“No, I did not,” shot back Sara. “But I did see that she is far less attractive than her sister, Georgia.”
“Mmm, I agree,” conceded Harry. “Convincing the audience that she is a real beauty will definitely be the biggest challenge I've ever had. But I've given the part of Jane Bennet to her real sister, Georgia Field, which should add authenticity.”
“Excellent!” said Jack, even more genuinely.
“What?” cried Sara.
“Well, as you just said,” explained Harry calmly, “Georgia Field is more instantly attractive than her sister and as you recall, Jane Bennet was the reputed beauty of the family.”
“They were all reputed beauties.”
“Well I can assure you that all of Jane's sisters are very pretty girls, and when we tog them up in their dresses, they'll all look just the job.”
Sara controlled her anger but she seethed into her soup.
Harry didn't feel it necessary to add that Jasmin Field's acting had a raw vitality and depth that he couldn't wait to work on.
Sara stood up, took his plate before the waitress had time to do so, and walked out of the room.
Maxine wondered if it would be tactless to ask if she'd got a part. Charles belched loudly. Jack looked round the room and beamed happily at them all.
Meanwhile in the kitchen, Sara stood leaning on the marble-topped counter. She ignored the cook when asked whether she wanted the crepe suzettes cooked on the mobile stove in the dining room or the kitchen. She was too busy hatching a plot.
Chapter 5
Jazz hopped off the bus in East Finchley and walked briskly along the road towards her parents' house. As she drew near, she could see Josie, her younger sister, and her brother-in-law, Michael, getting out of their car. Ben, their twenty-two-month-old, was holdingjosie's hand. He'd only been walking for a few months and it still gave Jazz a jolt of excitement to see him upright on his two fat legs. He was wearing a nappy the size of a small suitcase. Josie had known Michael since her college days and Jazz had long since got over the shock of her baby sister becoming an old married woman three years before.
Jazz ran up to greet them.
Josie hugged Jazz absent-mindedly while locking the car door and checking she hadn't left any vital toys in the car. She looked very tired. Michael was carrying all Ben's paraphernalia. He had temporarily placed the multicoloured furry teddy bear on his head, while steadying his grip on various other bits and pieces, and Jazz managed not to laugh as he greeted her with his usual intense expression. Jazz picked Ben up and he just about stayed still long enough for her to give him a very loud kiss. He giggled and said her name, filling her with pride.
As she put him down, she spotted Simon's shiny red MX5 parked in her parents' drive. So George still hadn't done the dirty deed, even after a whole evening of helpful hints, courtesy of herself. And that would mean that the entire family tea would take place under his cold eye. Damn.
The door opened wide. “Darlings! Come in, come in!” Martha, their mother greeted them. She hugged them all fiercely, her bosom making contact first. “Everything's ready, you must be famished.” Martha always assumed that none of her ckildren ate in between their visits to her.
In the lounge sat George and Simon with the nominal head of the family, Jeffrey. Jeffrey was delighted to see his other daughters. He'd been stuck talking to Simon about rugby, a sport he detested, while George had stared vacantly into the middle distance. Everyone shot up, grateful for the intrusion and there were noisy greetings all round.
Tea was an informal, loud affair. Jazz waited for a lull to tell the family about the impression she'd made on the famous Harry Noble. She had to wait a while.
“He called you what?” asked Jeffrey, outraged.
“The Ugly Sister,” grinned Jazz, enjoying the reaction it received. She wished now that it had been a stronger insult to have got her more of a dramatic response. She also wished Simon wasn't there, because she knew he would assume that secretly she had been greatly offended by the slight. Which she found greatly offensive.
“Has he seen Josie?” asked Martha.
“Oh, cheers, Mum,” said Josie.
“I can't believe that,” said George, shaking her head. “Are you sure you heard right, Jazz?”
“Yes, George. Just because he's won an Oscar doesn't mean he has to be a nice person,” said Jazz gently.
“I should think it probably means quite the opposite,” added Jeffrey.
There was a pause in the conversation when Josie spoke.
“We've got an announcement to make,” she smiled weakly.
