“The man's in love, for goodness' sake,” she said at one point.
“Why should that pain him?” asked Harry.
“He still thinks he's superior to her. And is still arrogant enough to assume she would accept his hand.” Jazz answered as if he was an idiot. “Because he still thinks he can't marry her - it would go against every one of his principles. And his principles are his whole identity. He's going through constant inner turmoil every time he sees her. He's fighting himself whenever she's there. This is the only woman he has ever felt so powerfully attracted to. Physically as well as emotionally. He's never even fancied a woman before. Darcy has never been out of control before - it's terrifying, confusing and amazing all at the same time. Lizzy makes all the other women he can get - and let's face it, he can get all of them - pale into insignificance. She's the only woman who has ever answered him back, who has ever made him think twice about what he says, who has ever made him reconsider his lifelong principles. And yet she's from repulsive lower-class stock. It's like a terrible awakening for him. And every time he sees her he is more aware of the increasingly agonising dilemma he is in. He's getting more hopelessly devoted and yet more aware of the impossibility of marriage to her at the same time. It's — it's living hell.”
“And,”Jazz got more and more excited, unaware that Harry was watching her with a new look in his eyes, “at this point, he realises the worst thing yet - that his biggest enemy in the whole wide world has made an impression on her. Maybe already has planned to elope with her - he knows the depths of Wickham's character enough to fear the worst. Yes,” she finished triumphantly, “he's a man in great pain. You're doing him too one-dimensional.”
Harry thought about this and nodded slowly.
From that moment on, Jazz was moved by the intensity of his performance. When he looked at her now, there was so much repressed emotion in his dark eyes that she felt slightly embarrassed.
At the end of the rehearsal, everyone else had gone and it was just her and Harry. She was knackered but looking forward to a walk home to blow out the cobwebs in her head. She wanted to put off going home as long as possible. It would either be empty or full of Gilbert. Just thinking about it spiralled her down into a deep depression.
“Want a lift?” asked Harry.
“No,” said Jazz miserably.
“Are you all right?”
She shrugged her shoulders.
“Want to talk about it?”
“Nope.”
“Coming to the party on Friday?”
Jazz thought of Wills. “Yes,” she said, and put her Walkman on.
On her way home, Jazz popped into the newsagent and bought a copy of the Evening Herald. There she was on the middle pages. Where had they got that awful photo from? Agatha must have had it in stock. It made her look like a warthog. But that was nothing. The headline said it all: JUST CALL ME: "HONEST JAZZ" it screamed. The introduction ran:
Thanks to her perfect little sister, journalist Jasmin Field knows she's gonna make it big. She tells Candida Butterworth why her honesty will win her this year's Columnist Personality of the Year competition.
Jazz stood stock still in the street, re-reading the headline and introduction three times.
Hell, damnation and buggery bollocks, she thought.
Chapter 16
When Jazz turned up at the party, which was held conveniently four roads away from her flat, she was already drunk.
Only the thought that Wills might be there had made her come. Now that Mo would be glued to Gilbert's hip and George to Jack's, there was little else for her to look forward to at this party.
But as she went up the stairs to the flat entrance, she was surprised by the sight of Jack rushing down the stairs and almost colliding with her. He didn't even say hello.
A horrid thought occurred to her and she started running up the stairs.
It didn't take her long to find George. She was sitting, crying, amidst a hundred coats on the bed in the boxroom. Jazz ran to her and George started weeping inconsolably. Jazz shut the door and sat on the bed with her, stroking her hair. George was limp.
“What's happened? Shhh, it's OK now,” Jazz whispered helplessly.
Eventually George wiped her eyes and nose and said weakly, “It's over.”
“I don't understand,”Jazz said. “He was utterly besotted.”
“Was,” said George and started weeping again.
She calmed down in a while.
“He said he's got to take his career seriously. He can't be unfocused. I was bringing him down—” here she broke down again into quieter sobs.
“What sort of crap is that?” asked Jazz.
“It's not crap, it's what Harry says,” George explained tearfully. “Harry told Jack that to be a great actor you have to be focused. And since he's been going out with me, he's failed four auditions. If he fails another one, his agent has started making noises about him trying another career. She suggested teaching,” and at this George started wailing.
“Perhaps he's just not as good an actor as he thinks,” said Jazz furiously, but George shook her head.
“No, he's right. My work hasn't been great since I've been with him,” she sniffed. “But I didn't mind because I thought he was worth it.” She was sobbing silently now.
Jazz started pacing. “Harry Noble,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I'll bloody kill him.”
“No,” George shook her head. “If Jack loved me enough, he wouldn't listen to him. He just didn't love me.”
“That's bollocks and you know it,” said Jazz hotly. “Jack would do anything Harry tells him to. And unfortunately for him - and for you, sweetheart, Harry is a fuckwit. Of the highest order.”
She hugged George. “Come on, let's get you home.”
“No, I can't go out there looking like this.”
“Georgie, sweetie, you still look ten times better than anyone else in there. And they're all too stoned or drunk to notice anyway. Come on, we'll go back to my flat and have a hot milky drink and lots of hugs and a long talk.”
