Runaway Actress (4 page)

She searched around some more and found two different angles, instantly recognising the diamond necklace Connie was wearing. Maggie could list the other three events her idol had worn it to and which dresses she’d been wearing it with. She prided herself on her knowledge; she was the keeper of all things Connie.

One of the photos she was now saving showed Connie in profile with her perfect nose. Maggie automatically wrinkled her own huge tuber of a nose, wondering if a lowly shopkeeper could justify plastic surgery. And then she found a photo of Connie handing the award to the actor, Forrest Greaves.

Maggie whistled. ‘Now that must’ve been interesting,’ she said to herself, knowing how he’d double-crossed Connie on the set of one of her films. Still, he was devilishly handsome. Perhaps it had been worth having her heart broken. She saved the picture with a quick click and then got to work updating the website blog.

There was always so much to do. Connie was always in the news and Maggie loved unearthing the stories on the internet although she didn’t publish everything because a lot of the stories were clearly fabricated. Like the time it had been reported that Connie had been abducted by aliens and given birth to ET’s lovechild. Maggie shook her head as she remembered. Poor Connie. It must be so frustrating to have such rubbish printed about you. The UK press was bad enough but the US really did take some beating.

Maggie had often dreamed about visiting America and going to see the homes of the stars in the Hollywood Hills but she didn’t suppose it was ever going to happen. People like her just didn’t travel. She’d once been to Edinburgh on a school trip. They’d seen the castle and heard the canon fire, and had visited the dark narrow streets of the Old Town and the wide Georgian splendour of the New Town but all Maggie could remember about the trip was how sick she’d felt on the coach. It had taken hours to reach their capital city and hours back to the Highlands and Maggie had been completely done in by it all. So how on earth would she fare on a trip to America? She’d never survive the ordeal, would she?

‘I’ll never leave Lochnabrae,’ she said to herself. But it wasn’t so bad as fates went. She really did love the little Highland community with its tiny white houses and stunning views, and most of its residents were happy with their lot too. She couldn’t think of anyone from the older gener-ation who’d ever been over the border into England let alone left the UK. Mrs Wallace and her husband holidayed in Mull every single year and Isla had once had a trip to Oban but hadn’t liked it. Sandy Macdonald had ventured further afield in his youth but he was a hearth and slippers type these days. He didn’t even like going into Strathcorrie on market days any more.

‘Too many damned people!’ he’d say. ‘You can’t walk in a straight line without bumping into somebody or other.’

What would Connie Gordon think of them all, Maggie wondered? She’d travelled the whole world, hadn’t she? The people of Lochnabrae would seem so very dull and unadventurous to her.

Maggie looked away from the computer screen, her eyes drifting to the view outside. What would Connie think of their little corner of the world, she wondered?

‘I don’t suppose we’ll ever know,’ she said to herself before returning her gaze to the computer in search of more images of her idol.

Like most women, Connie had never been very good at travelling light and, as she waited for her luggage on the carousel along with everyone else at Glasgow Airport, she was beginning to wonder how she’d manage on her own. Of course, she could have travelled VIP and had everything done for her but she’d been determined that this trip would be different. She’d booked her own taxi to the airport and had even booked her own tickets, which was a new experience as she usually left such mundane jobs to her PA, but it had felt good doing something for herself for once in her life – even if she had got a bit lost walking into the airport and had nearly missed her flight when she couldn’t find her passport.

To avoid the press and the fuss that usually went hand in hand with luxury travel, Connie had decided to fly to Scotland incognito. She’d scraped her trademark red hair into a ponytail and flattened a baseball cap onto her head. A face free from make-up and the obligatory enormous sunglasses completed the disguise. It was rather like playing a part, she thought – the part of an ordinary girl going on holiday – and she’d been enjoying the experience until it came to hauling her own luggage off the carousel and struggling with it.

‘Can I help you?’ a gentleman’s voice suddenly asked with a soft Scottish accent.

Connie turned around. A tall athletic man in a nice suit stood looking at her. ‘Oh, thank you,’ she said and watched as he found a trolley for her and placed her three suitcases onto it.

‘Are you wanting a taxi?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I am.’

‘Allow me,’ he said, leading the way to the taxi rank outside the airport.

‘I can’t thank you enough,’ Connie said, removing her sunglasses and smiling. As soon as she did, she knew she’d made a mistake.