Everyone gasped. She didn't need to say much more.
“I'm pregnant,” she said.
Martha and George screamed, Jeffrey hugged Michael and Jazz felt a curious mixture of envy, joy and sympathy.
Josie was only one month gone, so they were all sworn to secrecy.
“So I don't want to read about it in any magazine,” smiled Josie, wagging her finger at Jazz.
“Hey no worries, we work four months ahead,” grinned Jazz.
“I mean it, Jazz. Tempting fate and all that. I've been much more sick with this one. And we all know how bad I was with Benjy. It wasn't planned, you see.”
“Of course. You can trust me.”Jazz remembered how Josie had had to stay off work and in bed for six weeks before Ben had been born, due to complications. And how Martha had exhausted herself visiting her daughter in hospital and cooking hot evening meals for Michael every day.
Harry Noble's comment was forgotten and the conversation shifted wholeheartedly into baby mode. Then they caught up on the gossip about the rest of the family, they argued over whose turn it was to phone Great-Aunt Sylvie and they admonished Martha for making enough food for a football team. Until she started getting upset and then they all tucked into second helpings. And all the while, Jazz was aware of Simon sitting there with a very slight, fixed smile on his handsome face, not understanding any of the conversation and not caring enough to pretend that he did.
It was only when Jazz was saying goodnight to her father that the subject of Harry Noble came up again. “Harry Noble may be a great actor,” he said softly, as he kissed her, “but he needs his eyes testing.” Jazz wished he hadn't said that. For some reason it made her feel the slight much more.
George gave Jazz a lift home in her beloved VW Beatle. Thankfully, Simon had had to leave early, so they'd come in separate cars.
“I hope it's a girl,” George confided, as she put the key in the ignition.
“Really?” smiled Jazz, dreamily. “How selfish.”
“Selfish? What do you mean?”
Jazz took a deep breath. “I mean, you hope that Josie will give birth to someone who will spend up to a quarter of her adult life having painful periods, who will be susceptible to all sorts of complex eating disorders and self-confidence problems because society will be obsessed with her physical appearance; someone who will have less chance of getting the same respect and money in the workplace as her male colleagues; who will be treated as thick if she's pretty and pitied if she's plain, who will spend more time than her partner doing household chores even though they work the same hours - that is, if he doesn't beat her or abuse her mentally,” she took another deep breath, “and someone who will have to go through the untold agony of labour if she wants to have a child and will then be pilloried by society and said child for being a mother — and all so that you can bond with your niece over chocolate and lipstick.” Jazz turned to George with a smug smile. “I call that selfish.”
George had heard it all before.
“Yup, and you hope it's a girl, too.”
Jazz nodded. “Mmm, tragic isn't it?”
Five minutes into the journey George could hold the question in no longer. “So what did you think of that blond bloke at the auditions?”
“Shame on you, you hussy. And Simon only just out of sight.”
George sighed.
“I thought you could
eat him for dinner,” said Jazz. “I hope you'll both be very happy.”
George was delighted. “He's so cute, isn't he? I'll die if I don't get a part.” She started humming.
“What if you get a part and he doesn't?” said Jazz. “Who'll die then?”
“I'll die then too,” said George definitely. She continued humming.
“Right you are,” said Jazz, watching the road contentedly.
* * *
As Jazz ran up the stairs into her flat, she could hear George's car drive off down the road. Mo's light was off, so Jazz went straight into her room and started getting undressed. When the phone rang she rushed to get it with her toothbrush still in her mouth.
“Hello?” she whispered
“You're Lizzy!” came a breathless squeal down the phone.
“What?”
“You're Lizzy, I'm Jane and rehearsals start next Monday. I've just picked up the message on my answerphone. You're Lizzy” repeated an overjoyed George. “I'm Jane. Rehearsals start next Monday. I've just pick—”
“Yes I heard what you said,” said Jazz. “Bloody hell.” Excitement welled up inside her. “Are you sure?”
George was hyperventilating.
“It was Sandie, Harry's PA,” she gasped. “She said I was Jane Bennet and please could I phone my sister, Jasmin Field - that's you - and let her know she's got the part of Lizzy Bennet. Lizzy Bennet, Jazz. Oh, and Mo's got a part too. I think she's Charlotte Lucas.”
