Pride, Prejudice and Jasmine Field

Chapter 26

On the day of the performance, Jazz woke at 5:45 am. She'd been having a hideous nightmare. Just as she'd been about to go on stage, Purple Glasses had told her she had to swap parts with Jack and play Mr. Bingley. “But I don't know the lines,” she'd panicked, to which Purple Glasses had replied, “No one will notice. Just mumble.” Jazz had missed her cue and after what felt like hours of silence she'd finally wandered on stage, then she'd realised she was wearing Wellington boots and a chicken costume.

Jazz decided that getting up before six was preferable to trying to go back to sleep. She went into the kitchen and made herself a peppermint tea. She didn't want a coffee, it might make her stressed.

She hadn't planned anything very energetic for today. She was going to spend it relaxing have a hot bath and read a book, maybe watch a video or two. Hopefully George would pop over. Maybe even Mo.

As soon as she was dressed she nipped out and bought every single paper, then she took them home and scoured them for Gilbert's piece about William's sex romp with two-in-a-bed "happily married" Josie Field. It wasn't there. Feverishly, she read them again. Nope, it still wasn't there. Thank God. Now all she had to worry about was the fact that her career was over, her family was about to be slandered by the press, Harry hated her, she'd lost Mo to a moron, George was suicidal and thanks to her, Josie and Michael were separated. Oh yes, and not to forget that she was the lead in a play tonight at which all the country's famous people would be present. Piece o' piss.

She dashed to the bathroom.

Half an hour later, she started going over the play.

By ten o'clock, she'd gone over every line in it. She'd listened to her tape of the play while having her bath and then moved the sofa to the edge of the lounge and gone over every stage direction.

Then she wrote a couple of paragraphs for her column about how nervous she felt. She always wrote well about nerves. A couple of her own jokes actually made her laugh out loud. Brigit had been delighted that Jazz was in the play. It had been in the gossip columns for weeks now. Brigit had commissioned her to write a one-off feature about the day of the performance and cast party as well as her usual column.

As she turned off her computer and the screen fizzed to black, Jazz felt a surge of self-pity that this might be her last column. Without it, she didn't know what she'd do with herself.

She got up and lay on the floor in the middle of the lounge and practised her deep breathing. She was beginning to feel much calmer now. She'd start to get ready in a while.

Three loud knocks at the door frightened the life out of her. Someone must have let George in, or better still it was Mo.

She opened the door and was stunned to find Harry standing there.

“Hello,” she said.

“Hello,” he said.

Her mind was blank. She knew nothing except that she wished she wasn't wearing her Goofy slippers.

“Can I come in?”

“Oh yes, of course,” mumbled Jazz and opened the door. “Tea? Coffee? Peppermint tea?”

“Coffee would be great,” said Harry. Looking a bit confused, he walked over to the couch that she'd pushed to the back of the room and sat down on it. He looked rather small sitting so far away and was obviously feeling totally uncomfortable. He coughed.

Jazz went into the kitchen and tried to breathe deeply while she watched the kettle. She suddenly found the silence horribly oppressive.

She brought out a tray with a pot and two mugs.

She placed them on the coffee table, which was now a few feet away from Harry. He got up and sat cross-legged by the table. She sat down next to him.

“Shall I be Mother?” she asked for no good reason, and then tried desperately not to think of Freud.

He smiled a nod and they sat there for a while, cupping their mugs with their hands.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” she finally said, very quietly.

Harry put down the mug. He looked at her intently with his dark eyes.

Jazz stopped breathing.

“I just wanted to see how you were. You seemed very tense at the dress rehearsal.”

Jazz started breathing again. Oh wow, how sweet. She'd never seen this side of him. Her heart beat faster and all her movements suddenly felt magnified. She tried to concentrate on slow, deep breaths.

“Sorry about that bit where we went round in a circle,” she managed to say.

Harry smiled. “It's OK. It won't happen tonight it's never happened before. But change the line if it'll make you feel better.”

Change the line? This late? Was he mad? She had visions of Elizabeth Bennet suddenly coming out with "The more my toes, tiddlypom". It didn't bear thinking about.

“I'll be fine, thanks.”

