Melissa Nathan: Pride, Prejudice and Jasmine Field

Harry pretended to be surprised, but she could see right through him. He may be an actor, she thought hotly, but he can't bluff me.

“Oh, come on, Jasmi—”

“Look - I need to get ready.” She stood up and towered over him. “So I'm afraid you'll have to leave now.”

Harry stood up too.

“Jasmi—”

She turned her head away from him.

He seemed to stay there for ages. She crossed her arms and stared at his untouched mug of coffee.

“Right then, I'll go,” he said, marching towards the door. “Don't bother to see me out,” and he slammed it behind him. He stormed down the stairs, furious.

George picked her up at 4:30 pm. Jazz checked her bag five times. Yes, she had enough hair slides. And rollers. And tights. And the right shade of lipstick. She put her battered script in her bag just in case. She'd show Harry and Sara. She'd be bloody brilliant.

They went to a local restaurant, picked at their meals and then drove straight to the rehearsal.

Her stomach started to grip tightly as soon as they turned into the road where the theatre was. Jazz went straight to the toilet in the foyer. By the time she walked into the brightly-lit auditorium, George was nowhere to be seen. Harry was there, talking to Matt and the lighting guy, Alec; TV camera operators were already setting up in the audience. No one noticed her as she stood staring up at the stage. The set was all ready for the first scene, which surprisingly made her feel reassured. She walked silently down the auditorium, through the swing doors at the back and into the dressing room.

She didn't notice Jack and George snogging in the corner until she was walking towards them.

“Waargh!” she exclaimed maturely, and they both jumped apart. Jack whispered something to George and she giggled coyly; he then walked past Jazz with a big grin on his face.

Jazz's jaw parachuted to the floor.

George was making a high-pitched sound and running on the spot, like an excited child.

“How the hell did that happen?” asked Jazz.

George started mock-swooning and laughing out loud. She was hugging herself. Jazz started joining in the laughing.

Eventually George ran over and hugged Jazz. Thank God, thought Jazz. Something's going right.

“He's in love with me,” she sang, as if this was the most unbelievable thing in the world.

“Of course he is,” smiled Jazz.

George said blissfully, “I was just standing here, trying to gather my thoughts, pretend I was calm, trying to push him out of my mind for the fortieth time today—”

Jazz felt guilty. Preoccupied with her own misery, she'd forgotten that George would still be at that painful stage.

“—when he just came in, walked over, told me he'd made the biggest mistake of his life and that he was in love with me.”

“And of course you told him that it was too late because you'd changed your mind, and anyway, you'd rather die an old maid than forgive him,” queried Jazz.

George grinned at her. “I want his babies.”

“Really?” laughed Jazz. “How many has he got?”

George was beaming at herself in the mirror. “Oh God, I'm so happy I think I'm going to burst,” she said to her reflection. “He told me that these have been the worst weeks of his life and he's never going to put his work before his happiness again. He said we might never be rich but” - she gasped and put her hand over her mouth as she realised what she'd just said “ - but we'd always have each other.”

Jazz smiled at her sister. Only George could fall for that line. She didn't think now was the time to remind her what their mother had said about the realities of marriage.

Other actresses started coming into the room and George and Jazz had no choice but to begin getting undressed. This news had certainly helped to defuse Jazz's nerves. Thankfully Mo was in the other ladies' dressing room with Sara and Maxine, so with any luck, she wouldn't see her until they were in the wings waiting for their cue. She put on her costume quickly and without fuss. Her Regency hairstyle needed to be fixed in place twice, but the second time, she secured it so tightly with hair grips that she thought she might have punctured her brain. Her hair was up there for good now. Probably for ever.

Purple Glasses came in and shouted shrilly, “Everyone on stage IMMEDIATELY,” and they heard her go into the other dressing rooms shouting the same message.

The curtains were closed and Harry was standing on the stage. The auditorium would start filling up in ten minutes. He smiled at everyone as they came in, but didn't meet Jazz's eyes. Sara stood very near him, laughing at all his jokes as if they were private ones.

There was a controlled excitement in his voice. His eyes were darting round all of them as he spoke. Except for Jazz. “I think you're all wonderful,” he was saying. Was he going to cry? He looked down as he said the next bit. “And I want you to know that I've learnt as much from working with you as you may have learnt from me doing this play.”

There were some very happy faces among the cast.

“It's been an honour to work with you,” Harry finished quietly. Then he looked up again and rubbed his hands together. “Now. There are people out there who are willing us to fall flat on our faces.”

Jazz thought with some shame that he was talking about the hacks and columnists who had been calling him misguided and shallow. Edward Whilber in The Nation's Voice had called him a "shambling, hollow performer" who was trying to recapture his career by jumping on the cancer charity bandwagon and producing a play "performed by amateurs and sycophants who couldn't help but make him look good". And this, only days after calling him "a hero of our times" in Patrick Clifton's play. As for Brian Peters, his review of Clifton's play had gobsmacked even cynical Jazz. Not one of the humiliating experiences he'd undergone while attempting to act had even begun to teach him that Harry Noble was truly gifted at the art. In fact, his hubris was worse than ever. To read his scathing remarks on Harry's acting, you would think that Brian Peters could act him off the stage.

Harry was getting very animated now. “But there are more people out there willing us to be fantastic. My mother for one.” Everyone laughed. Sara managed to imbue her laugh with such meaning that everyone assumed she knew his mother personally. Scraggy cow, thought Jazz menacingly.

Harry was still talking. “Now, unlike any other play you or I are likely to act in, we've only got one night to wow all our critics. One night to prove that we were right all along. And, of course — let's not forget,” he reminded his cast, fully aware that every single one of them had done so, “only one night to dedicate to those who have suffered and are suffering the pain of breast cancer. I don't know about you, but that makes this the hardest play I've ever been in. But I haven't got a single doubt in my mind that it's going to be fabulous. And that you're all going to be fabulous. And you shouldn't have any doubts either. You've done me proud.”

Jazz thought back to this afternoon. Yeah, right, she thought.

“Break loads of legs,” he said. “Beginners in place in fifteen minutes.”

Everyone rushed back to their dressing rooms, talking animatedly. Suddenly, Jazz was aware of someone tugging her arm.

“Quick,” said Mo, pushing her into the corner of the corridor by the stage. It was silent here.

“Gilbert's got his job back!” she announced excitedly.

Jazz stared at Mo. Did she really think she'd be that excited about Gilbert's good fortune?

“Dame Alexandra Marmeduke has changed her mind. His magazine is back in business!”