They stood up and pushed their way through the crowds. It was only when they got home that George realised she'd forgotten her handbag.
“I'll go back,” said Jazz immediately.
“But you'll have to walk on your own,” said George. “I don't need it.”
“I'll run,” said Jazz. “I could do with the exercise.”
George was more than happy to be left on her own for a while. She turned on the telly and watched it, her mind on pause.
The party was much more crowded now. By the time Jazz managed to find George's handbag she was hot and sweaty and in a foul mood. There was no way she was fighting her way through the labrynthine flat full of hot, sweaty people just to see if Wills was there. With a Herculean effort, she forced a passage to the door, only to find herself face to face with Harry.
“Leaving already?” he asked.
Jazz stopped and stared at him. There were so many things she wanted to say to him she didn't know where to start first. So she just stood and stared, wide-eyed and furious. He stared back.
“Want a lift?” he asked quietly.
She didn't notice that he hadn't even come into the party yet. She just thought how much she would rather be driven home than have to run all that way again.
“Yes,” she said curtly, and the two of them went downstairs.
She wasn't going to say a word to him this time. The bastard. First he ruined Wills' chances of a career made in heaven, and then he ruined her sister's life. No wonder he made such a perfect Darcy.
After a silent journey, Harry parked outside the flat.
“See you at the next rehearsal,” said Jazz, and started undoing her seat belt. Before Harry knew what had happened, Jazz was out of the car. He got out too and followed her. He reached her at the door.
“Aren't you even going to say thank you?” he asked angrily.
“Thank you,” said Jazz without looking at him an
d got her keys out of her pocket. She was so pissed off she didn't notice Harry shift awkwardly, not knowing what to say next.
“Happy with the way the play's going?” he asked quickly.
“What's it to you?”
“I care, actually,” said Harry, surprised at how much emotion was in his voice.
“Not enough, smartarse,” said Jazz, thinking of her distraught sister upstairs and blinking back frustrating tears that were stopping her getting her key in the lock.
To her astonishment, Harry prised her hand off her door handle, held both her shoulders and turned her towards him.
“You're wrong,” he said softly. Jazz stared up at him in shock. She was so surprised, she forgot she was angry. Harry seemed to be having considerable difficulty with his words. For the first time, he was actually tongue-tied.
“I think you're the most amazing woman I've ever met,” he said in a low voice. Jazz couldn't believe her ears. She thought he must be joking. “I know the press will have a field day that Harry Noble has fallen for the charms of an unknown hack, but the truth is I've never felt this way about anyone before.” And with that he gently cupped her face and moved slowly towards her.
Staggered, Jazz pushed him away just in time. She hadn't realised quite how strong — or furious — she was, and he hurtled very inelegantly into the rose bush, where he lay startled. The front security light came on due to the movement, shining on Harry's face.
“What the HELL do you think you're doing?” Jazz managed to scream and whisper at the same time.
“I'd have thought that was perfectly obvious,” said Harry, nursing a bruised elbow and a thoroughly bruised ego.
“Who the FUCK do you think you are?” She sounded like a cross between an angry Alsation and Mickey Mouse. The forecourt light went out but when Jazz started pacing it came on again. “You are the most astoundingly arrogant shit I have ever had the displeasure of meeting,” she ranted. “You - you - you - honestly think that I would want to kiss YOU?”
Harry was quick to answer.
“Your biggest worry a moment ago was that I didn't care enough for you,” he said, sitting up. “You seem to have changed your mind very quickly. Perhaps your ego's a teensy bit hurt. Perhaps you'd have preferred it if I'd told you I was in awe of you because you were the great renowned Jasmin Field, Columnist?”
Jazz was screaming now. “I couldn't give a gnat's bollock if you thought I was the Queen of England,” she yelled. “Being famous doesn't stop you being a total fuckwit of THE HIGHEST ORDER.”
“That's just hurt pride talking,” said Harry furiously, starting to get up.
“STAY THERE!” shrieked Jazz, “I HAVEN'T FINISHED!”
Harry did as he was told.
Jazz stared at him until he looked away, embarrassed. “What is it about you actors that makes you think that fame counts for anything?” demanded Jazz. “Michael Bloody Fish is famous, for Christ's sake! You're living in another world, you people. I thought journalists were shallow but you lot - well, you take the biscuit.”
She bent down so that she was looking eye-to-eye at Harry. “Since working with you and your cronies, Mr. Noble, I can honestly say that my opinion of actors has sunk so low that I'm seriously considering becoming a theatre critic”
Harry tried not to wince or smile. Jazz noticed for the first time his features looked distorted and ugly.
“You're all the same,” she went on. “Your values stink, your judgement is warped and your egos are bigger than solar systems.”
Harry tried to stand up again.
“I take your point, Ms. Field,” he said. “Accept my apolog—”
“I haven't finished,” she said icily. The security light went out leaving them in pitch darkness again.
“And as for you, Mr. Noble . . .” words failed her for a moment. She started pacing again and the light flashed back on. “You are the most repellent of them all. First I find out that you are the kind of mean-spirited oil who would push another man down out of pure ambition—”
“What?” said Harry. He was on his feet again.
