He inched closer. “There was this massive Marmeduke and Noble family row years and years ago. Aunt Alexandra wanted our Harry to leave home and live with her instead of his parents when he was a child.”
Jazz frowned. “Why?”
Gilbert paused. It was the first time he'd ever considered this to be an unusual thing for an aunt to do. Eventually, he shrugged. “Because she's barking. Wealthy luvvies, you know,” he enlarged, gaining in confidence enough to start philosophising about something he knew nothing about, “do bizarre things like that.”
Jazz nodded briefly.
“Anyway,” said Gilbert, “she offered to pay for the best tuition in the country, give him everything money could buy - everything that his parents couldn't give him.”
Jazz was beginning to enjoy this.
“Wow,” she said quietly.
“Yes,” smiled Gilbert, “it's good, isn't it? You see, Alexandra had made her fortune as an actress and she'd always hated the fact that her little sister, Katherine - Harry's mother - had given up her career to become Wife and Mother. Alexandra was an early feminist. Told you she was barking.” He corrected himself. “Wonderful, of course,” he said quickly, “but eccentric, shall we say.”
Jazz's teeth began to grind.
“And she resented Harry's father Sebastian even more for being an excellent actor,” continued Gilbert, in full flow, “but one who was never in anything that made him or his family any money. Alexandra felt he should have provided better for her baby sister - accepted TV ads as well as RSC roles, that sort of thing - but Sebastian would never stoop to it. So, she thought they were irresponsible parents and she'd do a much better job of bringing up their child.”
“What made her so amazingly arrogant?” asked Jazz, fascinated.
“Well,” sighed Gilbert sympathetically, “she was almost fifteen years older than Katherine and had rather mothered her during her childhood. Katherine had always idolised her older sister, and had gone into acting to be like her. Alexandra couldn't quite get used to the fact that little Katie could give it all up - and hence, give up idolising her - for a mere man. Took it as a big rejection. Never forgave Sebastian — never.”
He paused dramatically.
“Minto, anyone?” came a voice from behind Jazz.
Jazz turned to Mo and shook her head impatiently. Mo was nervous, she knew the signs. Frequent trips to the loo, witless interruptions and offers of Mintos. She should try and calm her down, but Gilbert's story was getting good. She loved a good yarn.
When Gilbert had her attention again, he explained: “Adopting little Harry would have been a way for Alexandra to recapture control of Katherine's life, you see. She was a complete control freak - still is.”
“And did it work?” asked Jazz.
“Nope. Sadly, it had exactly the opposite result. It sounded the death knell for Alexandra and Katherine's relationship.”
Jazz nodded. That made sense.
By the time Mo had returned from another trip to the toilet, Jazz was so engrossed in Gilbert's story that the distant sound of female screams from outside the church made no impact on her.
Harry Noble had arrived.
By the time she'd noticed the hush and looked up, Harry Noble had already walked past her and was on his way to a big black door leading to the audition room. Every head in the room was turned towards him. Jazz didn't get much of a chance to watch him go, but she caught a quick glimpse and it was enough for her to spot the same manner of striding past his fans, the same jeans, the same jacket. It made her feel she knew him somehow. He put his hand on the door handle, turned round to the room and spoke in a deep, clear, velvety voice.
“The first two in five minutes,” he said. And with that he was gone.
There was silence for a moment and then everyone started talking at once.
“I think I need the loo again,” said Mo.
Chapter 2
“Who's that girl with Georgia Field?” asked the actress in the leather jacket, Sara Hayes, to her new bosom friend Maxine.
Maxine looked over. “Which one?”
“The pretty one. Next to Georgia.”
“I don't know,” said Maxine. “The other two can't be actors. Unless they're character actors.”
They smirked.
“Do you think she's Georgia Field's sister?”
“The one who's a journalist? I think she may be. They've got the same nose.”
“Ye-es,” said Sara thoughtfully. “Although she just doesn't have It like Georgia does. Maybe if she were blonde . . . She'd vanish in a snowstorm, she's so pale. And she's fatter than Georgia.”
“Oh, she's not that bad,” said Maxine. “She's just curvy. Some men like tits and arse.”
“Yes,” said Sara, “but they're all over sixty.”
Maxine smiled. “She's got fuller lips than Georgia.”
“Mmm,” nodded Sara. “Very eighties.”
Happily unaware that she was being scrutinised by the actress and her friend, Jazz was busy observing their smiling, blond companion. His large blue eyes, which were admittedly flitting around a fair bit, seemed to alight on George rather often. And while there, she saw in them that dazed expression she so often noticed in men watching her sister. It was like a friendly rabbit caught in the headlights. She liked him, she decided instantly.
Every time two more people had gone inside to audition, Mo had told herself that she'd go in next. Every time they had come out, her body had told her not to be so rash. Jazz finally forced her in with the threat of making her do the washing-up for a month.
Seven minutes later she re-emerged, a pack of unfinished Mintos still visible in her tightly clenched fist.
“That man is a bastard,” she said coldly. “I'm going home.”
Gilbert started to stand up slowly, as if to stretch his legs.
“Suppose I'd better give it a whirl,” he said with a grin. “So to speak.”
“So that's it then?” asked Jazz, keen to find out as much of Gilbert's story as possible. “A simple family feud?”
Gilbert sat down again.
“Oh no, it gets much better,” he said. Jazz noticed that every time Gilbert started up the story again, he got closer to her. Any more interruptions and he'd be sitting on her lap.
“Give them their due,” he went on, “Harry's folks actually let him - their only son - make the choice. Told him that his aunt was rich and could give him more than they ever could, blah blah blah. They were big on children being treated like small adults -” here he stopped to interrupt himself. “Whole bloody lot of them are barking, if you ask me.”
Jazz unclenched her jaw, which had gone numb.
“Upshot was young Harry refused her offer. Not just refused it but, unbeknown to his parents, he wrote her a stinking letter, as only a twelve-year-old boy can. Well, you can imagine the effect that had,” he said proudly.
Jazz couldn't. Gilbert elaborated for her.
“An eccentric, hypersensitive, control-freak luvvie being told by a twelve-year-old brat that she's a fat old cow.”
Jazz gasped. How did Gilbert get this kind of information? From the fat old cow's mouth?
“Well,” said Gilbert with a finishing flourish, “that was it for the Marmeduke and Noble entente cordiale. Finale, as we say in the trade.”
Jazz nodded slowly. “So!” she thought to herself. The adored Harry Noble had one very bitter enemy.
“With no encore,” added Gilbert.
Jazz nodded again.
“Curtain.”
“Yes, I see,” said Jazz firmly, realising that nodding was not doing the trick.
Then the audition door opened and in a moment, Gilbert was gone.
Jazz tried to lean back and unwind, but she couldn't get rid of the tension in her body caused by spending some of her quality time with a moron.
George went in next. She came out twenty-five minutes later with a big grin on her face.