Agatha had brought with her a few colleagues from her previous magazine and Mark was one of them. Thankfully though, Agatha had liked Jazz's column and hadn't wanted it changed too much. Just a few more exclamation marks - known in the business as screamers — put in here and there to alert readers to the fact that they had just read a joke. Each screamer cut Jazz like a knife, but she was grateful that her column hadn't been axed completely.

“Oh look, another one bites the dust,” said Maddie happily. She read out the first few paragraphs in the tabloid she was holding about another highly regarded columnist's descent into infamy. His skeletons had finally struggled out of the cupboard after years of being locked away in the dark. It was always the same. After this gleeful character assassination, no one would ever read his criticisms of others, his comments on the world and his observations of human nature, without thinking, You're a fine one to talk. However brilliant he was. And this one was brilliant.

Jazz was eternally grateful that her personal life was so straightforward. She had a family that would make the Waltons look like the Kennedys, and a track record that was neat and uncomplicated. She knew it had to stay that way. You couldn't be respected as one of society's critics if you stepped off the straight and narrow yourself. Society loved to hate a hypocrite. Especially a famous one.

She sighed a deep sigh. She just couldn't start her column. The longer it took to get going, the worse the column was. Why couldn't she focus her mind?

There was a squeal from the corner of the open-plan office, followed by some raucous laughter.

“Listen to this, it's priceless . . .”

It was Sandra, the agony aunt, reading another of her letters out to the eager office. Usually Jazz would tune in, but with a monumental effort she stared at her screen. Focus, focus, focus. She spread her fingers out on the keyboard as if about to plunge into a piano concerto . . . and stared hard at the blank screen. She started her favourite daydream puzzler, wondering which Baldwin brother she'd most like to get stuck in a lift with.

Her machine bleeped. Excellent, an e-mail.

She scanned her messages. The one at the top said Stop Press. She double-clicked it.


AARRGGH!! I've worked out how to use the e-mail. I'm so excited, I can't write

any more.  Write back NOW. My address is Maureen-Harris @ loughborough.co.uk.

But if you ever call me Maureen to my face you're a dead woman.

Mo.


Excellent! It had only taken one year. Mo must be using the one staff computer. Maybe one of her four-year-olds had showed her how it worked. She started tapping.


Gold star!! Ten out of ten!! Etc!!

Jazz.

PS. What's for dinner?


Then she tried to concentrate. Another bleep on her computer. Bloody hell. She double-clicked.


AARRGGH!! I've worked out how to use the e-mail. I'm so excited, I can't write

any more.  Write back NOW. My address is Maureen-Harris @ loughborough.co.uk.

But if you ever call me Maureen you're a dead woman.

Mo.


Oh dear. She'd write back and then she'd start her work.


Mo hon, you just sent me the same message twice. You've managed to do what some

people can never do. Be boring on e-mail.

Love, Jazz.


Another bleep. Mo again.


I know I sent it twice. I didn't think you were listening the first time.

PS. It's your turn to cook tonight. I cooked last month.


Jazz smiled. Thank God for modern technology.

Maddie had finished reading the papers. She was now standing up, sorting through her filing tray.

“Mark, your 100 Things You Didn't Know About Wicked Willy piece is outstanding.”

Jazz saw Mark grin widely, his eyes warm with pleasure. “Cheers, babe.” He winked at her.

“No, Mark,” said Maddie. “It's outstanding. It's late.”

“Oh. Yeah. Well, you see, there's a bloody good reason for that.”

“Yes?”

“Bloody good . . .”

Maddie and Jazz watched him try and get out of this one.

Jazz's phone rang. “Bloody hell, I can't get a thing done,” she muttered before picking it up.

“I'm going to do it,” said a voice that sounded as if it was in a mangle.

“Do what?”

“Chuck Simon, like you told me,” said George almost inaudibly.

“Jesus,” whispered Jazz in awe. “When? Where?”

For the first time she realised that a single George was as unknown territory to Jazz as it was to George herself.

“Do you think that blond bloke at the audition really liked me?” asked George.

“I'm sorry, I fail to see the significance,” said Jazz in her favourite pompous tone.