There was silence.
“Jazz? Are you there?”
“Yes. Yes, I'm here.”
“Well, what do you think?”
She smiled slowly. “I think Harry Noble is remarkably shrewd for someone with bad eyesight,” she smiled.
Chapter 6
Jazz stopped in her tracks. Mo was standing in the kitchen wearing a fresh white tracksuit and gleaming trainers. She looked like a short fat ghost with a perm.
“I'm going to get fit and slim and beautiful,” announced Mo. “I'm on a diet as of today and I'm on my way to join the gym. Wish me luck.”
Jazz was staggered. If Mo had said, “I'm going to marry a Mormon and help look after his five wives,” she couldn't have been more stunned.
“Why?” was all she could manage to utter.
Mo picked up her gym kit and brushed past her.
Jazz followed her into the hall. “But you've - you've always said looks don't matter and women only diet for men and life is obsessed with the superficial, and that's why so many people are starving,” she gabbled desperately.
“Yes, I know,” said Mo, “but then I thought, Hey, wouldn't it be fun to be sexy?”
“Mo!”Jazz slammed her hand down on her kit. She couldn't think of one cogent argument that would stop her friend. “Who am I going to eat chocolate with?” she ended up saying weakly.
Mo slowly peeled Jazz's hand off.
“See you later, there's a whole gym waiting for me,” she said, and then she stopped. “We can go together some time, if you like.”
Jazz's face showed such unadulterated horror at the idea that Mo simply turned and walked to the door.
“Life's too short!” shouted Jazz angrily.
Mo yelled back, “So am I!” and slammed the door.
Jazz looked down at her body. Sure, she could probably do with losing a pound or two here and there. But then she could also learn some Greek or go Flamenco dancing. Or have a hot bath, listening to a play on the radio. Or, more importantly, watch telly.
She went into the lounge and turned on the box before she could notice how quiet the flat was. It was the ads. Skinny women (who were paid to be skinny) eating chocolate. Skinny women (who lived on apples and water) holding products and smiling. Skinny women (with bulimia) laughing into the eyes of adoring men. Skinny women (who were just born that way) confiding about washing powder. Skinny women (who were nicknamed Pinlegs at school) talking about Weight Watchers.
Jazz turned off the telly and went to run a hot bath and have a look at her script which had been posted to her that morning.
* * *
At the first read-through of the play, Jazz was already growing fond of the musty smell of the church. As she sat herself down in the circle of chairs in the centre of the hall and settled back to watch everyone come in, it dawned on her for the first time how much more the actors had to lose in this production than anyone else. She was only just beginning to realise how high-profile this affair was going to be. The audience would not only be full of celebs but also stacked to the rafters with casting agents, national theatre directors, top fringe theatre directors, journalists and critics. It could make or break the actors. It was massive. But from a funding point of view, it needed to attract more than just luwies. The organisers needed all the publicity they could get, in order to persuade the punters to tune in and get out their chequebooks. Which probably explained why two key journalists had been chosen for the main parts, thought Jazz suddenly, as well as giving the tabloid darling, Gilbert Valentine, a look-in. With Gilbert's regular titbits of gossip from the play, her columns about the rehearsals and critic Brian Peters' forthcoming acting debut, Jo Bloggs would easily be herded into a frenzy of excitement about the whole enterprise, turning it into the viewing experience of the year. There would hardly be anything for the press officers to do.
As for worrying about her performance, Jazz just couldn't work herself up to it. What did she care if some bored critic lambasted her? She could always lambast his syntax in her next column. She had never professed publicly to being able to act, and if there was one thing she had never judged in her columns, it was actors' ability or otherwise. But for Brian Peters it was quite a different matter. He was going to have a lot to prove in his one-off reincarnation as one of the most romantic fictional heroes in English literature. Jazz smiled. This was going to be fun.
Mo had come straight from work and George would be coming straight from doing a play on Radio 4. Jazz didn't think she'd tell Mo that she was the only person there not involved in the arts. She'd only end up in the toilet throughout the entire rehearsal interrupting herself with offers of Mintos.
