Bella
Jilly Cooper is a journalist, author and media superstar. The author of many number one bestselling books, she lives in Gloucestershire.
She has been awarded honorary doctorates by the Universities of Gloucestershire and Anglia Ruskin, and won the inaugural Comedy Women in Print lifetime achievement award in 2019. She was also appointed DBE in 2024 for services to literature and charity.
FICTION
NON-FICTION
By Jilly Cooper
The Rutshire Chronicles:
Riders
Rivals
Polo
The Man Who Made Husbands Jealous Appassionata Score!
Pandora Wicked! Jump! Mount! Tackle!
How to Stay Married
How to Survive from Nine to Five
Jolly Super
Men and Supermen
Jolly Super Too Women and Superwomen
Work and Wedlock
Jolly Superlative
Super Men and Super Women
Super Jilly Class
Super Cooper
Intelligent and Loyal
Jolly Marsupial
Animals in War
The Common Years
Hotfoot to Zabriskie Point (with Patrick Lichfield)
How to Survive Christmas
Turn Right at the Spotted Dog
Angels Rush In Araminta’s Wedding
Between the Covers
CHILDREN’S BOOKS
Little Mabel
Little Mabel’s Great Escape
Little Mabel Wins
Little Mabel Saves the Day
ROMANCE
ANTHOLOGIES
Emily
Bella
Harriet
Octavia
Prudence
Imogen
Lisa & Co
The British in Love
Violets and Vinegar
BELLA
Jilly Cooper
BOOK S
TRANSWORLD PUBLISHERS
Penguin Random House, One Embassy Gardens, 8 Viaduct Gardens, London SW11 7BW www.penguin.co.uk
Transworld is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com
First published in Great Britain in 1976 by Arlington Books Ltd
Corgi edition published 1977
Corgi edition reissued 2005
Corgi edition reissued 2025
Copyright © Jilly Cooper 1976
Jilly Cooper has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Every effort has been made to obtain the necessary permissions with reference to copyright material, both illustrative and quoted. We apologize for any omissions in this respect and will be pleased to make the appropriate acknowledgements in any future edition.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9780552152501
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ToLaura withlove
Author’sNote
Ihavealwayswantedtowriteanovelaboutan actressandIstartedwritingBELLAin1969.However,atthattimeIwroteitasa novella,calledit COLLISIONanditwasserializedin 19 .Onlynow amIabletofulfilmyoriginalwishandpresentthe storyasafull-lengthnovel–BELLA.
BELLA
ChapterOne
Bellareadfasterandfasteruntilshecametothe finalpagethen,givingahowlofirritation,hurled thebookacrosstheroom.Narrowlymissingarowof bottles,itfellwithacrashintothewaste-paper basket.
‘Bestplaceforit!’shesaidfuriously.‘Howcorny canyouget?’
Sheescapedcompletelyintoeverybooksheread, identifyingcloselywiththecharacters.Thistime shewasincensedbecausetheheroinehadslunk dutifullyhometoherboringhusbandinsteadof followingherdashingloveruptheAmazon.
Sheshiveredand toyedwiththe ideaof letting the water outandrunningmorehotin,butshehaddone thisfourtimesalready.Herhandswerewrinkled andredfromthedyeofthebook,andtheskythat filledthebathroomwindowhaddeepenedsince she’dbeeninthebathfrompaleWedgwoodtodeep indigo,sosheknewitmustbelate.
Shesplashedcoldwateroverherbody,heaved herselfoutofthebathandstood,feelingdizzy,on thebath-mat.Thebathwasringedwithblacklikea
footballsweater,butthecharwouldfixthatinthe morning.
Takingherwireless,shesteppedoverthedebris ofherclothes,pickedupthesecondpostwhichwas lyinginthehall,andwanderedintothebedroom.
Sheturnedupthemusic,dancedandsangafew bars,thencaughtsightofherselfinthemirror,hair hiddeninamauvebath-cap,bodyglowingredasa lobster.