Harry smiled. “And everything else - is it OK? Or is it as bad as your column says it is?”

Jesus. He had followed her column into the News.

Jazz shrugged. “We'll cope. Worse things have happened at sea, as they say.” Why was she talking like her mother? Any minute now she'd be telling him that he should take his coat off and feel the benefit.

“I just wanted to say that everything will be OK. I know it will.” Harry seemed to be quite certain of that. He continued, “Gilbert won't do anything to hurt you or your family, I'm absolutely positive.”

Jazz was incredibly touched. She didn't know what to say. Harry's eyes were focusing on her feet. Dear God, she thought, why the Goofy slippers?

“You may not believe it, but I sometimes get nervous. I have panic attacks,” he was saying. “Not when I'm on stage - that's fine. It's whenever I go on tube trains. I keep trying to overcome my claustrophobia but it happens every time.” He was starting to gabble. “That's why I finally bought my own car, although I hate driving. The last time I went on the Underground, I fainted in the carriage. It took them ages to wake me and drag me to a side office. Then when they realised who I was, they made me wait until they'd ordered a car to pick me up outside the station. They had to put all the trains on hold before I was able to leave. Otherwise I swear I'd still be there today,” he half-laughed. “It was the most embarrassing day of my life. The only way I got out of there was by staring straight ahead and reciting "To be or not to be" until I reached daylight.”

Jazz stared at him in amazement.

“It was the day of the auditions, actually,” he continued. “The day we ..." A little smile, a little cough.

And then he was back to normal.

“You see, I focused, Jazz. And I got out in one piece. Focus is all - I honestly believe that. Just forget everything else that's going on in your life - your writing, Josie's divorce, Gilbert's article - let it all go and become Elizabeth Bennet. I know you can do it. It's going to be a spectacular performance — we'll be the best part of the whole week. Especially you. I know you'll do me proud. Just focus, Jazz.”

He looked up, and Jazz's expression had undergone a rapid change. She gave a short, bitter laugh. So that's what all this was about. His bloody reputation. She should have known better than to look for a bit of heart beneath that torso. God, he must have so little faith in her, to think she needed a home visit on the day of the play. Or maybe he was doing this to all the cast members he thought needed a personal pep talk. And she'd almost fallen for it. How utterly humiliating. Sara was probably in the car downstairs. With her legs. She felt a sharp stab of hurt in the base of her stomach.

“I'm not going to spoil your precious reputation, Mr. Noble,” she said. “I promise not to make any mistakes. And I won't be changing any lines.”

Harry pretended to be surprised, but she could see right through him. He may be an actor, she thought hotly, but he can't bluff me.

“Oh, come on, Jasmi—”

“Look - I need to get ready.” She stood up and towered over him. “So I'm afraid you'll have to leave now.”

Harry stood up too.

“Jasmi—”

She turned her head away from him.

He seemed to stay there for ages. She crossed her arms and stared at his untouched mug of coffee.

“Right then, I'll go,” he said, marching towards the door. “Don't bother to see me out,” and he slammed it behind him. He stormed down the stairs, furious.

George picked her up at 4:30 pm. Jazz checked her bag five times. Yes, she had enough hair slides. And rollers. And tights. And the right shade of lipstick. She put her battered script in her bag just in case. She'd show Harry and Sara. She'd be bloody brilliant.

They went to a local restaurant, picked at their meals and then drove straight to the rehearsal.

Her stomach started to grip tightly as soon as they turned into the road where the theatre was. Jazz went straight to the toilet in the foyer. By the time she walked into the brightly-lit auditorium, George was nowhere to be seen. Harry was there, talking to Matt and the lighting guy, Alec; TV camera operators were already setting up in the audience. No one noticed her as she stood staring up at the stage. The set was all ready for the first scene, which surprisingly made her feel reassured. She walked silently down the auditorium, through the swing doors at the back and into the dressing room.

She didn't notice Jack and George snogging in the corner until she was walking towards them.

“Waargh!” she exclaimed maturely, and they both jumped apart. Jack whispered something to George and she giggled coyly; he then walked past Jazz with a big grin on his face.

