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!”

“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.”