Pride, Prejudice and Jasmin Field (9 page)

Harry looked at his watch.

‘Jesus! Yes, of course,’ he said quietly, as if only addressing himself. It apparently didn’t matter to him that other people might find it late, only that it was late for him. He rubbed his eyes. ‘Right then,’ he clapped his hands. ‘See you all Wednesday. Good work.’ And he picked up his coat and walked out. He didn’t even notice Purple Glasses who had been waiting for them all to leave so she could lock up.

Jazz and George dawdled getting on their coats and chatted outside the church door.

‘That was absolutely knackering,’ yawned Jazz.

‘I know, he’s brilliant.’

‘Is he? Wills doesn’t think so.’

‘Wills?’

‘William Whitby. He’s playing Wickham.’

‘Oh him. Well, he’s not an Oscar-winner, is he?’

‘No, but he’s got a very nice arse.’

‘Oh, and Harry hasn’t, I suppose?’

‘No, Harry has. There’s no denying that. It’s just one of my principles not to get involved with a man

who talks out of it.’

‘Want a lift home?’

‘No, I need the fresh air, I’m completely shagged.’

‘Well, phone me when you get home then.’

‘Yes, Mum.’

*

The night air was deliciously fresh. Jazz loved being up when most people weren’t - it was the closest

she felt to nature, especially in West Hampstead.

‘Want a lift?’

She looked over to the car at the end of the road. It was a clapped-out old MG with its roof down and Harry sitting in it. Despite the appealing picture, Jazz felt no urge to go any nearer. How long had he

been sitting there? Had he heard anything they’d said? Did he think she needed a pep-talk already?

‘No, thanks. I need the air.’

‘You never know what’s out there,’ he said gravely. ‘Could be dangerous.’

‘No less dangerous than getting into the car of a strange man, I shouldn’t wonder.’

‘You think I’m strange do you, Ms. Field?’

Jazz mulled this over. ‘Well, put it this way,’ she said. ‘I’m still making you out, Mr Noble.’

‘Well, have a lift,’ he said with a touch of impatience, leaning across to the passenger door and opening it wide, ‘and you’ll get some extra material for your work.’

She managed a smile. ‘I think I’ve done enough work for today, don’t you?’

Instead of answering the question, Harry simply said, rather dramatically Jazz thought, ‘I won’t bite,

Ms. Field,’ as he started to put his key in the ignition.

Jazz walked up to him slowly.

‘Look, since you like honesty without any pauses, here goes. I would prefer to walk through the midnight streets of West Hampstead on my own than have a lift in your car.’ She shut the car door and smiled at him. ‘Thanks all the same.’

And she strolled into the sweet night air.

Sara had arranged to meet her brother for lunch in an exquisitely smart, bijou Hampstead restaurant that was sufficiently off the beaten track to be exclusive. Jack never said no to meeting her - he hated her guilt-trips - and she had overheard that he and Harry had planned to get together that afternoon. She knew that Jack would turn up with Harry, which was why she’d chosen this restaurant. Anywhere else and the afternoon would have been spoilt by people stopping to ask Harry for his autograph. They did it everywhere, even in Hampstead, where they really should know better. But in this restaurant, the waiters were even more condescending than their many visiting celebrities, and no one would ever lower themselves to ask for autographs. Even from Harry Noble. Naturally Maxine had been invited as well

and Charles would, of course, be paying.

‘And how fares our Ugly Sister?’ asked Sara, as they were all being given their menus.

Harry scanned the hors d’oeuvres.

She tried again. ‘Are you enjoying your biggest challenge since RADA or is it proving too much, even for you?’

Eventually Harry put down the menu.

‘On the contrary, I hope I have enough humility to admit when I was wrong.’

Sara could hardly contain her relief and excitement.

‘What are you going to do? Where are you going to get another Lizzy Bennet at this late hour? How will you break it to the poor girl?’

‘No, I don’t mean that at all,’ said Harry stiffly. ‘I mean exactly the opposite. She was the perfect choice.

I couldn’t have cast a more ideal Lizzy Bennet.’

‘Nor a more gorgeous Jane Bennet,’ beamed Jack, putting his menu down and rubbing his hands together. ‘I’m going to have the steak, I think.’

‘Ah yes, but Jane Bennet was never in doubt,’ said Harry to Jack.