Jazz's jaw parachuted to the floor.

George was making a high-pitched sound and running on the spot, like an excited child.

“How the hell did that happen?” asked Jazz.

George started mock-swooning and laughing out loud. She was hugging herself. Jazz started joining in the laughing.

Eventually George ran over and hugged Jazz. Thank God, thought Jazz. Something's going right.

“He's in love with me,” she sang, as if this was the most unbelievable thing in the world.

“Of course he is,” smiled Jazz.

George said blissfully, “I was just standing here, trying to gather my thoughts, pretend I was calm, trying to push him out of my mind for the fortieth time today—”

Jazz felt guilty. Preoccupied with her own misery, she'd forgotten that George would still be at that painful stage.

“—when he just came in, walked over, told me he'd made the biggest mistake of his life and that he was in love with me.”

“And of course you told him that it was too late because you'd changed your mind, and anyway, you'd rather die an old maid than forgive him,” queried Jazz.

George grinned at her. “I want his babies.”

“Really?” laughed Jazz. “How many has he got?”

George was beaming at herself in the mirror. “Oh God, I'm so happy I think I'm going to burst,” she said to her reflection. “He told me that these have been the worst weeks of his life and he's never going to put his work before his happiness again. He said we might never be rich but” - she gasped and put her hand over her mouth as she realised what she'd just said “ - but we'd always have each other.”

Jazz smiled at her sister. Only George could fall for that line. She didn't think now was the time to remind her what their mother had said about the realities of marriage.

Other actresses started coming into the room and George and Jazz had no choice but to begin getting undressed. This news had certainly helped to defuse Jazz's nerves. Thankfully Mo was in the other ladies' dressing room with Sara and Maxine, so with any luck, she wouldn't see her until they were in the wings waiting for their cue. She put on her costume quickly and without fuss. Her Regency hairstyle needed to be fixed in place twice, but the second time, she secured it so tightly with hair grips that she thought she might have punctured her brain. Her hair was up there for good now. Probably for ever.

Purple Glasses came in and shouted shrilly, “Everyone on stage IMMEDIATELY,” and they heard her go into the other dressing rooms shouting the same message.

The curtains were closed and Harry was standing on the stage. The auditorium would start filling up in ten minutes. He smiled at everyone as they came in, but didn't meet Jazz's eyes. Sara stood very near him, laughing at all his jokes as if they were private ones.

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. Jack 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.

Further down in the wings, Mrs Bennet was adjusting her bonnet and straightening her cleavage. Jazz seriously contemplated tripping her up.

“What do you mean?” asked Jazz urgently, as Mrs Bennet trotted on stage.

Harry turned to her and she heard him take a deep breath. “I couldn't very well fall head over heels in love with someone whose family was in a sex scandal, could I? I've got my career to think of too, you know.”

And in the darkness, she could see his eyes were bright with emotion.

“That's your cue, Jazz.”

Jazz almost ran on stage and stood there, blinking in the light.

When Harry joined her on stage five minutes later, looking like a great big solid hunk of loveliness, Jazz felt herself almost burst with emotion. She wanted to laugh out loud, it was killing her not to. She did make a couple of funny sort of gasping noises that Elizabeth Bennet probably wouldn't have made, but she didn't think anyone noticed. And anyway, her performance was set alight by the intensity of her emotions. She was Elizabeth Bennet: she felt sure of it. And Harry was her adoring Mr. Darcy. The chemistry between them would have been embarrassing if it wasn't what was required.

It was wonderful. The scene they were playing now was when Mr. Darcy proposed to his Lizzy a second, successful time. In the book, the characters had been walking behind the lovers, Jane Bennet and Mr Bingley. In this adaptation, Lizzy and Darcy had to stop by a make-believe bench while Jack and George were off-stage, supposedly walking up ahead. Or snogging in the toilet, thought Jazz happily.

When Harry said the line, “My dearest, loveliest Elizabeth,” with such affection in his eyes, Jazz thought she was going to have to sit on her hands to stop her flinging them around his neck.

She didn't, of course, and tragically she was on stage all the way until the end of the play, except for a moment while the set was changed for the joint wedding and then she and Harry came on from opposite entrances.