TheGreatBritishPublicwouldhaveashockif theycouldseemenow,shethoughtwryly.
Shepulledoffherbath-capandexaminedherself morecarefully.Shewasabiggirlwithamagnificent bodyandendlesslegs.Hermouthwaswideandher largesleepyyelloweyesrocketedupatthecorners. Amaneofreddish-blondehairspilledoverher shoulders.Theoverallimpressionwasofasleekand beautifulracehorseatthepeakofitscondition.
Sheopenedherletters.Onewasfromajournalist whowantedtointerviewher,anotheranexboyfriend trying tocomeback and severalforwarded bytheBBCfromfans:
‘DearMissParkinson,’wroteone,inloopyhandwriting,‘Ihopeyoudon’tmindmywriting.Iknow youmustleadsuchabusy,glamorouslife.Ithinkit’s marvellousthewaythere’sneveranybreathof scandalattachedtoyourname.Couldyoupossibly sendmeasignedfull-lengthphotographandsome biographicaldetails?’
Oh,God!thoughtBella,feelingslightlysick,if onlytheyallknew.
Thelastletterwaspractical.Itwasheadedthe BritanniaTheatre,andwasfromthedirector,Roger Field,whohadwritten:
‘DearBella, Ifyou’relateagain,Ishallsackyou.Can’tyou seehowitunnervestherestofthecast?Stop beingsobloodyselfish. Love,Roger.’
Roger,Bellaknew,wouldbeasgoodashisword. Shelookedatthealarmclockbythebedandgave anotherhowlofrage.Itwastwentypastsix,and thecurtainwentupatseven-thirty.Dressingwith fantasticspeed,notevenbotheringtodryherself properly,shetoreoutoftheflatandwasfortunate tofindataxialmostatonce.
TheBritanniaTheatreCompanywasoneofthe greattheatricalsuccessesofthedecade.Itspecialized inShakespeareandmoremodernclassicsand generallyhadthreeplaysrunningonalternatenights andthreeinrehearsal. Bellahad joinedthe company ayearagoandhadrisenfromwalk-onpartsto asmallspeakingpartin TheMerchantofVenice. Shehadrecentlyhadherfirstrealbreakplaying Desdemonain Othello. Thecriticshadravedabout herperformanceandtheplayhadbeenrunningto capacityaudiencesforthreenightsaweek.
Lyingbackgazingoutofthetaxiwindowatthe treesofHydeParkfanningoutagainstarustcolouredsky,Bellatriedtokeepcalm.Fromnow
untilherfirstentranceshewouldbeinanervous sweat,stagefrightgrippingherbythethroatlikean animal.Shedeliberatelyalwayscutitfinebecauseit meantthatshewouldbeinsuchahurrydressing andmakingup,shewouldn’thavetimetopanic.
Andyet,ironically,theonlytimewhenshefelt reallysecurewas when shewas onstage,getting insidesomeoneelse’spersonality.
Thetaxireachedthetheatreatfivepastseven.
‘Evening,Tom,’saidBellanervously,scuttling pastthemanatthedoor.
Heputdownhiseveningpaperandglancedathis watch.‘Justmadeit,MissParkinson.Here’saletter foryou, and there’resomemoreflowersinyour room.’
Notbotheringtoglanceatherletter,Bella boundedupstairstwostepsatatimeandfellinto thedressing-roomshesharedwithherbestfriend, RosieHassell,whoplayedBianca.
‘Lateagain,’saidRosie,whowasputtingoneye make-up.‘Roger’sbeeninoncealready,gnashing histeeth.’
Bellaturnedpale.‘Oh,God,Icouldn’tgeta taxi,’shelied,throwingherfurcoatonachairand slippingintoanoverall.
‘IthinkFreddieDixon’safterme,’saidRosie.
‘Youthinkthatabouteveryone,’saidBella, slappinggreasepaintonherface.
