To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Sorry
Jasmin
Don't panic. This is not a begging letter. I can't quite believe I tried what I tried on Saturday and I'm really sorry for both of us that I did it.
Excuse the e-mail, but I just felt I had to have my say and I couldn't think of a better way to talk to you without risking a broken jaw. I actually got this idea from Darcy, when he wrote a letter to Elizabeth. Remember? (Some say I take on the roles I play too wholeheartedly. But I don't think Darcy's such a bad example to follow, do you?)
The truth is, Jasmin, you laid some rather serious accusations at my door and I can't help but want to put the record straight. I hope none of what I tell you hurts you but I'm sorry if it does.
First things first, your accusation that I lied out of pure malice and ruined William Whitby's Hollywood career. If it were true, that would have been a completely outrageous thing to do. But I didn't lie. I hate to be the one to break the bad news to you, but William Whitby is not what he appears to be. And I should know.
A long time ago now, I was in a production of Waiting for Godot with William. We got on well at first. He's a good actor and - as I'm sure you know - he has a very endearing way with him. My younger sister agreed with me. You probably know Carrie, she's the costume designer with us and she's been to a couple of rehearsals. Long red hair? Very quiet? Well anyway, within a few weeks they were going out together and she was completely besotted with him. I was really happy for her, as she's shy and a lot of men don't even notice she's there.
For a while everything was fine. Then at one rehearsal I noticed she was wearing shades. When I asked her why, she acted really suspiciously. I knew something was up but didn't want to pursue it. Carrie can be very stubborn. It wasn't until two months later when I was giving her a lift back from a family do that I found out. She told me that whenever William got drunk - which was pretty often - he became violent. He had hit her several times. I couldn't believe it. He seemed so genuinely kind. When I expressed doubt at her word, she almost got hysterical. If I didn't believe her, how would anyone else? I tried to convince her to stop going out with him but she wouldn't. She told me he was always so sorry afterwards and so gentle and loving. It actually seemed to make her feel more special and between you and me, I think it made her feel she was involved in a very passionate affair. She'd always wanted passion in her life and now she was getting it.
I was distraught. They kept going out with each other all the way through the rehearsals and even the production. I detested him by now but he was always a real pro with me. I assumed he had no idea she'd told me. But not so. When I alluded to it once in conversation - sick to the pit of my stomach at his chummy act with me - he actually winked at me and said (I'll never forget it): "Sometimes it's the only way to get some peace and quiet."
He seemed to take offence when I stopped going to the pub with him, but apart from that you'd never have guessed from him that there was any tension between us. I watched him with my sister and I could see that he fed off her insecurity. Carrie's never been hugely secure - I guess it's part of being from a largely acting family and choosing not to be an actress. She thinks everyone's disappointed in her which couldn't be further from the truth. But her weakness was his strength.
Even worse, whenever Carrie wasn't needed at rehearsal, William would flirt outrageously with the props woman, who obviously had a crush on him. I think they even went out a couple of times - who knows what went on? By now I thoroughly despised the man. I didn't know what to do. Should I tell Carrie that he might be having a fling with someone else -which would break her heart, and anyway she probably wouldn't believe me - or should I watch him going on abusing my sister?
The problem was solved when I got a phone call from her in the middle of the night. She was almost hysterical; I could hardly understand what she was saying. I went round there immediately and discovered her lying in a pool of blood. I phoned for an ambulance and she was rushed into an emergency operation. Four hours later, a doctor came out and told me the baby had died and Carrie would probably never be able to have any more children. You can imagine how I felt. I'd had no idea she was even pregnant. I was by her bed when she woke up and she immediately broke down and confessed everything to me. When she'd told William that she was pregnant, he'd gone out, got drunk, come home and, in a drunken rage -during which he accused her of trying to trap him - he punched her in the stomach and then walked out on her. Even then she needed some persuading to break it off with him.
I had to enlist the help of Matt Jenkins. He was working as producer on the play and I ended up turning to him for some support. It was he who convinced me to talk to the director, Alan Mellis, who got rid of William as soon as he had found a replacement. And it was Matt who finally convinced Carrie to finish with William. Maybe she found him more neutral than me. Matt was wonderful - he still is. He visited Carrie in hospital and saw everything. If you think I would - or could - make up a story like this, please talk to him.
He knows that I've told you this. We're very close and I'd trust him with my life.
When the Hollywood agent Howard Fleaback asked me what I thought of William, I told him the truth. What William doesn't know is that I also told him that he's a fine actor. And I really believe that. He is acting all the time.
It might seem odd to you that I would give him a part in another play. It is odd. I regret it bitterly, but Carrie convinced me to do it. She has undergone lengthy therapy since finishing with William and for some strange reason she now feels she needs to see him to get him out of her system. Otherwise she's always hearing about him through other actors and it makes her feel he's somehow got a hold over her. At first I was very dubious about this, but it seems to be working. She told me last week that she can't now understand what she saw in him, which as you can imagine, was a massive relief to me.
