9780552152501

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

Typeset in 11/14pt Times by Kestrel Data, Exeter, Devon. Printed and bound in Great Britain by Clays Ltd, Elcograf S.p.A.

The authorized representative in the EEA is Penguin Random House Ireland, Morrison Chambers, 32 Nassau Street, Dublin D02 YH68.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner for the purpose of training artificial intelligence technologies or systems. In accordance with Article 4(3) of the DSM Directive 2019/790, Penguin Random House expressly reserves this work from the text and data mining exception.

Penguin Random House is committed to a sustainable future for our business, our readers and our planet. This book is made from Forest Stewardship Council® certified paper.

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!