Runaway Actress (9 page)

Connie thought about that word. Was it ever possible to truly escape? Maybe for some people. Perhaps just driving away from home without a mobile phone was enough for some people to escape; they could become who they wanted. They could leave their old identities behind them but it was different for Connie. No matter where she went, she’d always be Connie Gordon, movie star, and somebody would always expect something from her.

But you’ve come to your fan club!
a little voice told her.
You couldn’t expect them to treat you like a normal person.

For a moment, she thought of Maggie’s face when she’d first met her. Her eyes had had that peculiar dazed expression that Connie was quite used to seeing. She’d seen it on a thousand red carpets when fans jostled for attention.

‘What’s so special about me?’ Connie asked her reflection. ‘I’m not so different – not really. I want to be accepted for who I am, not the movies I make. That’s not me. Well, not
all
of me.’

But there was a little niggling doubt in her mind that told her there might not be anything else. Who was Connie Gordon
really?
Once you stripped away the movie star hair-do, make-up and wardrobe, once you took her off the red carpets and film sets – what was left? That was the question that had taken Connie from Hollywood to the Highlands.

‘But I’m so scared of what the answer might be.’

Taking a deep breath, she grabbed a coat from the wardrobe and went downstairs.

‘You all right?’ Isla called from the front room.

‘I’m going out,’ Connie shouted back.

‘You know where you’re going, do you?’

‘There’s only one goddamn road here, right?’ she mumbled just out of earshot, slamming the front door and making a row of pottery Highland terriers jump on their little shelf.

Maggie couldn’t quite believe what had happened. She thought about following Connie after she’d left the shop but saw that it would probably do more damage than anything else. So she’d returned upstairs to the HQ.

‘I’ve blown it,’ Maggie said to herself. ‘And everyone’s going to hate me when they find out.’ Maggie had visions of Connie flying out on the first plane back to LA and then she’d have to explain to the fan club that they’d missed out on meeting their great idol because she’d screwed up big time. Unless …

Only she and Isla knew that Connie was in Lochnabrae. Oh, and old Mr Finlay. And Alastair. Maggie sighed. Mr Finlay hadn’t even recognised her and he wasn’t much of a gossip, and Alastair could be persuaded to keep quiet. He’d do anything for a quiet life. Isla too. Although she’d probably be tempted to rename the bed and breakfast,
Connie’s Rest
at first.

Sitting down at her desk, Maggie sighed in frustration. She should have tidied things up before Connie had set foot in the HQ. But it was all very well being wise after the event. She hadn’t known Connie would object so wholeheartedly to having those photographs signed in her name. It seemed an innocent enough thing to Maggie. She was proud of her ability to forge the signatures and they gave so much pleasure to the fans. Yet, in her heart of hearts, she knew it was wrong. She knew that she’d been more focussed on raising money for the Lochnabrae Amateur Dramatics Society than she had on any moral issues, and she’d also let her own vanity come before her better judgement. The truth was, she’d liked pretending to be Connie Gordon when she signed the pictures. It allowed the little film star that was buried deep inside plain old Maggie Hamill to have a life, and goodness only knew that she needed one even if it was fake.

It hadn’t been easy growing up in Lochnabrae. There were only a handful of people her own age and most of them had left now. Even her brother was spending less and less time there and who could blame him? It was the back of beyond – the middle of nowhere. It was Lochnabrae.

Lochnabrae – you’d be mad to stay.

That’s what she and Hamish used to chant as they’d plan their getaways as they’d been growing up.

‘I’m going to be a footballer for Rangers,’ Hamish would say.

‘I’m going to be a film star in Hollywood,’ Maggie would say.

But Hamish was working in the garage in Strathcorrie and Maggie had taken up the reins of the family store.

‘I’m officially mad,’ she said to herself, burying her head in her hands.

No, the Connie Fan Club was a bright beacon in her day-to-day existence. It was a beautiful escape from her world of tins and tobacco, it was a wondrous world away from her papers and postcards. Could anyone really blame her for being swept up in it all or looking forward to the latest news from Hollywood, for the buzz she got from discovering a new photograph of Connie on the internet, or the news that she had a new film in the pipeline? It was what got her through the daily grind. Life in the shop was bearable when she knew she could escape upstairs and bring out the glossy ten by eights of Connie. Mr Finlay’s amorous attentions could be forgotten and Mrs Wallace’s grumblings could be ignored.

It wasn’t that Maggie really harboured any plans to leave Lochnabrae – it was just that she couldn’t help wishing that some of the magic of the movies would find its way to her little village and make life a little bit more exciting.

