Pride, Prejudice and Jasmine Field

Chapter 21

It was a Saturday night and Jazz, Josie and George turned up to the latest cast party together, just like when they were teenagers, hundreds of years ago. Jazz was on a high for the first time in a very long fortnight. George circulated easily among the crowd. Jazz saw that Jack was staying put in the kitchen, nursing a beer and a forced smile and William was flitting. Of course William was at the party, thought Jazz. He could be safe tonight because he knew that Harry would be on stage most of the evening.

Jazz introduced Josie to all and waited patiently for William to flit round to them. She was going to test him.

She didn't have to wait long.

“Hello,” he grinned, eyeing Josie up. Josie had George's vibrant colouring, and even though a few years of exhaustion had faded it somewhat, Jazz knew her sister still looked good.

At first Jazz tried hard not to notice those crinkly lines at the corner of William's eyes nor his warming smile. But then she realised that looking at them didn't hurt her like she thought it would. She introduced him to Josie, and William seemed delighted to discover there was another Field sister. She wished she'd warned Josie about William, but she supposed there would always be time. Jazz told him that she had managed to get tickets for Harry's play and waited for his reaction. William looked surprised. After a pause he edged nearer to her.

“I suppose knowing the truth about him, you're doubly intrigued to see the difference between a false act and a genuine one?” he said lightly.

Jazz couldn't help but smile at his words. It helped the hurt a bit.

“Oh, I've got to know him a bit better since we last spoke,” she said. “And I find Harry's manner — with some people — easier to swallow now.”

Jazz got a sense of deep satisfaction watching the different reactions that fought for control over William's pleasing features.

“You mean,” he began, when he could trust his voice to be indifferent, “that you've grown used to his manner? Or has he turned into a lovely warm chap who will surprise us all at the next rehearsal?”

“Oh no,” replied Jazz, enjoying the conversation even more than she thought she would. This was probably the only good thing that would come out of the e-mail. “He's still the same old Harry Noble. I just mean that when you get to know more about the man's past — and the past of those he loves — it's easier to understand the reasons behind his actions.”

To her delight, William actually coloured.

“I'm surprised to see that Carrie isn't here,” she said, looking round.

There was now no doubt that they both knew what Jazz was talking about.

“Harry's sister?” he asked evenly, though it was obvious to Jazz he wished he were no longer talking to her. “She rarely comes to parties.”

Jazz nodded slowly. “Maybe she doesn't like what drink does to some people,” she said quietly and then with one last look at him, she turned and walked away, leaving him, not without some regret, to talk to Josie. The fact that he looked annoyed instead of embarrassed put a final end to her crush on him.

She was stopped on her way towards the kitchen by Mo. “Be nice,” Mo said urgently, before Gilbert approached. Jazz realised pretty quickly that he was very drunk.

“Jazzy Jazzy Jazzy,” he slurred and then slumped untidily against the wall. Jazz took advantage of the situation and started talking to Mo as if he wasn't there.

“You'll never guess,” she said. “I'm going to see Harry in his play tomorrow.”

“What?” said Gilbert, his eyes glazed over. “Famous Harry Famous Noble's famous play? If you see his bitch of an aunt there — can't miss her, face Like a baboon's arse — would you kindly spit in her eye for me?” He took a swig from a bottle of red wine. Jazz looked at Mo.

“She's stopped sponsoring his magazine. She found out he was in the play with Harry and completely went over the top. Didn't just fire him, she pulled all her money out of the whole magazine,” said Mo.

They both looked dismayed at Gilbert. Gilbert belched. They all knew that without his specialist mag - which was respected by those in the business, even if it was seen as pretentious — Gilbert was as good as on the scrapheap. Without his regular contact with the theatre world, his part-time career would grind to a halt, too. There were always others only too happy to sell sordid little secrets to the tabloids. Respected theatre journalism was notoriously difficult to get into and on the nationals - which would be all Gilbert would be able to tolerate moving to - they were heavily over-subscribed with clever, experienced writers who were far more arrogant than Gilbert could ever aspire to be. Gilbert's only choice would be to end up on some provincial paper, which would lower his profile, ego and reputation beyond repair. A future of bitterness beckoned.

“In fact, you can tell her from me that her acting stinks,” Gilbert was slurring. “Just like her nephew's.”

When she realised that Mo wasn't going to leave Gilbert's side all evening, Jazz eventually extricated herself from them and watched from a safe distance as Mo tried to pull the bottle out of her boyfriend's weakening grip.

She noticed that Sara Hayes was absent from the party. Of course, she thought. Why would she waste her evening with the likes of us if Harry Noble wasn't going to be there? And then she checked herself glumly. Maybe Sara had a hospital appointment or something, who was she to know? She wasn't always right.

As for the cast, the only people she could be bothered to talk to were Matt, -who was always lovely, and Jack, who was now out of bounds. She suddenly found the rest of the cast oppressively wearisome. And even though she had just won a prestigious award, achieved her professional goal and had got tickets for Harry's show that no one else there had managed to get, she was vaguely aware that there was something lacking in the evening's entertainment. Her bubble had silently burst. With growing horror, she realised why. The truth was she'd become very used to being watched by a certain Harry Noble. Hell, damnation and buggery bollocks.

She managed to make dull social chitchat until midnight, when she decided to call it a day. She couldn't find Josie anywhere. Maybe she was already back at the flat, she thought. She'd given her a spare key. When Jazz finally got home, the flat was silent but she assumed that Josie was in Mo's room and went straight to bed.

The next morning, she found Josie dressed and up in the kitchen.

“Nice evening?” she asked, pouring herself a coffee.

Josie grinned sheepishly. “Fabulous. You didn't tell me what a dish William Whitby was.”

“There's a good reason for that,” said Jazz. “He's a shit. Of the highest order.”

Josie's face fell. Then she looked sheepish again. “Who cares?” she said, and was off home.