She started so dramatically at his entrance and was so hideously pale that he was shocked. “Good God, are you all right?” he asked.
Jazz shook her head and decided she would deal with this in as dignified a manner as possible.
“No,” she gulped. “I don't - I don't think I am.” She didn't seem to be able to move.
She let Harry guide her onto a bench by a table, where she sat staring ahead of her.
“Is there anything I can do?” he asked.
Jazz shook her head. It was beginning to ache. Eventually she spoke.
“I've messed everything up,” she whispered and her eyes welled with tears.
“I'm sure you haven't,” Harry said gently. He couldn't think of anything else to say. He'd never seen her in this state before.
She nodded sadly as a single tear crept down her cheek. “I have,” she said. More tears started to fall and unblinking, she ignored them. Somehow it felt good confessing all to Harry. “I've ruined four people's lives and my career in one swift move. And I could have avoided it all.” She fought against a sob that threatened to break into a weep.
“What's happened?” whispered Harry.
Jazz found she couldn't keep it from him if she'd wanted to — which she didn't. She looked down at the table and spoke so quietly that Harry had to lean forward and concentrate hard to hear her properly.
“William Whitby and my sister Josie - the married one — had sex in the loo at the party last week.”
It hurt just to say it. “Josie's husband has found out and they're getting separated. They've got a little boy” At the thought of Ben she started to sob in earnest. Harry put his hand on her shoulder before thinking better of it. “I introduced them to each other,” she wept. “Oh God, I've wrecked their family.” And here she closed her eyes and sobbed silently for a moment.
“I'm sure they'll be fine.”
Jazz shook her head sadly. “I haven't finished.”
“Sorry.” He took his hand off her shoulder.
“Gilbert Valentine, who is now unemployed since his magazine's sponsor, your aunt Dame Alexandra Marmeduke, pulled her finances, says he's going to sell the story to the tabloids. He knows that the Daily Echo would be only too delighted to drag me and my family in the mud because I gave my column to the News instead of them.”
Harry frowned intently. “He won't do that, I'm sure. Your family will be fine.” His voice was so comforting that she almost felt better.
But she shook her head and smiled the saddest, most poignant smile he'd ever seen off stage.
“Oh, I'm not just thinking of my loved ones,” she said to him. “I'm a journalist, remember? I've already thought past that to my own sordid little career. You see, Mr. Noble,” and here she turned her large, sad eyes to face him, “I've based my whole career on three simple things that are to be my downfall. My sister Josie's perfect marriage, my infallible opinions of others and - ” she dropped her head down to her chest in shame, “ — my constant censure of those who don't live up to my ideals.” She sniffed loudly. “The second Gilbert's article rolls off the presses, my career as a serious columnist is over and my family is a laughing stock. And I brought it all on myself.”
When she next lifted her head and peered out of heavy eyes, Harry was up and pacing.
She started talking half to herself. “I should have told the truth about William Whitby. I shouldn't have kept it quiet. What sort of journalist am I? And now everyone's going to suffer because of my stupid decision.”
She realised Harry wasn't listening. Oh God, she thought. He's worried about the play. He's going to need a new Lizzy Bennet. Oh God. And as she watched him, her head aching, her heart leaden, she knew she would want to kill anyone who played Lizzy opposite his Darcy. And there was only one good reason for that. The truth hit her like a brick: she was besotted with Harry Noble.
For the first time, it also hit home that he was so completely different to her - so unaware of the people around him, treating everyone with the same unjudgemental indifference, so focused. What had he called it? Substance and integrity. And it had taken until now for her to realise this - now, when she could feel what little power she had once had over him slip through her fingers. He'd never risk getting involved
with her now. It would have been one thing for him to get mixed up with an unknown, but quite another to get involved with a sordid tabloid scandal.
She looked miserably at her hands. The pull to be home was enormous. She couldn't wait for George to get there.
“I'm afraid I'll have to miss the rehearsal,” she said. “And going out with Carrie afterwards. Sorry.”
Harry looked up at her as if he'd forgotten she was there.
“Yes, of course,” he said brusquely, in a tone she'd forgotten.
The next moment, a car horn sounded urgently outside the church door. Jazz got up and went towards it. She stopped at the door.
“Bye,” she said.
Harry was following her out. “Take care,” he said simply and watched her get in the car.
She and George didn't talk on the journey. Jazz spent the entire trip staring miserably out of the window. It was a bright, clear day, but all she could see was how ugly the streets of north-west London were. There was so much rubbish lying in the gutters, so many hideous concrete buildings and so much dirt. Every now and then she'd start weeping quietly.
Jeffrey opened the door to his daughters with his only grandson at his side, and the three of them hugged silently in the hallway. Jazz walked into the large kitchen-diner where Josie and Martha sat silently. They were both looking pale and haggard, though there was an air of comfort about them. Jazz didn't know what to do. What was the protocol for greeting a soon-to-be divorced sister? And a soon-to-be ex-mother-in-law? Would Josie be trying to be cool? Would she be distraught?
She and George stood in the doorway. To her surprise, Josie immediately stood up and came to give them both a hug. Jazz started crying.
“Don't you cry!” laughed Josie. “You're all as bad as each other.”
“But it's all my fault,” sniffed Jazz.
“Don't be ridiculous!” said Josie briskly, and walked her back to the table and sat her down.
Jeffrey was in the corner, making coffee, Ben at his side.
Josie started talking.
“Michael and I have been going through a bad patch for the past year. We've been attending Relate sessions for the last few weeks - every Thursday night when you two have been babysitting.”
Jazz gasped. She couldn't have got it all more wrong. She squirmed when she remembered the smug column she'd written about how clever Josie and Michael were because they still went out every week together.
“And then what with the baby coming, we just weren't ready for it. The fling with William was just a symptom of the cause.”
Jeffrey brought the coffee over and went to play racing cars with Ben.
“Has Michael had affairs?” asked Jazz, ready to hate him.
Josie shook her head. “Not that I know of. No, it's nothing as interesting as that,” she said sadly. “I think he just stopped loving me.” It was hurting less every time she said it.
Martha started pouring everyone coffee.
“But you always seemed so happy,” said George.
Josie sighed. “Marriage . . .” she broke off with a big sigh.
“Marriage takes work,” Martha said fiercely, spilling some coffee. “And he can't be bothered.”
“No, Mum,” said Josie wearily. “There's nothing there for him to work on any more.”
“Nonsense,” she said sharply. “That's exactly when it needs the work. Do you think your father and I always loved each other? Or even always liked each other? That's exactly when you have to try and force yourself to love that person, even if you feel you couldn't care less if they never walked through the door again. When things are going well, there's no work to do. You young people haven't got a clue. There were at least four times when your father and I could easily have split up.”