Then they'd remembered their loyalties and lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. But it had made Jazz feel far less depressed.

When she went home that night, Jazz tried to dream of nice things, but she couldn't. All she could see every time she closed her eyes was Harry turning scornfully away from her and talking to someone else.

Chapter 26

On the day of the performance, Jazz woke at 5:45 am. She'd been having a hideous nightmare. Just as she'd been about to go on stage, Purple Glasses had told her she had to swap parts with Jack and play Mr. Bingley. “But I don't know the lines,” she'd panicked, to which Purple Glasses had replied, “No one will notice. Just mumble.” Jazz had missed her cue and after what felt like hours of silence she'd finally wandered on stage, then she'd realised she was wearing Wellington boots and a chicken costume.

Jazz decided that getting up before six was preferable to trying to go back to sleep. She went into the kitchen and made herself a peppermint tea. She didn't want a coffee, it might make her stressed.

She hadn't planned anything very energetic for today. She was going to spend it relaxing have a hot bath and read a book, maybe watch a video or two. Hopefully George would pop over. Maybe even Mo.

As soon as she was dressed she nipped out and bought every single paper, then she took them home and scoured them for Gilbert's piece about William's sex romp with two-in-a-bed "happily married" Josie Field. It wasn't there. Feverishly, she read them again. Nope, it still wasn't there. Thank God. Now all she had to worry about was the fact that her career was over, her family was about to be slandered by the press, Harry hated her, she'd lost Mo to a moron, George was suicidal and thanks to her, Josie and Michael were separated. Oh yes, and not to forget that she was the lead in a play tonight at which all the country's famous people would be present. Piece o' piss.

She dashed to the bathroom.

Half an hour later, she started going over the play.

By ten o'clock, she'd gone over every line in it. She'd listened to her tape of the play while having her bath and then moved the sofa to the edge of the lounge and gone over every stage direction.

Then she wrote a couple of paragraphs for her column about how nervous she felt. She always wrote well about nerves. A couple of her own jokes actually made her laugh out loud. Brigit had been delighted that Jazz was in the play. It had been in the gossip columns for weeks now. Brigit had commissioned her to write a one-off feature about the day of the performance and cast party as well as her usual column.

As she turned off her computer and the screen fizzed to black, Jazz felt a surge of self-pity that this might be her last column. Without it, she didn't know what she'd do with herself.

She got up and lay on the floor in the middle of the lounge and practised her deep breathing. She was beginning to feel much calmer now. She'd start to get ready in a while.

Three loud knocks at the door frightened the life out of her. Someone must have let George in, or better still it was Mo.

She opened the door and was stunned to find Harry standing there.

“Hello,” she said.

“Hello,” he said.

Her mind was blank. She knew nothing except that she wished she wasn't wearing her Goofy slippers.

“Can I come in?”

“Oh yes, of course,” mumbled Jazz and opened the door. “Tea? Coffee? Peppermint tea?”

“Coffee would be great,” said Harry. Looking a bit confused, he walked over to the couch that she'd pushed to the back of the room and sat down on it. He looked rather small sitting so far away and was obviously feeling totally uncomfortable. He coughed.

Jazz went into the kitchen and tried to breathe deeply while she watched the kettle. She suddenly found the silence horribly oppressive.

She brought out a tray with a pot and two mugs.

She placed them on the coffee table, which was now a few feet away from Harry. He got up and sat cross-legged by the table. She sat down next to him.

“Shall I be Mother?” she asked for no good reason, and then tried desperately not to think of Freud.

He smiled a nod and they sat there for a while, cupping their mugs with their hands.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” she finally said, very quietly.

Harry put down the mug. He looked at her intently with his dark eyes.

Jazz stopped breathing.

“I just wanted to see how you were. You seemed very tense at the dress rehearsal.”

Jazz started breathing again. Oh wow, how sweet. She'd never seen this side of him. Her heart beat faster and all her movements suddenly felt magnified. She tried to concentrate on slow, deep breaths.

“Sorry about that bit where we went round in a circle,” she managed to say.

Harry smiled. “It's OK. It won't happen tonight it's never happened before. But change the line if it'll make you feel better.”

Change the line? This late? Was he mad? She had visions of Elizabeth Bennet suddenly coming out with "The more my toes, tiddlypom". It didn't bear thinking about.

“I'll be fine, thanks.”

Harry smiled. “And everything else - is it OK? Or is it as bad as your column says it is?”

Jesus. He had followed her column into the News.

Jazz shrugged. “We'll cope. Worse things have happened at sea, as they say.” Why was she talking like her mother? Any minute now she'd be telling him that he should take his coat off and feel the benefit.

“I just wanted to say that everything will be OK. I know it will.” Harry seemed to be quite certain of that. He continued, “Gilbert won't do anything to hurt you or your family, I'm absolutely positive.”

Jazz was incredibly touched. She didn't know what to say. Harry's eyes were focusing on her feet. Dear God, she thought, why the Goofy slippers?

“You may not believe it, but I sometimes get nervous. I have panic attacks,” he was saying. “Not when I'm on stage - that's fine. It's whenever I go on tube trains. I keep trying to overcome my claustrophobia but it happens every time.” He was starting to gabble. “That's why I finally bought my own car, although I hate driving. The last time I went on the Underground, I fainted in the carriage. It took them ages to wake me and drag me to a side office. Then when they realised who I was, they made me wait until they'd ordered a car to pick me up outside the station. They had to put all the trains on hold before I was able to leave. Otherwise I swear I'd still be there today,” he half-laughed. “It was the most embarrassing day of my life. The only way I got out of there was by staring straight ahead and reciting "To be or not to be" until I reached daylight.”

Jazz stared at him in amazement.

“It was the day of the auditions, actually,” he continued. “The day we ..." A little smile, a little cough.

And then he was back to normal.

“You see, I focused, Jazz. And I got out in one piece. Focus is all - I honestly believe that. Just forget everything else that's going on in your life - your writing, Josie's divorce, Gilbert's article - let it all go and become Elizabeth Bennet. I know you can do it. It's going to be a spectacular performance — we'll be the best part of the whole week. Especially you. I know you'll do me proud. Just focus, Jazz.”

He looked up, and Jazz's expression had undergone a rapid change. She gave a short, bitter laugh. So that's what all this was about. His bloody reputation. She should have known better than to look for a bit of heart beneath that torso. God, he must have so little faith in her, to think she needed a home visit on the day of the play. Or maybe he was doing this to all the cast members he thought needed a personal pep talk. And she'd almost fallen for it. How utterly humiliating. Sara was probably in the car downstairs. With her legs. She felt a sharp stab of hurt in the base of her stomach.

“I'm not going to spoil your precious reputation, Mr. Noble,” she said. “I promise not to make any mistakes. And I won't be changing any lines.”

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.