‘Idon’t–and,anyway,I’musuallyright.IknowI amaboutFreddie.’
FreddieDixonwasthehandsomeactorplaying
Cassio.BothBellaandRosiehadfanciedhimand beenslightlypiquedbecausehe’dshownnointerest ineitherofthem.
‘Youknowtheclinchwehaveinthefourthact?’ saidRosie,pinningonsnakeyblackringletstothe backofherhair.‘Well,lastnightheabsolutely crushedmetodeath,andallthroughthescenehe couldn’tkeephishandsoffme.’
‘He’snotmeanttokeepthemoff,’saidBella.‘I expectRogertoldhimtoactmoresexily.’
Rosielookedsmug.‘That’sallyouknow.Look, you’vegotmoreflowersfromMasterHenriques,’ sheadded,pointingtoahugebunchofliliesof thevalleyarrangedinajamjaronBella’sdressing table.
‘Oh, howlovely,’ criedBella,noticing them forthefirsttime.‘Iwonderwhathe’sonabout tonight.’
‘Aren’tyougoingtoreadhisletter?’saidRosie. Bellapencilledinhereyebrow.‘Youcan–since you’resonosey,’shesaid.
Rosietookthecardoutofitsblueenvelope.
‘“DearBella,”’sheread.‘That’sabitfamiliar.It was“DearMissParkinson”lasttime.“GoodLuck fortonight.Ishallbewatchingyou.Yours,Rupert Henriques.”Hemustbecrazyaboutyou.That’sthe eighthtimehe’sseentheplay,isn’tit?’ ‘Ninth,’saidBella.
‘Mustbegettingsickofitbynow,’saidRosie. ‘Perhapshe’sdoingitfor“O”levels.’ ‘Doyouthinkhe’sthatyoung?’
‘Expectso–oradirtyoldman.Nobodydecent everrunsafteractresses.They’veusuallygotplenty ofgirlsoftheirown.’
Bellafishedaflyoutofherbottleoffoundation andhad another look atthecard.‘He’sgotnice writing though,’ she said.‘AndChichesterTerrace is quiteanOKaddress.’
Therewasaknockonthedoor.ItwasQueenie, theirdresser,cometohelpthemonwiththeir costumes.Adyed-in-the-woolcockneywithorange hairandacigarettepermanentlydroopingfromher scarletlips,shechatteredallthetimeaboutthe ‘great actresses’ she’ddressedinthepast. Bella,who wassickwithnervesbythisstage,wasquitehappy toletherrambleon.
‘Fiveminutes,please!Fiveminutes,please!’It wastheplaintiveechoingvoiceofthecallboy.
Bellalookedatherselfinthemirror,hersmooth, youngfacebelyingthetorrentofnervesbubbling insideher.Thenshesatdownonthefadedvelvet sofawiththebrokenleginthecorneroftheroom andwaited,claspingherhandsinherlaptostop themshaking.
‘Beginners,please!Beginners,please!’Thesad echoingvoicepassedherdooragain.
Rosie,whodidn’tcomeonuntillater,wasdoing thecrossword.Bellatookonemorelookroundthe dressing-room. Even with itsbarefloorand blackedoutwindows,itseemedfriendlyandfamiliar comparedwiththestrangebrightlylitworldshewas abouttoenter.
‘Goodluck,’saidRosie,asshewentoutofthe door.‘GiveFreddieabigkiss.’
Theystoodwaitingbytheopendoorunderafaded orangebulb–Brabantio,Cassioandherself.Wesley Barrington,whowasplayingOthello,stoodbyhimself,ahugehandsomeblackman,sixandahalf feettall,asnervousasacat,pacingupanddown, murmuringhislineslikeanimprecation.
Thethreeofthemlefther.Helpmetomakeit, sheprayed.
Othellowasspeakingnowinhisbeautiful measuredvoice:‘Mostpotent,graveandreverend signiors.’
Inamomentshewouldbeon.Iagocameto collecther.