‘Good God!’ he said. ‘Aren’t you—’ the man cocked his head a little and looked at her quizzically. ‘Connie Gordon?’

‘Oh, lord, no!’ Connie laughed, exaggerating her English accent and pushing her sunglasses back on. For most of her childhood, Connie had had an English tutor which meant that she was often hired to play English roles in films and, although she occasionally had an American twang, she could easily get away with being English.

‘I could’ve sworn!’ the man said. ‘You look just like her. Remarkable! You could be in the movies.’

‘Well, I’m very flattered,’ she said, looking up and down for a taxi and hoping for a quick escape to avoid further questioning. ‘Ah! Here’s one,’ she said as the next available car pulled up and a man got out to load her suitcases. ‘Thanks for your help,’ she said to the suited gentleman.

‘My pleasure,’ he said, staring at her in wonder.

Connie hopped into the taxi and the driver was soon pulling out from the kerb.

Phew, she thought. She’d made it.

‘Where to, lass?’ the driver asked.

Connie leant forward in her seat. ‘Lochnabrae, please.’

‘Lochnabrae Road? Lochnabrae Street?’

‘Just Lochnabrae.’

‘In Glasgow?’

‘No.’

‘Outside Glasgow then?’

Connie nodded. ‘It’s near a town called Strathcorrie.’

‘Strathcorrie?’

‘You know it?’

‘Aye, I know it. That’s over a hundred miles. It won’t be a cheap fare, lass. You got the money to pay for it?’

‘Of course,’ Connie said. ‘I wouldn’t get in a taxi if I didn’t have the money for my ride.’

‘Just checking. I don’t want to be stranded in the back of beyond with a lass with no money.’

Connie held back a hollow laugh. Money was certainly no problem for her but that didn’t necessarily mean she was happy. If she could buy some sort of happiness, she wouldn’t be there now, tired and lonely.

The taxi left the airport and Connie felt her eyes closing. Transatlantic flights always took it out of her and she felt she’d been airborne for days rather than hours. A little sleep would do her the world of good.

When Connie woke up, she was surprised to see that the sky had darkened.

‘You won’t need them glasses now,’ the taxi driver said.

Connie took them off but kept her cap on in case she was recognised, but the driver didn’t seem to be interested in who she was.

‘Had a nice sleep, have you?’

‘Yes,’ Connie said. ‘Where are we?’

‘Just approaching Strathcorrie now.’

‘I must’ve been asleep for hours!’ Connie looked out of the window. The road was narrow and straight and there wasn’t a single house to be seen. The countryside had opened out into an elongated valley with a river silvering the land, and great mountains heaved up into the sky.

‘Welcome to the Highlands.’

Connie smiled. She was here at last – the place that her mother had once called home.

‘Can we stop?’ Connie suddenly asked. ‘Just for a moment?’

The taxi driver pulled up at a lay-by. ‘You feeling all right?’

‘Yes. Yes!’ Connie said excitedly, opening the door and getting out. She stood absolutely still, looking left, right, up and down, and then she smiled. It was three hundred and sixty degrees of loveliness and she was smack bang in the middle of it. The mountains soared majestically up into the sky and there was a bright waterfall in the distance that cascaded down to the valley below.

The taxi driver switched the engine off and joined her.

‘Not going to be sick, are you?’ he asked.

‘No,’ Connie said. ‘Although I think I might have been if I hadn’t left LA in time.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘American, are you? You sound English to me.’

‘It’s complicated,’ she said, pulling her cap a little lower over her face. She shouldn’t have said anything about LA; it was too much information. If he knew who she was, he’d most likely drag her off into the hills and demand a ransom for her.

‘It’s all so – so – big!’

‘Aye.’

‘Isn’t it amazing?’ she said, thinking how different it was from the manicured lawns and borders of hothouse flowers in Bel Air.

‘Well, it is that,’ he said.

Connie took a last look around before returning to the taxi. The light was almost violet now and the colours of the landscape were beginning to drain into the night and, for the first time in years, Connie felt a real sense of peace.

It was dark by the time they reached Lochnabrae and Connie peered out of the window. ‘Is this it?’

‘Aye,’ the taxi driver said. ‘That’s the B&B,’ he said, nodding towards a white house with a board swinging outside. Loch View. Connie gazed across the road. She couldn’t see any loch. ‘That is where you’re staying, isn’t it?’