Sara tried to pull the conversation back on track.

‘In what way is the Ugly Sister your perfect choice? Do tell, I’m fascinated,’ she said, a careful lightness to her tone.

Harry thought about it for a while.

‘Everything about her,’ he said simply. ‘Her temperament, her acting, her figure, her face, her eyes. She’s perfect.’

Sara found herself staring at the menu without taking any of it in. She discovered she’d lost her appetite. Damnation. She loved their foie gras.

After the waiter took their orders, Jack started waxing lyrical about George. A thought crossed Harry’s mind.

‘I do hope you’re not going to do your old trick of falling in love -with your leading lady and then breaking it all off the day before opening night.’

Jack laughed, but said nothing.

‘I won’t stand for any of that, you know. Not in my production,’ said Harry, sipping red wine. ‘I’ll never forget when your Beatrice tried to punch your lights out in the final scene of Much Ado. We could have renamed that production Much Ado About Quite A Lot, Actually.’

Jack smiled at the memory. He couldn’t even remember the name of the actress now.

‘There’s nothing worse than getting involved with an actress while you’re in the same play as her,’ lectured Harry. ‘Ruins your focus.’

Jack looked uncomfortable. ‘Life’s about more than focus, old chap.’

‘Not if you want to be great,’ clipped Harry. ‘Relationships with actresses are doomed. Biggest mistake an actor can make. Drains him of energy. He’ll either be unhappy or unsuccessful.’ He gulped down his wine. ‘Unless of course, she’s merely an advert actress. Though why anyone would want one of them is beyond me. Better not to let women in your life at all. Unfocuses you,’ he repeated himself grumpily. ‘Present company excluded, of course,’ he said as an afterthought.

Sara wondered desperately if that included marriage. Jack picked at his bread and looked around the restaurant.

‘Wine’s splendid,’ said Charles, belching loudly.

*

The honeymoon period was well and truly over and Jazz now knew who in the cast she hated, who she found amusing, who she thought ridiculous, and who she liked. Purple Glasses fitted into all the first three categories. Even Jazz was surprised at how much Purple Glasses managed to irritate her. In the beginning, Jazz had maintained a cool but polite distance. But there was always some pretext Purple Glasses found for bossing Jazz around, and pretty soon Jazz could hardly look her in the eye without either laughing in

her face or being downright rude. The ruder she became, the more Purple Glasses seemed to seek her out.

‘You left your fan on the wrong chair again,’ said Purple Glasses after a particularly long and difficult rehearsal, a note of triumph in her voice.

‘How will I ever live with myself?’ answered Jazz, in as bitter a tone as she could muster.

Purple Glasses ignored her and studied her notes. ‘You’re meant to leave it on the chair Upstage Right, not Downstage Left. How many times do I have to tell you?’

‘Since you ask, you’ve told me quite enough times, thanks.’

‘Well, it doesn’t seem to make any difference, does it?’ said Purple Glasses as if she was telling a small child to stop picking its nose in public.

‘Not in the great scheme of things, Fiona, no. It doesn’t make any difference at all where I leave a poxy fan.’

Purple Glasses stared at her and then stalked off.

Jazz also didn’t like Sara Hayes, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on exactly what annoyed her so much about the woman. There was of course, her obvious insincerity; that was entertaining, but it was more than that. From the first moment of seeing her in the audition room, it had been obvious to Jazz that Sara’s one aim in life was to catch Harry Noble. Everyone else was happy merely to catch a glimpse of the man, Sara was determined to catch the man himself. Jazz didn’t know women like her still existed. Jazz was used to women going out and getting their man, but Sara wanted to turn Harry into a man who would want to go out and get her. It was like watching living socio-history at work. What made it more entertaining to watch was that Harry was oblivious to Sara’s charms. It made wonderful viewing. Jazz supposed that was why Sara hated her so much; because she was playing Lizzy Bennet she was taking

up most of Harry’s time. If only Sara knew, thought Jazz with a smile, how little she thought of the great man. The friction between Sara and herself was beginning to add a certain piquancy to the rehearsals

that Jazz was almost enjoying.

‘I do like your method of acting,’ Sara whispered to her, while they were watching Bingley and Darcy rehearse one afternoon. ‘It’s so refreshing.’