‘Comeon,beauty,’hewhispered.‘Keepyourchin up.’
Ithadbegun.Shewason.Lookingroundthe stage,beautiful,gentle,alittleshy.‘Idoperceive hereadividedduty,’shesaidslowly.
Shewasoff,thenonagain,flirtingalittlewith Cassio,andthenOthellowasonagain.Here,where shefoundlifeathousandtimes morerealthanin the realworld,shehadwordstoexpressheremotions.
Butall too soon itwasover. The appallingmurder scenewasendedandtheplayhadspentitsbriefbut alltoovividlife.
Andasshetookhercurtaincalls,shehadnearly reachedthelimits ofherendurance.Threetimes OthelloandIagoledherforwardandthetears
poureddownhercheeksastheroarsofapplause increased.
‘Welldone,’saidWesleyBarringtoninhisdeep voice.
Bellasmiledathim.Shefanciedhimsomuch whentheywereacting,butnowhewasWesley again,livinginEaling withawifeand three children.
Bellawouldnowgooutforacheapdinnerwith Rosieandinthemorningshewouldliesluttishly inbeduntillunchtime.Sheavoidedthebusy, glamorousworldthatherfansimaginedshelivedin. Itwasaquestionofconservingherenergyforwhat wasimportant.
Intheirdressing-room,however,shefoundRosie inafeverofexcitement.‘Freddie’saskedmeout.’
‘Iexpecthewantstodiscussthewayyou’vebeen upstaginghim,’ saidBella.Shecollapsed onto a chairandfeltdepression descendingonherlike dust onapolishedtable.
NotthatshewantedFreddietoaskherout. She’dlongagodecidedhiscurlyhairandneonsmile weren’tforher.Butifhestartedupaseriousaffair withRosie, there’dbe no more cosylittledinners, no moreRosieandBella,unitedandgossipingtogether against therestof thecast.Still,itwas nice for Rosie.
‘Where’shetakingyou?’
‘Somewherecheap.He’samazinglymean.Doyou thinkoneearringlookssexy?’
‘No,silly.Asthoughyou’dlosttheotherone.’
Therewasaknockonthedoor.ItwasTom,the doorman.
‘There’saMrHenriquesdownstairs,MissParkinson.Wondersifhecouldcomeupandseeyou.’
‘Oh,’saidBella,suddenlyexcited.‘What’shelike?’
‘Looksorlright,’saidTom,fingeringafivepound noteinhispocket.
‘Notaschoolboy?’
Tomshookhishead.
‘Noradirtyoldman?’
‘No,quiteareasonablesortofbloke.Bitof anobreally.Plum-in-the-marfvoiceandwearinga monkeysuit.’
‘Oh, go on, Bella,’saidRosie. ‘Hemight be super.’
‘Allright,’saidBella.‘Icanalwaystellhimtogo ifhe’sghastly.’
‘Great!’saidRosie.‘I’llfinishoffmyfaceinthe loo.’
‘No!’yelpedBella,suddenlynervous.‘Youcan’t leaveme.’
At thatmomentQueenie,thedresser,appearedat thedoor.
‘You’dbettergetoutofthatdress before you spill make-upalloverit,’shesaidtoBella.
Bellalookedatherselfinthemirror.Againstthe low-cut white nightgown,her tawnyskin glowed like oldivory.
Let’sknockMrHenriquesforsix,shethought.
‘CanIkeepitonforabit,Queenie?’sheasked.
‘AndI’msupposedtohangaboutuntilyou’ve finished,’saidQueeniesourly.
‘Comeon,youoldharridan,’saidRosie,grabbing herarmandfrog-marchingheroutoftheroom.
‘YoucanhaveaswigofFreddie’swhiskytocheer youup.’
Bellasprayedonsomescent,thensprayedmore roundtheroom,arrangedherbreaststoadvantage inthewhitedressand,sittingdown,begantobrush herhair.
Therewasaknockonthedoor.