Connie nodded. She’d managed to ring ahead before leaving LA and had booked a room for a week to begin with. ‘What do I owe you?’

The taxi driver told her the total and Connie dug through her designer wallet until she found enough to pay him. She wasn’t sure how much it came to in dollars – Connie hadn’t had time even to try and understand the conversion rate as she’d grabbed her cash from the LAX bureau de change and run to catch her flight. But, if it meant not having to worry about driving on the wrong side of the road and navigating her way along dark single-track lanes after a long-haul flight, it was definitely a bargain.

‘I’ll get your bags,’ he said, taking the wad of cash and stuffing it into his jeans pocket.

Connie got out of the car and breathed in deeply. It was good to have finally arrived. She promised herself no more planes or taxis for at least a week. She’d walk – walk everywhere, that’s what she’d do. Nobody ever walked in LA – it was too big – but she’d walk here: by lochs, by streams, through valleys and up hills.

The front door of Loch View suddenly opened, breaking into Connie’s thoughts.

‘Ms Gordon, is it?’ the elderly lady greeted her. ‘I’m Isla Stuart.’ She had a sweet face completely caked in white face powder and her cheeks were two perfect circles of scarlet. ‘I’ve been waiting up for you.’

‘Oh, I’m not too late, am I?’

‘Och, no! But I do tend to nod off in the evenings if there isn’t someone to take care of. Now, I expect you’ll be ready for a cup of hot chocolate and a wee slice of Dundee cake?’

‘Thank you,’ Connie smiled, wondering what Danny would say to that and wondering what on earth Dundee cake was anyway.

‘And your driver too?’

‘Not for me, thanks all the same,’ he said, struggling with the cases. ‘I’ve to get back and it’s a fair drive.’

A few minutes later, Connie’s cases were all lined up neatly in her room on the first floor at the front of the B&B.

Once back downstairs in the hallway, Connie gave her driver a big tip to thank him for all his patience.

‘You know,’ he said as she walked to the front door with him, ‘there’s something familiar about you.’

‘Really?’ Connie said, still wearing her baseball cap and exaggerating her English accent once again.

‘You’re not on the telly, are you?’ he asked.

Connie laughed nervously. ‘You know, I’m always being asked that. I guess I’ve just got one of those faces,’ she said.

He continued to stare thoughtfully at her a moment longer. ‘Well,’ he said at last, ‘best get back to the city. You have a nice time, lass.’

Connie watched as he left and then closed the door.

‘Now then,’ Isla said, ‘how about that hot chocolate and cake?’

She led Connie through to a room at the back of the guest house. ‘I don’t often get to invite people here,’ she said. Connie smiled as she saw that a fire had been lit and a small table set with cups and plates. ‘I do like a real fire,’ Isla said. ‘It cheers the place up, doesn’t it?’

‘Smells wonderful,’ Connie said, sitting down in an old armchair next to it. ‘Really homely, isn’t it? I’ve never had a real fire. Wouldn’t dare in my house.’

‘Why not?’

‘White carpets!’

‘Ah, well, that’s why we all have these patterned ones,’ Isla said. ‘It’s messy, a real fire, with ash and the like, but I can’t imagine living without one. It’s like a friend that keeps you company each evening.’

Connie watched as Isla bustled around cutting cake. She left the room briefly and came back with two cups of hot chocolate.

‘The best hand warmer in the world,’ Isla said, handing Connie a cup.

‘Thank you,’ Connie said, taking a sip.

‘Why don’t you take that cap off, eh?’ Isla said. ‘You’ll warm through in no time in here.’

Connie was instantly on her guard. She was exhausted and the last thing she wanted was to go through the whole, ‘Yes, I’m really Connie Gordon’ conversation. That would have to wait till the morning when she felt like herself again.

‘Go on, now.’

‘Oh, my hair’s a real mess,’ Connie said. ‘I’d better keep it on.’

Isla shrugged her shoulders. ‘Suit yourself.’

Connie ate her cake and took another sip of her chocolate, hoping she hadn’t offended her landlady. They both watched the fire for a few minutes and Connie soon found that her vision was blurring as the orange flames danced wildly. Her body began to slump and it was soon a real effort to keep her eyes open.