Jazz smiled graciously, and did a very good impression of a genuine thank you, pretending not to understand. It was worth the effort, as she saw Sara’s eyes shrink in annoyance. She then watched Sara in awe as Harry slowly paced across the room to Sara’s right, and Sara, sensing his presence there,

moved her head away from Jazz towards him with such concentrated grace that it fell so as to accentuate her beautiful jawline just as he turned to face them. Amazing, thought Jazz. Her timing was so precise it looked as if the two of them were in a choreographed dance. But then, to her great amusement, Jazz saw Harry look straight through Sara to focus, in familiar frustration, on her.

That was it! thought Jazz. The thing that had been annoying her since she’d first met Sara - it had suddenly clicked! It was that every movement - however minuscule - was completely controlled. Did this woman ever do anything spontaneous? Not a flutter of her eyelashes, not a fractional glint in her eye or

a twitch of her perfect mouth was natural. No wonder her acting always seemed so stilted — how could she act natural when she didn’t know what natural was? Jazz started wondering if Sara only ever farted

in her sleep.

To hide her smirk at that thought, she looked away from Harry to Brian. And there her smirk froze on her lips. The more she watched Brian the more obvious it became to her that casting him as Darcy had been a complete mental aberration on Harry’s part. It didn’t matter how many first-night jitters this would save Harry in the future, the man acted like a stick. Harry was having terrible trouble getting Brian to even frown properly, let alone deliver his lines with conviction. What Harry didn’t realise was that Brian, the critic feared by all, was absolutely terrified of him and the more Harry shouted, the more constipated Brian looked. It would have been amusing if it wasn’t so worrying.

Jazz had never before even considered that every tiny movement on stage had to be choreographed by the director. And now that she had seen Brian on stage, she marvelled that in most plays, the actors

didn’t regularly collide with each other.

At one point while rehearsing a scene with her on the tiny stage at the end of the church hall, Brian had stood at her side, staring into the audience (which consisted of Harry and a few of the other actors who would be needed later in the scene), and addressed a whole speech to her, without looking at her once. Jazz had started a slow frown at Brian, then turned to look at Harry, pointed at Brian, then herself, and mouthed very slowly, ‘Is he talking to me?’ while Brian spoke. There were various titters from the audience but Harry wasn’t amused. Instead he interrupted poor Brian mid-speech with a scornful,

‘What are you doing, Brian?’

Brian froze. ‘I - I -‘

‘Lizzy is standing next to you,’ said Harry as if to a retarded chimpanzee. Brian turned and looked at Jazz blankly. She grinned at him and did a little wave. Brian didn’t wave back. God, everyone was in such a bad mood, she thought. Wasn’t this supposed to be fun?

‘Move to your right, Brian.’ Harry’s voice was full of cold fury.

Brian was so terrified that he moved to his left, blocking Jazz entirely. She started giggling and waved to Harry from behind Brian.

Harry was unimpressed.

‘YOUR RIGHT!’ he bellowed. Brian leapt to his right, revealing a beaming Jazz behind him.

‘Hello again,’ said Jazz. ‘Who turned the lights out?’ She was having a brilliant time.

Eventually, after Harry had tried every trick in the book to get Brian to move to the right place at the

right time - to no avail - he finally instructed him to stand stock still throughout the entire scene. It would have been what Darcy would have done anyway, Harry concluded.

Watching Jack Hayes rehearse, on the other hand, was a pure delight. His movements, his voice and his expression were now to Jazz utterly Bingley. And he could switch it on in seconds. He could also repeat the same line hundreds of times without showing the slightest bit of impatience or fatigue. And every time Harry gave him some other idea or movement to add to his words, he seemed sincerely grateful. She had to admit it - Harry Noble knew what he was doing. With just a change of tone or slight twist of the body, he could transform Jack’s performance beyond recognition, adding layers of meaning to the simplest of words. She began to see what Harry had meant by the word ‘honesty’ when describing good acting. It was as if Jack wasn’t acting at all, but speaking from his heart. Jazz wondered why the actor wasn’t more famous. She mentioned this to Sara one day, while they were both sitting next to each other on stage, waiting for Brian and Jack to be blocked by Harry.

‘Oh, he’s a genius,’ replied Sara in a stage-whisper. ‘It runs in the family, you know,’ she added, with a self-mocking smile that didn’t suit her and a faraway look that did.