‘Comein,’shesaidhuskilyinherbestTallulah Bankheadvoice.
Assheturned,smiling,hermouthdroppedin amazement.Forthemanlounginginthedoorwaywasabsurdlyromanticlooking,withverypale delicatefeatures,hollowedcheeks,darkburning eyes,andhairasblackandshining asa raven’s wing. Hewasthinandveryelegant,andoverhisdinner jacketwasslungamagnificenthoney-colouredfur coat.
They staredateachotherforamoment,then, smilinggently,hesaid:‘MayIcomein?Ihopeit’s notanuisanceforyou.’
Hehadanattractivevoice,softanddrawling.‘My name’sRupert Henriques,’he addedas an afterthought.
‘Oh,pleasecomein.’Bellastoodup,flustered, andfoundthathereyeswerealmostonalevelwith his.
‘You’retall,’hesaidinsurprise.‘Youlookso smallonthestagebesideOthello.’
Embarrassed,Bellatippedapileofclothesoffthe redvelvetsofa.
‘Sitdown.Haveadrink.’Shegotoutabottleof whiskyandacoupleofglasses.Shewasfuriousthat herhandshooksomuch.Sherattledthebottle againsttheglassandpouredoutfartoolargea drink.
‘Hey,steady,’hesaid.‘I’mnotmuchofadrinker.’
Hefilledtheglassuptothetopwithwaterfrom thewashbasin.
‘DoyoumindifIsmoke?’
Sheshookherheadandwaspleasedtoseehis handwasshakingasmuchasherswhenhelithis cigarette.Hewasn’tascoolashelooked.
Asshesatdownsheknockedajarofcoldcream ontothefloor.Theybothdivedtoretrieveitand nearlybumpedtheirheads.
Helookedatherandburstoutlaughing.
‘Ibelieveyou’reasnervousasIam,’hesaid. ‘Aren’tyouusedtoentertainingstrangemenbackstageeverynight?’
Bellashookherhead.‘I’malwaysfrightenedthey mightbedisappointedwhentheymeetmeinthe flesh.’
‘Disappointed?’Helookedheroverincredulously.‘Youmustbejoking.’
Bellawassuddenlyconsciousofhowlowher dresswascut.
‘Theflowersareheavenly,’shesaid,blushing. ‘Howonearthdidyoumanagetogetsuchbeautiful onesinwinter?’
‘Riflingmymother’sconservatory.’ ‘Doesn’tshemind?’
‘Doesn’tknow.She’sinIndia.’Hesmiled maliciously.‘I’mhopinganobligingtigermight gobbleherup.’
Bellagiggled.‘Don’tyoulikeher?’
‘Notalot.Doyougetonwithyourparents?’
‘They’redead,’saidBellaflatly,andwaitedfor theconventionalexpressionsofsympathy.They didn’tcome.
‘Luckyyou,’saidRupertHenriques.‘IwishI wereanorphan–allfunandnofear.’
Hehadadrollwayofrattlingofftheseremarks whichmadethemquiteinoffensive.Allthesame, shethought, he’saspoilt little boy.Hecouldbe quiterelentlessifhechose.
Hepickeduphisdrink.‘Youwereevenbetter thanusualtonight.’
‘Don’tyougetboredseeingthesameplaynight afternight?’
Hegrinned.‘I’mgladit’snotaWhitehallfarce. You’retheonlyreasonI’vebeensomanytimes.’
Therewasaknockonthedoor.
‘Hell,’hesaid.‘Dowehavetoanswerit?’ ItwasQueenie.
‘I won’tbe aminute,’Bellasaid toher.‘I’msorry,’ sheaddedtoRupert,‘Ishallhavetochange.’
Hedrainedhisglass,gotupandmovedtowards thedoor.
‘Iwaswonderingifyou’dhavedinnerwithme oneeveningnextweek,’hesaid.
It’sMondaynow,thoughtBella.Hecan’tbethat keenifhecanwaitatleastaweektoseeme!