She barely noticed that Sara Hayes and her friend Maxine were there, but she instantly recognised their friendly, blond companion - George's next conquest - who seemed to recognise her and greeted her with a warm smile. She didn't know anyone else. There were lots of ridiculously handsome people taking their seats and hiding their nerves behind self-conscious airs of indifference or weariness. Jazz watched them all keenly.
Mo came and sat next to her. As the seats filled up, Jazz realised that William Whitby wasn't there. How could he not have been given a part? He was so ... watchable. Just as her stomach was deflating with disappointment, the door opened and there he was. Maybe it was because she was so obviously aware of him, maybe it was because there was a spare seat next to her and their eyes had met as soon as he had walked in, she didn't know why, but he saw her, grinned and came to sit down next to her.
“Hi,” he smiled, proffering his hand to be shaken “I'm Wills.” Jazz nodded. It would have looked stupid to pretend she didn't know his name. His openness of expression and large, brown eyes that crinkled at the edges when he smiled, were even more endearing in the flesh than on television. Jazz almost had to stop herself from bear-hugging him.
“Hi,” said Jazz, shaking his hand vigorously and grinning like a moron. “Jazz.”
“Short for?” he questioned.
“Men over six foot four. My only restriction.” Dear God, had she really said that?
He chuckled. “Who are you playing?”
“Lizzy,” she said, wondering if her pupils were dilating so much that her eyes were now just two black holes.
His grin widened and he touched her arm affectionately.
“Hey wow, congratulations,” he said. “You must be really good.”
Impossibly, she warmed to him even more.
“Must I?” she said as coyly as she could. “Who are you pl
aying?”
“Terribly Wicked Wickham,” he said wickedly.
“Ooh, how exciting,” she said, noticing that he had several freckles on his nose and golden flecks in his eyes.
“Yes, it'll be a laugh,” he agreed. “And from a professional point of view, it's a great opportunity to play a baddie. I don't want to be typecast as a priest for ever, you know.” A heart-blisteringly wide smile, “Of course, you realise we'll have to learn how to flirt with each other.”
With considerable self-control, Jazz managed not to cheer. Maybe this acting business was going to be more enjoyable than she'd anticipated.
Just then, she became aware of a blurred image behind William's head and, with some effort, drew her eyes towards it. It was a beaming Gilbert.
“Jasmin!” he exclaimed. “You made it, I knew you would!” He kissed her smack on the mouth. She was too shocked to move. Thankfully there wasn't a seat next to her and with an affectionate squeeze of her shoulder, Gilbert had to go and sit somewhere else. As she watched him go, she wondered idly what part he could possibly have got.
Wills turned back to Jazz. “That's Gilbert Valentine, Theatre Hack, isn't it?” he whispered to her.
“No,” whispered Jazz back. “It's Gilbert Valentine, Pathetic Twat. We used to work together.” She wondered why life was never perfect.
Wills meanwhile, was laughing with delight.
The atmosphere cooled as soon as Harry Noble entered the room. He walked over to where the chairs were stacked, his eyes fixing on no one. He picked up a chair and stood silently behind two people in the circle. Without a word being said to either of them, they made room for him. Jazz was so preoccupied watching the remarkable reaction Harry seemed to create on everyone that she scarcely noticed the quiet, red-headed young woman who had come in with him. Silently the woman — or girl — found herself a seat at the back.
Eventually Harry honoured his cast by looking briefly at them.
“Hello people,” he said quietly, and Jazz marvelled at how he could fill those two short words with such considered condescension. Everyone inched closer and Harry took off his black leather jacket exposing a loose, black V-neck jumper and faded black jeans. He leaned back lazily in his chair, fully aware that everyone was watching him avidly. Jazz observed in wonder as the entire room eyed his body, greedily taking in the curve of his Adam's apple and the enticing peek of olive-brown collarbone, his languidly elegant torso, broad shoulders, long, flat stomach and perfect thighs.
Pride, Prejudice and Jasmine Field Page 5