“Never mind,” answered George. “Will you come round tonight? We can talk tactics.”

“Of course,” said Jazz sincerely. She just stopped herself from saying, “It will be my pleasure.”

“Thanks,” whispered George.

“We'll be nasty about Simon together,” promised Jazz. “It'll be fun.”

“There isn't anything nasty to say about him,” said George pathetically, remembering his broad shoulders and forgetting his broad rump.

“Oh, I'm sure we'll find something,” said Jazz. “I seem to remember he only has one eyebrow. I always meant to ask you if it goes all the way round his head.”

Jazz could hear her sister smile. “See you tonight,” she said.

Jazz put the phone down and started her piece. Title - Taking Control. She finished it forty minutes later, and then read the dailies.

Chapter 4

The doorbell rang at number 5, Winchester Road, Hampstead and Sara Hayes took a last look at herself in the gilt-framed mirror.

The doorbell rang again and she went to answer the front door. She smiled at her welcome guests.

“Hello, popsie,” she said to Maxine and the two gave each other air kisses. The affection bordering on gratitude that Sara felt for her new confidante, Maxine, was as much to do with the fact that she was married, as it was to do with the fact that she was unquestionably less attractive than her. Next to Maxine, Sara looked even more stunning. Happily, Maxine's fondness for Sara was based on her friend's amazing good looks and daring single lifestyle. Next to Sara, Maxine didn't feel so married and dull. Nothing bonds some women together more than their differences.

“Charles!” exclaimed Sara as warmly as she could to Maxine's husband, whose shoulders sloped at such a sharp angle she wondered that his blazer didn't fall off.

Expensive wine was handed over and surprised delight expressed. Then they all went into the lounge, where the lights "were dimmed and some carefully selected dinner jazz was playing quietly in the background.

“Are Harry and Jack here yet?” asked Maxine, as she sank into the soft, deep plum-coloured sofas and looked round appreciatively at the large room.

“No, they're keeping us waiting, naughty boys,” winked Sara affectionately and poured out two gin and tonics.

She couldn't help but be excited. It had been two weeks since the audition and Harry was bound to reveal what parts he had given her and Maxine. She was on tenterhooks to know. She was in danger of being typecast as a bitch, which as every actor knows, is good for the short term, but if you had real ambitions, like Sara, it had to stop. This would be a golden opportunity for her to be seen to work for charity, and it could also be the chance she'd been waiting for, for over ten years, to finally work with Harry Noble. She had been desperate to work with him ever since her brother Jack had made friends with him at RADA.

Maxine cared only slightly less passionately about getting a part in the play. She used to be an actress too before she had become big in celebrity fundraising. Her little black book now had more names in it than Who's Who. But it would be nice for her to get a bit of exposure again, just like the good old days, when she and Charles Caruthers-Brown had met.

Charles had first seen Maxine in the chorus of a West End production of Forty-Second Street, and he'd been so bowled over by her that he'd sent her an enormous bouquet of red roses backstage that night. After that, he had come and seen every performance for a fortnight until she had agreed to go out with him.

It certainly wasn't love at first sight for Maxine. Charles courted her very cautiously, and eventually, after seven months, a holiday in the Bahamas on his private yacht and a diamond necklace with matching tiara, she fell head over heels in love with him. After they married, her career had taken a back seat while they did up their London home and their country home, and she'd been only too happy to get involved in some high-profile fundraising "work. She "was to be involved in the fundraising aspect of this production too, but had auditioned with the hope of getting back into the limelight — and of adding the great Harry Noble to her little black book. In fact, she couldn't quite believe that she was going to be in the same room as him tonight. Neither could Charles. Even he was a bit tense.

The doorbell rang again and the men arrived.

Everyone stood up and said, “Ah,” as they came into the lounge. Jack Hayes's smiling face appeared round the doorframe first, followed almost immediately by his tall, slender frame. He ambled in, all jollity and eagerness to please. His cheeks were as rosy as ever and his eyes shone with warmth and interest. He was a tall man, but next to Harry, he looked slight, and beside Harry's crow-black hair, his blondness looked almost silly.