“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.
Buggery bollocks, thought Jazz and went back inside.
She sat in the corner where Jack and George were holding hands and looking dewy-eyed at each other. Everyone was squashing up together and on a communal high. She even smiled at William and then cursed herself.
“Right,” said Harry, running his hand through his hair. His thick, dark, gorgeous hair, thought Jazz. “Well done, everyone. It wasn't as pacy as I would have liked - ”
There were calls of dismay.
“ - but that's OK. I don't think anyone would have noticed. They're a very appreciative audience and we're doing very well. I've just heard from my sources that the Stalwart's critic, Sam Gregson, is bloody impressed. And I'm not surprised, quite frankly. You're all stonkingly good. William - well retrieved with the cane, Margaret - it was perfectly in character that Mrs Bennet's bonnet would do that. You coped well and you didn't get flustered.”
Margaret beamed proudly.
“Jasmin, you need to pause a bit more. Beginners on stage in five.” And he was gone.
Jazz was crushed. She started breathing so quickly from her upper chest she thought she was going to fall out of her dress. Oh God, she was going to start crying.
No one had noticed and she tried desperately to get a grip on herself. He hated her. Or worse still, he thought she hadn't paused enough.
“Don't take it too seriously,” said a friendly voice. It was William. “I thought you were excellent.” He was looking at her without so much as a twinkle in his eye.
She smiled a genuine, grateful smile at him. “Thanks.”
He put his arm round her in a chummy way and she let him. Together they walked to the wings where they could see Harry on stage, watching all the props people, including Purple Glasses, place everything in its allotted space. Harry wasn't on stage again for ages. Purple Glasses was managing to do a job of very little effort with as much bustle as she could, lots of tutting and an exasperated look at Harry which meant, “My job is impossible and you actors don't make it any easier.”
“Thanks, Fi,” Harry whispered. “Don't know what we'd do without you.”
Purple Glasses blushed and came into the wings where she started officiously tidying the props desk. On catching sight of William and Jazz, she gave them both a look of withering scorn. Jazz wished William would take his arm off her shoulder now.
Harry followed Purple Glasses' glance and, on seeing William with Jazz, he instantly looked away again. Then he walked right past them without a word and disappeared round the back to the other side of the stage.
Jazz felt totally disloyal. How could she be seen to be friends with William after Harry had told her what he'd done to his sister? She felt awful. She had to talk to him. Maybe she could catch up with him. Just as she turned round, the lights dimmed, the music started and she and William walked on to the stage, where the rest of the cast joined them from the other side.
Jazz tried so desperately hard to focus her thoughts, but was unable to rid herself of an overwhelming sense of wretchedness. Worse still, every time she came off stage, Gilbert started following her. He was only in one scene in the second half and he was now determined to convince Jazz that they were still friends. He kept popping up beside her with some crass joke and a meaningful look, which she knew meant “Do you forgive me?” The more she tried to shake him off and find Harry, the more he clung to her.
She knew the only time she would have alone with Harry was in the wings just before his second proposal scene when Lizzy finally accepts him. She had to talk to him. And the only way she could get rid of Gilbert was to tell him she forgave him. She would have to lie to the shit, pretend that it was all OK again. With a monumental effort she turned round to him and interrupted him in a story about Dame Alexandra Marmeduke.