Melissa Nathan: Pride, Prejudice and Jasmine Field

“And this should affect me how?” asked Jazz crisply.

“Don't be a fuckwit, Jazz. We haven't got time,” said Mo.

Jazz tensed.

“Don't you see? It means he won't be writing the piece about your sister. He doesn't need to, now. They've made him Editor and everything! Isn't it wonderful? We're going house-hunting tomorrow!”

Jazz's eyes lit up. “Oh my God, that's amazing!” The relief was enormous. She managed to stop herself from sobbing because she wouldn't have time to redo her make-up.

“I know!” squealed Mo back. “I'm so pleased. Now you'll talk to me again,” she said, before she had time to stop herself.

They beamed stupidly at each other.

“I've got to get back,”Jazz heard herself say, and they made their way to their dressing rooms.

Purple Glasses was standing officiously in the corridor looking for Jazz. She pounced as soon as she saw her.

“Elizabeth Bennet on stage now,” she hissed.

Mo ignored her. “I just had to tell you before it began,” she whispered. “And it's all down to Harry. He was a star literally.”

“Wha—” started Jazz.

“On stage NOW,” hissed Purple Glasses.

Jazz glared at her, felt guilty for doing so and then ran to the wings.

George was already there, waiting silently. She turned and grinned a massive grin at Jazz, her eyes shining in the dark. What the hell did Mo mean? pondered Jazz, then forced it out of her mind. George held her hand tight and Jazz tried to think of all the people in the audience, in an attempt to steady her nerves and focus herself. All her family would be there. Mark and Maddie, too. Harry's parents, of course. Gilbert's cronies, some of whom she'd worked with in the past. And then there were all the celebs who were filling up the front rows. And the cameras that would be catching every nuance, every mistake, for posterity. Yep, it was working: she was focused. Was there time for a last trip to the loo? She looked behind her and saw Mr and Mrs Bennet, Kitty, Lydia and Mary, all standing silently in a row.

The music started, the lights dimmed and the curtains rose. She walked purposefully on to the stage and began.

The first half was going smoothly. Mrs Bennet's bonnet had almost fallen off at one point, which had unnerved her slightly, and William had got his cane stuck in a chair. Jazz had been quite impressed at the way he'd slowly and calmly and completely in character — slid it out, given her a charming smile and exited. He was good. Very good.

The next time she got a chance to talk to Mo was just before the interval. She caught up with her while the last scene was going on.

“What did you mean, Harry's a star?” she said.

“Well, I was sworn to secrecy but bugger that for a bunch of fairies,” said Mo, untwisting her tights and pulling them up to the crotch again.

“SSSSSHHHHH!” Purple Glasses glared at them. Mo glared back and they went to the side corridor again.

No one would hear them here.

“Last week, Harry went to see his aunt - you know, Captain Marmeduke?”

“But I thought they weren't talking?”

“They weren't,” said Mo.

“So how come he went to see her?”

“I know - I've got a brilliant idea!” exclaimed Mo. “Why don't you shut up while I talk?”

Jazz smiled. God, she'd missed Mo.

“Monday night after the run through, he went down to Devon to see her, broke a twenty-year rift with her, got on his knees and apologised for writing some letter or other, told her all his family were devastated by the feud and everything. She fell for it hook, line and stinker. He used all his acting skills cried, the works. She told him she'd only wanted to help him, had been watching his career all his life, she even showed him all her scrapbooks full of all his reviews.”

“How do you know all this?” Jazz was totally baffled.

“I'm sorry, I thought I was talking,” said Mo impatiently.

“Sorry.”

“They talked all night and eventually - at about three a.m. to be precise - she brought up the fact that she was closing her mag because she'd been so hurt by Gilbert's treachery. And Harry told her that was utter madness - she shouldn't let her feelings rule her life like they had for the past twenty years. And anyway, Gilbert had been the catalyst that had brought them together. He said that it had been Gilbert's stories about his wonderful patron that had made Harry realise how much he was missing, not knowing her. And that was it. She changed her mind. As simple as that! Then Harry told her that he'd been working with Gilbert and thought he'd make a wonderful Editor.” Mo was beaming now. “He even negotiated an amazing new salary for him.”

Jazz was still looking baffled.

Mo realised she'd need more information. “Then the next night, after the technical rehearsal, Harry asked to have a word with Gil. I came with. Harry explained everything and told him that if he published his piece which, I hasten to add, Gilbert had already finished but was waiting until the day after the play so it would be more newsworthy and make him more money — he would lose his new, highly paid Editorship. Gil didn't even have to think about it,” she said proudly. “He never loved his tabloid work as much as his theatre work. Especially as the tabloids always pay much more for stories about footballers or MPs. It always made Gil feel like a poor relation. He's promised me he'll give up the tabloids for good, now that he can afford to. So this way he gets a good, steady job doing what he does best and we can settle down.”

It was hurting Jazz to frown for so long.

“I don't understand,” she said. “Why would Harry do all that? He doesn't care about Gilbert. It doesn't make any sense.”

Mo looked at her incredulously. “Jesus, Jazz, are you really as thick as you look? Anyone with half a brain can see Harry's mad about you.”

Jazz started to feel all fizzy. “You mean it's just Gilbert who hasn't spotted it?”

Mo snorted. “Do you mind,” she grinned, delighted. “That's my fiancée you're talking about.”

Jazz was walking on air. Wasn't everyone lovely? Wasn't life wonderful? She started listening to one of Mrs Bennet's hilarious, pithy anecdotes while taking off her dress and putting on her new one. He still liked her! Was mad about her, Mo had said! After everything she'd said to him that night when she'd shoved him in the bushes! After everything he knew about her! She looked at herself in the mirror with her heaving bosoms and tendrils of dark hair framing her flushed face. Bloody Nora, she grinned at herself. Bloody blinking Nora.

And then she remembered. She'd been foul to him only that day. Absolutely hideously, ground-swallowingly foul. Suddenly the feel-good factor was replaced by a sense of wretchedness, remorse and grief. She'd practically ignored him at his one-night play and then she'd insulted him when he'd come round that afternoon. She gasped. Of course! That was what he'd been trying to say to her this afternoon - that everything would be all right! He knew it would because he'd sorted it. He'd sorted out her career, her family's reputation and her relationship with her best friend. Just by swallowing the infamous Noble pride.

She had to let him know that she knew what he'd done. She had to thank him. Jazz ran out of the dressing room, and saw him striding down towards her. He'd taken his frockcoat off again and was undoing his tie. Jazz wondered what it would be like to take off the rest of his clothes herself. With her teeth.

“Don't go anywhere, I need to talk to everyone,” he said curtly. “I'll go and get the others.”

“But I want—”

“There isn't time. I have to talk to everyone.” And he was gone.