I've been watching him too, and saw with no great surprise that he immediately picked you out as a favourite. I desperately wanted to warn you - not just for my own selfish reasons but for your own safety. However, it soon became obvious to me that you wouldn't be such an easy target as my sister was. And I think it soon became obvious to William too. Maybe you've noticed that he hasn't been troubling himself to get seriously involved with you, despite the meaningless flirting. I think it's because he can see that you've got too big a personality to be controlled like Carrie and so I suppose you've lost much of your appeal for him. Thank God! And he's right - you would never let yourself be beaten by a man. I now know from personal experience that in a one-to-one, you can be terrifying.
And now for your second accusation - that I have single-handedly broken your sister's heart.
How can I put this without hurting you? I'm not sure I can. Anyway, here goes.
Before I met your sister, I had heard about her. I know lots of actors and - how can I put this delicately? your sister had, at one time or another, known most of them too.
In fact, I don't know of any play she's ever been in when she's not got involved with a fellow actor. I'm not judging or blaming, it's just a fact. There are actors who are just like that. And in all fairness, exactly the same can be said of Jack. He can't go to an audition without falling passionately in love with whoever playing opposite him. I suppose you could say they're two of a kind. Jack is always on at me to guide him and show him how to focus himself in his work - he's much more ambitious than he appears -and I want to help him. I love Jack like a brother. So I told him: Stop the womanising. His career could be fantastic if he would only apply himself. There will be lots of important casting agents in the audience for this production. If Jack is emotionally or physically drained and totally unfocused (like he is in most of his performances), he will get overlooked yet again.
Believe me, he has the potential to be great and I find it bloody frustrating that he wastes his time on one-minute wonders. And from watching your sister with him,
that is all I thought she was.
And, in fairness, that's all I thought he was to her. You've got to admit, she's hardly been swooning hopelessly around him, has she?
I suppose you know your sister better than I do so I can only say I'm sorry if I've been instrumental in hurting her. But if she's anything like Jack, she'll be up and bouncing again in no time. You know what actors are like. The minute they are cast to fall in love with someone else, they just can't help themselves. Maybe they just love having a script to work to. Believe me, I've seen it many times before.
So that's it. I just wanted to set the record straight. I would appreciate it if you delete this message. Some of your less principled colleagues might find some value in what I've written.
Oh, I suppose that brings me on to another point. That actors' values are warped, etc.
Well, I can only say that reading the front page of any tabloid, the phrase "the pot calling the kettle black" springs to mind. After all, we're all in the entertainment business, aren't we? It may seem to someone who is not trained as an actor that we are self-obsessed and vain but I hope we are not evil, as I think many journalists are. You see, it's not nice to be tarnished with the same brush as all your profession, is it?
As it happens, I respect your work immensely, although you've got to admit your colleague Gilbert Valentine is a complete dickhead. I believe you trained with him on the same paper under the same man and I can only say that it's a credit to you that you and he have gone on to have such different attitudes and careers.
Well, I think that's it. Sorry if it's been inconvenient for you to get this at work. I just had to get all this off my chest.
I won't be seeing you at rehearsals for a week or two because I'm busy with work, but until I see you again,
Take care,
Harry.
Jazz was thunderstruck. She didn't know what to think. She printed out the missive, put it in her bag for later perusal and deleted it on screen. The first time she read it she was so ready to hate Harry that she kept breaking off with very unpleasant expletives for him. How dare he say such libellous things about Wills? Everyone knew he was lovely. He was famous for playing a priest, for Christ's sake! And how dare he call what had been going on between her and Wills "meaningless flirting"? That really hurt.
But later, when she read his e-mail on the tube, she was surprised to find that its tone seemed less harsh and she was not insensitive to the occasional compliment that came her way. Later still, when she read it in the flat while waiting for the kettle to boil, she found she was beginning to experience very unpleasant twinges of panic at the possibility of it being true about William. She thought back to his lovely open face, his large, warm eyes. Then she remembered how he'd told her that he and Harry had been in a play before and that Harry had hated him after that. That would fit in with Harry's story. She wracked her brains to remember Harry's sister. She was dimly aware of a quiet presence who had been going round everyone asking them for their dress sizes. Eventually, she confessed to herself that she had been somewhat biased in Wills's favour because she had fancied him so much. Was she really that superficial?
Now she came to think of it, Jazz remembered how Wills had professed himself to not give a damn about the likes of Harry Noble the day of the party and yet he'd given it a miss. It also dawned on her that it was a bit unfair of Wills to badmouth Harry to her when Harry had given him this chance to play against type. But then, Wills had received every sign that she would be only too eager to join him in badmouthing his enemy. God, he must have seen her coming. Finally she realised she knew nothing about William Whitby that he hadn't told her himself and yet she'd believed every single word of it because of his big brown eyes; winning smile and ability to act the part of a kind priest. Her fondness for him was quickly being overtaken by anger.