Harry had worked it that there should be no final snog as such, but that the lights would dim as they all started to go for the clinch. Jazz was suddenly terrified. Should she? Shouldn't she? Would he? Wouldn't he? She searched his eyes for clues and got none. As she felt the lights start to dim, they slowly started to hug. It was a full-bodied, long hug that she never wanted to end. Harry's body was damp with sweat and his heart was pumping.

Before she knew it, the sound of applause started echoing and the rest of the cast came on stage in orderly lines and she, Harry, George and Jack exited sharpish.

They got into the wings where George and Jack started snogging furiously. She watched as Harry observed his cast. She might as well not have been there.

“Right, we're off,” he said and they all went to take their bows.

Jazz had never bowed to an audience before. It was the most exhilarating moment of her life. She decided she'd audition for another play immediately. It made everything worth it. All the nerves, the rehearsals, the boredom. The clapping seemed to go on for ever. Now she could hear whooping. Harry took a step forward and the clapping got even louder. It was almost deafening. She could see that some of the audience at the left of the auditorium were standing up. She realised she was laughing. Then Harry took her hand and they were bowing together. She couldn't stop laughing, yet she couldn't even hear it over the noise.

Eventually the curtain went down and everyone started hugging everyone. Just as she was about to turn to face Harry, George appeared at her side and hugged the breath out of her. And everyone, she noticed, started hugging Harry. He got further and further away from her as people swarmed round him. He had never looked so dishevelled. As Wills took her in a firm, friendly hug, her eyes caught Harry's. He was being hugged by Sara and was drenched in sweat, his cheeks flushed and his hair messy. Jazz's stomach lurched.

“Right,” said Harry eventually and everyone shushed instantly. “Everyone in the men's changing rooms.”

There was a charge to the dressing rooms.

Once there, everyone squeezed on top of each others' laps, kissing each other and talking nineteen to the dozen. As soon as Harry spoke though, there was silence.

“What can I say?” he started and they all laughed. He tried to compose himself.

“You have surpassed even my wildest dreams.” Some of the girls started sniffing. “I can honestly say that I've learnt more from directing and acting in this play than any other piece I've ever worked on.” His voice cracked on the last few words. “And I think you know I'm not talking about just the acting. Thank you all. I'll never forget this experience and I hope you don't either.”

There was a long pause and then Mrs. Bennet started clapping and they all joined in. She gave him a big hug for which he was eternally grateful, because it wouldn't have done for them all to see he was crying. Eventually he pulled himself away and said hoarsely, “See you at the party.” And everyone started rushing to get ready.

Jazz felt totally lost. She had the party - when he'd be surrounded by his family and friends - and then she'd probably never see him again. She ran to get changed.

The dressing room was abuzz with excitement. People were sharing deodorants and shouting at each other with bright, animated faces. She had to get out of there. She had to get to the party.

George insisted she wait for her, which was so aggravating that she almost lost her high. Maybe Harry falls for all his leading ladies, she thought as she watched George dress. Maybe he'd only said it to shut her up. Oh hell, she had to see him again. But she knew that the chances of getting him alone were now minimal.

Finally George was ready. They almost ran to the audience and saw people clustered round their own family member. Harry's family were sitting high up in the dress circle, now reunited with Dame Alexandra Marmeduke. Famous people were dotted around, but most had already left. George and Jazz spotted their family at the same time. Everyone was there. Even, to Jazz's astonishment, Michael. As they hurried towards them, a few people grinned their congratulations to them both. It was wonderful. Far better than any by-line. Before she reached her family, Jazz noticed Mark and Maddie sitting near the aisle, grinning inanely. They both looked so different out of the office.

She rushed up to them. Maddie gave her a big, warm squeeze and even Mark pecked her cheek. They both seemed very happy.

“You were amazing!” said Maddie.

“Fabulous. You never told us you could act,” said Mark.

“Oh, are you sure you enjoyed it?” asked Jazz, and the question almost echoed round the room, so many people were asking it.

“Loved it,” they said together, and then started laughing. Jazz sensed something a bit strange about them, but was too preoccupied to try and work out what it meant. Outside the office, Mark had shed his bravado completely. He was effusive and charming and Jazz realised how lovely-looking he was.