“William Whitby,” she hissed dramatically.
Harry looked away, hiding his face.
“Can you deny that you lied to a powerful Hollywood casting agent to halt his career while yours has soared into the stratosphere?” She hadn't mean to spit at him, but now that she had, she was glad.
Harry tried hard to control the emotion he felt. “You seem a bit obsessed with that man,” he said finally.
Jazz was shouting very loud now. “He's an innocent man who's suffered at your hands through no fault of his own! You've probably ruined his whole career, his life, through pure malice and self-obsession.”
Harry began to move away. “I can now see how repulsive you find me. I'm sorry that I tried—”
“I HAVEN'T FINISHED!” shouted Jazz.
Harry stood motionless, staring furiously at her.
“But worse than all of that,” she continued, “you've broken my adored sister's heart, you — you - you odious little man.”
“What? I don't understand what you're talking about.”
“Don't patronise me,” warned Jazz.
Harry sighed.
“She is upstairs in my flat now, crying her decent, big heart out because you told her idiot boyfriend that if he wanted his career to go anywhere, he had to chuck her. Can you deny it?”
Harry looked straight at her. “No. Why should I?” he said. “I'd do the same again. Actors need to be focused — especially actors like Jack. He had lost his focus and was about to lose his agent.” He laughed bitterly to himself. “I only wish I'd been as tough on myself.”
Jazz stared at him in disbelief. How could he be so cold-hearted about George?
Harry took advantage of the pause and drew himself up before speaking. “Perhaps though, Ms. Field, none of these petty excuses would have come out if I had professed myself under the spell of your precious name - your brilliant by-line? If I had pretended you were in the same league as me and had people flocking to see you so much as break wind on stage?”
Jazz spoke clearly and with fire in her belly. “The words don't exist in the English vocabulary that could have tempted me to fancy you,” she said, desperately trying to hide the hurt in her voice. “I knew all I needed to know about you before you even deigned to look in my direction. You are the most repulsively arrogant and solipsistic man I have ever had to spend my precious time with. And I've met a lot of actors. You are unattractive to me in every way.” For good measure she added the lie as she turned away, “And for your information, I prefer blonds.”
The forecourt light went out again just then so Jazz never saw the skin around Harry's eyes blanch at her words. She just heard his car door slam and the engine start up as the tears she'd managed to quell for her sister now started running down her cheeks.
* * *
“Harry Noble tried to snog you?” George had stopped crying suddenly.
“There's no need to sound quite so surprised,” sniffed Jazz.
“But Jazz, this is Harry Noble, Hollywood icon. He could get anyone. I'm staggered.”
Jazz blew her nose and started laughing angrily at the ridiculous situation. “Yes, so was he. A fact he felt he needed to remind me of frequently.”
She decided she wasn't going to explain that Harry had confessed quite so readily to being responsible for Jack's chucking her. After all, it would only hurt George to know people like him really did exist. It would be like telling a child there was no Santa Claus.
George slept in Mo's bed that night and both sisters had a fitful, unhappy night.
Jazz's weekend was spent trying to cheer George up, which was fine by her. She needed something to take her mind off the ridiculous episode, which was becoming more and more laughable to her. It was such a bizarre experience - she was both hugely insulted and flattered at the same time. But of course, the insults were what stung the most. Unknown hack! How dare he! Eight hund
red thousand readers a week was hardly unknown. Bastard.
Jazz knew that if they stayed in, George would practically sit on the phone, willing it to ring. She had to keep her busy. They went shopping, to the cinema and out for dinner. George tried to talk of other things, but couldn't help returning to Jack. Jazz felt overwhelmed with sadness for her sister. Why couldn't she find love? She was so achingly lovable. What was wrong with the men out there?
George had always managed to look on the bright side before. This time, however, there was no bright side. Her voice seemed an octave lower than before and she spoke slower as if the very effort of thinking was too much for her.
Jazz was so worried, that as the weekend progressed, she found she didn't have the mental space to think about the amazing Harry Noble incident. It was only when she was in the shower - practically the only time she was without George all weekend — that the enormity of Saturday night's compliment finally hit home. Wow. Bloody wow, she thought. It was a big compliment. Such a star - such a famous name - such a - such a ... She thought hard. Such a wanker.
Men, she thought as she dried herself off. However you look at it, they're all wankers. Of the highest order.
Chapter 17
First thing the next day, Jazz clicked into her e-mails as usual to see if there were any messages. Oh goodie, she thought. There was only one but it had a very intriguing title. It said simply SORRY. Maybe Mo had written to tell her she was chucking Gilbert and coming home with a truck-load of Mars Bars.
Eagerly she double-clicked it. She gasped when she realised it was a massively long letter from Harry Noble. She scrolled down all of it, her eyes frantically scanning odd phrases here and there. We got on well at first. You are terrifying. Matt Jenkins knows ...
She didn't know what to read first. With a supreme effort of self-control, she scrolled to the beginning and began to read.
Pride, Prejudice and Jasmine Field Page 13