She was thoroughly ashamed of herself. The more she thought about it, the more obvious it became. Her opinion of William Whitby had been based on her own physical attraction to him, nothing more, nothing less. He was far more like wicked Wickham and far less like Father Simon than Jazz had ever imagined. At first she thought she would take up Harry's suggestion and ask Matt Jenkins the truth about his past. But by the fourth reading of the letter, she realised there was no way this story could be a lie. And somehow, from the manner in which Matt Jenkins had always talked about Harry, she now realised that he loved him in a way that could only have come from seeing him suffer.
She imagined a drunk William beating up a woman. She felt sick that she had spent so much time with him, had shared jokes with him - had even shared Hobnobs with him. The man was utterly repulsive - more so because he appeared to be so appealing.
And then she became mortified for another reason. Jazz Judges — now to become Josie's Choice - a popular column in a national magazine, based on how sharply perceptive and discerning its writer was, was actually based on a lie. It was written by someone who thought they could read everyone like a book, but actually got it wrong. She wished, not for the first time in her life, that she was more like her big sister, more generous of spirit, more forgiving. There was nowhere to run, she'd always been so ready to trip others up over their foolish mistakes and here she was, well and truly tripped up by her own. And unlike everyone else, she had always believed herself untrip-upable. She felt bitterly ashamed. Every time she pictured either Harry or William, she had the strangest sensation of a cement-mixer being switched on inside her stomach.
It took longer for her to forgive Harry for his description of George. How dare he call her sister a slut! And how dare he insinuate that George and Jack were a one-minute wonder! It just showed what Harry knew about relationships. But after the sixth reading, when she had finally taken the leap of imagination to realise that she wasn't always right about everyone, Jazz remembered a telling conversation she'd had with Mo. “Harder to read than a Thomas Hardy novel', was how Mo described George. Maybe - just maybe - George was a bit cautious about showing her true feelings. Begrudgingly, she began to see Harry's point. She admitted that she had had nearly thirty years' head start when it came to reading George right.
When she re-read the letter in the bath, her feelings towards its writer were totally different from those she had experienced on first reading it. She found herself agreeing with him about some of her work colleagues - and wincing when she remembered how she had self-righteously ridiculed actors in front of a whole room of them.
Now that her confidence in her own opinion was so utterly shattered — a feeling wholly new to her - she was far more sensitive to the compliments Harry had thrown into the e-mail. And for some reason, she got a not-unpleasant thrill when she re-read his allusion to copying the character of Darcy. Did he see her, then, as his Lizzy?
She found herself reflecting that these compliments, written by Harry in haste after their ridiculous row, probably wouldn't trip so lightly off his tongue now, in the light of day. For some reason, that thought didn't satisfy her like it should have.
As she lay in bed staring up at the ceiling and seeing nothing, she remembered she'd forgotten to make a vital phone call to some B-list actor's agent for an important interview. Drifting off into a fitful sleep, she realised she hadn't been able to think of anything all day apart from her e-mail.
Chapter 18
Work had become impossible. It had never occurred to Jazz before how important self-belief was. It helped you get up in the morning and helped you do your job well. Without it, the smallest task seemed enormous. Why was this stupid e-mail upsetting her so much? After about a week, Jazz had worked out the answer. It wasn't just the fact that she had got Harry and William so wrong: it was also the fact that she had behaved as if she was infallible. She had always acted as if no one else's opinion or perception was ever as sharp and accurate as hers. If Mo disagreed with her about George's behaviour, that had to mean that Mo was thick - not that George was unreadable. She had detested her fellow cast members for being biased in favour of Harry despite hi
s behaviour, yet she had been prejudiced against him for little more. Yes, she had overheard him say unpleasant things about her . . . but how often had she said horrid things about people in the past? She dreaded to think what Simon might have thought of her if he had ever overheard her belittle him to George, the way she always had. She had said far worse things about him than Harry had said about her. And who knew? Perhaps Harry had been trying to impress Sara?
Jazz knew she said stupid things when she was with someone who was easy to impress.
What a know-all she'd been! She was just as arrogant as the great Harry Noble, just as guilty in that department. Yet she had no Oscar, no public adoration, no extraordinary beauty to give her any reason to be so full of herself. Oh God! She had utterly humiliated herself in front of the great Harry Noble, and that's what hurt.
It was only at work that Jazz was able to take her mind off the wretched e-mail. It really didn't help, of course, when her interviewees turned out to have brains made of blancmange. Today she was trying to get a decent article out of a woman who had finally given birth to a baby girl after ten boys. They'd been on the phone for one and a half hours so far and Jazz's neck was killing her. She only had three good quotes.
“How did you feel when you held her in your arms for the first time?” Jazz asked.
There was a long pause.
“Nice.”
Jazz started scribbling as she wrote.
“Gosh, you must have felt wonderful. Ecstatic? Elated? Over the moon? Did you come over all tearful? Were you just relieved? Did you feel special? Like your dream had finally come true?”
There was a longer pause.
“Very very nice, yes.”
Jazz rubbed her neck and stretched her back in the chair.
“Who does Tiffany Kylie-Danii take after most?” she asked, trying to inject the question with as much affection as she possibly could.
Pride, Prejudice and Jasmine Field Page 14