“By the way,” said Maddie, “Agatha got a call this afternoon from one of her old journalist cronies — used to work with her on Gossip! Well, now she's got three children and she's desperate to come back to writing part-time. I think we may be able to persuade Agatha about you doing a job-share now. Then you can have your weekends back.”

Jazz couldn't believe it. It was all too perfect.

“Excellent!” she squealed. “You are coming to the party, aren't you? We've taken over Flamenco's in Angel Street.”

“Wouldn't miss it for the world,” said Maddie.

“Strictly as guests - not as press,” said Jazz firmly.

“Yip,” said Mark. “Scout's honour.”

She gave them the address of Flamenco's. Then she raced over to her family, walloping various people with her bags and baggage and apologising profusely to all of them.

Martha got to her first but it felt like they were all hugging her at once. Jazz pulled Josie aside. “What's Michael doing here?” she demanded.

Josie grinned. “Well, he said he wanted to see you in the play as you were still officially a relative of his. Then when he came to pick me up and drop off the sitter, he told me that ever since he'd known about me and William he'd been feeling ill. It had made him realise how much he loved me and how near he'd been to losing me. So you can stop feeling guilty now, honey. It looks like you might have saved my marriage.”

Jazz couldn't believe her ears. She hugged Josie till it hurt. Michael came over to them.

“Hi sis,” he said, a little nervously.

“Come here, you,” she said and gave him a hug that was only slightly less painful.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered.

“Me too,” she whispered back, grinning at Josie over his shoulder.

And then she spotted Harry walking over very slowly. He almost stopped when he saw her hugging Michael, but as soon as their eyes met, she let Michael go. Harry reached them and no one really knew what to do.

George did the introductions. Jazz suddenly felt very guilty, remembering with a stab of horror that the only thing she'd ever told her family about Harry was how rude and arrogant he was, and that he'd called her The Ugly Sister. She wished she'd had a chance to tell them all the latest development . . . then they'd know that it was only thanks to Harry Noble that their family name wasn't mud.

She cringed inwardly when she saw how muted her parents' greeting to him was. It was also very embarrassing to see how much in awe of him they were. He must get this all the time. It was as if they were a lower caste than him or something. No wonder he had become so arrogant. It must be impossible not to. He shook all their hands and then said to her parents, “You have very talented daughters.” Martha beamed majestically at him. “Are you all coming to the party?” he asked with a little cough.

Josie and Michael said yes, Martha and Jeffrey laughed at the very idea.

“Well, it's been a pleasure to meet you,” he said, and raised his eyebrows at Jazz. “See you at the party,” he said to her and wandered off.

Just when George, Josie and Michael were finally ready to go, Jazz suddenly remembered she'd left her make-up bag in her dressing room. While the others went to get the car, she hurtled back through the auditorium, picked it up and whizzed back. As she forced open the doors into the foyer, she saw an old woman sitting on an upright chair against the wall, waiting patiently for someone, her right hand resting on an imposing-looking gilt-edged cane. The woman looked at her and gave her a beautiful smile that lit up her entire face. She must have been a beauty in her day.

“Ravishing, my dear,” she said dramatically. “Simply ravishing.”

Jazz felt embarrassed.

“Thank you,” she smiled and kept on walking.

“I've seen some chemistry in my time, believe me,” the woman continued in a rich, mellow voice, her dark eyes sparkling, “and that was some chemistry.” Then she stopped smiling and looked intently at Jazz. “Never lose that spirit, girl,” she said. “Never lose that fire.”

The old face suddenly saddened, and her eyes looked distant. “But never let it control you,” she said softly, almost to herself.

Jazz's eyes drifted to a black and white still shot, framed and displayed above the woman's head. Olivier, playing Hamlet, was holding his Ophelia - a radiantly young Dame Alexandra Marmeduke. Jazz's body went cold as she realised that the same face was before her now, in living form.

The woman saw her look and nodded graciously, closing her tired eyes.

Exhilarated, Jazz mumbled something about being ever so grateful and ran out into the cold, night air.