny stage at the end of the church hall, Brian had stood at her side, staring into the audience (which consisted of Harry and a few of the other actors who would be needed later in the scene), and addressed a whole speech to her, without looking at her once. Jazz had started a slow frown at Brian, then turned to look at Harry, pointed at Brian, then herself, and mouthed very slowly, “Is he talking to me?” while Brian spoke. There were various titters from the audience but Harry wasn't amused. Instead he interrupted poor Brian mid-speech with a scornful,

“What are you doing, Brian?”

Brian froze. “I - I -”

“Lizzy is standing next to you,” said Harry as if to a retarded chimpanzee. Brian turned and looked at Jazz blankly. She grinned at him and did a little wave. Brian didn't wave back. God, everyone was in such a bad mood, she thought. Wasn't this supposed to be fun?

“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.