Acting Up Read Free

himself with people who were scared of him and could make him money at the same time. And she knew that deep down he had always wanted to be an actor, like so many arts journalists before him, and doubtless many after him.
    'Of course,' said Gilbert silkily, 'you do realise I almost know Harry Noble personally.'
    Jazz raised her eyebrows questioningly and Gilbert needed no more prompting.
    'Well, you know that his aunt, Dame Alexandra Marmeduke,' here Gilbert cast his eyes downwards as if she were dead, or a saint or something, 'is the patron of our magazine? Without her, my life would have no purpose. No other publication, as you well know, has quite the same reverence for the theatre as we.' Jazz winced. 'I owe her my livelihood and therefore my life. She's a spectacular woman. And her 1930s' Ophelia . . .' he closed his eyes as he savoured the memory '. . .was an all-time great. No one has ever surpassed it,' he whispered in hushed reverence.
    Jazz nodded, wondering if that was the version where Ophelia wore a wig that looked like a dead octopus.
    'But of course,' continued Gilbert, when he had quite recovered, 'she and her nephew' – he paused for effect – 'Do Not Speak.'
    Jazz's eyes lit up. Inside information! 'How come?' she asked.
    'Didn't you know?' said Gilbert, delighted. Strictly speaking, he was aware that he shouldn't impart such a valuable piece of gossip to a fellow journalist without consulting terms first, but the temptation to impress Jazz proved irresistible. And anyway, it had always frustrated him that he could never actually make any money on this one – he couldn't risk Dame Alexandra finding out that he had been the source of such information. But, one day, who knew? He could receive payment of another kind from Jazz . . .
    'Well, strictly entre nous ,' he began, as he always did when about to sell a gem to a hack, 'they had a furious family row years and years ago. That part's common knowledge within the theatrical world, but nobody – and I mean Nobody – knows the details quite like myself. Not many have had to visit Dame Marmeduke's Devon cottage. If I didn't work for that wonderful woman, I'd have sold this for a fortune, my dear. A fortune .'
    Jazz started to grin mischievously and her eyes twinkled. She'd never heard this one.
    Gilbert was just about to launch into the story when, to Jazz's extreme frustration, he sat back and stared at her, much in the same way one would eye a painting.
    'You know, it's an absolute living, breathing joy to see you again,' he said, emphasising each word as if someone, somewhere, was writing down everything he said. 'You look ravishing .'
    Just when she thought she was going to have to get up and run out screaming, Jazz caught sight of her smiling sister George, coming towards her. She introduced George to Gilbert, hoping that somehow she could get him back to spreading malicious gossip and away from 'joy', 'ravishing' and, indeed, breathing.
    'Ah yes, the working actress,' cooed Gilbert, standing up and kissing George on both cheeks. He was obviously impressed by what he saw, although he did manage to say the word 'working' as though it was an insult.
    Jazz explained to her sister how she knew Gilbert and hoped that George would have forgotten the many midnight conversations she had bored her with over her crush on him at her first job on a local paper. She also hoped George would vanish until her work here was done. Gilbert, luckily, adamantly refused to move from Jazz's side, leaving a polite George no choice but to sit down next to him, rather than edge past him to the free seat on her other side. Gilbert seemed to have no idea that he was in any way unwanted company for George. Instead he made lots of comments to the purpose of being a thorn between two roses, a comment he felt sure would delight Jazz.
    Jazz winked at George and worked on Gilbert.
    'So,' she said, forcing herself to look him in the eye, 'it would be worth a fortune, would it, this