When Maggie finally looked up, she saw Connie’s untouched cup of tea on her desk. It was the saddest thing she’d ever seen: untouched, unwanted, left to go cold. It just reminded Maggie that she was unworthy. Connie not only didn’t want to stay and get to know her but she hated her too. She’d never want to see her again, would she?

Maggie thought about the teddy bear.

‘What on earth must Connie think of me?’ she whispered. ‘She’ll probably have me arrested.’

Maggie could easily have spent the rest of the day moping in Connie HQ but the phone was ringing. Reluctantly, she got up to answer it. It was probably the police ringing with some kind of harassment charge.

‘Maggie, it’s Isla. What on earth did you do to Connie? She’s just stormed out without so much as a by your leave.’

‘I didn’t do anything!’ Maggie said.

‘Are you sure? You were the last person she saw.’

Maggie sighed. It was time to confess. ‘Well, she found out about the fan club – the photos I sign.’

‘Ah!’ Isla sighed down the phone. ‘And she wasn’t too pleased?’

‘You could say that,’ Maggie said. ‘Oh, what are we going to do?’

‘What do you mean? You think she might leave?’

‘She wasn’t happy – that’s for certain,’ Maggie said. ‘I can’t bear the thought of having upset her. I’d never do anything to hurt her and yet I managed to do just that within a few minutes of meeting her.’

‘I’m sure it’s not as bad as you’re making out,’ Isla said.

‘Are you? Are you really?’

‘Well, no,’ Isla said.

Maggie’s shoulders slumped. ‘She hates me. I know she does.’

‘But can’t you explain things to her?’

‘I tried. I told her about the LADS but she didn’t seem to want to listen.’

‘Perhaps she should meet them, then,’ Isla said.

‘Meet who?’

‘The LADS, of course! Get everyone together – down The Capercaillie – and I bet you anything she’ll love them. Who wouldn’t?’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Maggie said. ‘I think I might have put her off fans for life.’

‘What have you got to lose? If she already hates you, what does it matter if she hates the rest of us too?’

Maggie frowned. She wasn’t sure she was following Isla’s logic.

‘I suppose it might be worth a go,’ Maggie said, ‘if she hasn’t left already, that is.’

‘She’s not left properly – just rushed off into the hills. All her stuff’s still here. Once she’s let off a bit of steam, I’m sure she’ll be ready to talk to you again.’

‘Really? You think so?’ There was a pause. ‘Isla?’

‘Well,’ Isla said, ‘you can give it a go, anyway.’

Maggie hung up. She didn’t feel reassured in the least.

Alastair was actually having a good morning. He’d written five pages of – well, something – and his fingers didn’t seem to want to stop. Okay, it wasn’t perfect and it definitely wasn’t a play and he knew he was going to have to go back and revise but, for the time being, he was happy with the way things were progressing and, whenever that rare moment dawned, it was almost always interrupted by the telephone.

‘Damn!’ Alastair yelled. He wished he was one of those writers who could ignore the demands of the world around him. He had a friend who could write through an earthquake but Alastair wasn’t like that.

‘Hello!’ he barked into the phone.

‘Alastair? It’s Maggie. Did I disturb you?’

‘Yes, Maggie. You did, as a matter of fact.’

‘Oh,’ she said, instantly making him feel guilty.

‘What is it?’ he said in a gentler voice. ‘Everything okay?’

‘Well, not everything. You haven’t seen Connie, have you?’

‘Connie?’

‘Connie Gordon’s here. Well, she was here but we’ve lost her.’

‘What?’

‘The actress. She’s here in Lochnabrae.’

‘The Hollywood actress?’

‘Yes. Look, I’ll explain later but I’m worried about her. She’s gone missing. Isla said she saw her heading up the hill towards your place.’

‘Why would she be coming up here?’

‘I don’t know – just out walking, I guess. Have you seen her?’

‘No. I’ve been inside working.’

‘Well, can you look out of your window?’

‘Wait a moment,’ Alastair said, annoyed that he’d been interrupted but intrigued by the possibility that there was a Hollywood actress roaming around. He opened the front door and walked to the end of his garden, peering down the track that led through the woods to the loch but there was nobody there.

He ran back indoors. ‘I can’t see anyone. Do you want me to take a proper look around?’

‘Oh, Alastair – would you? It would be a weight off my mind if I knew she was okay.’

‘What’s she doing here?’

‘Trying to get away from it all but I’m afraid I’ve not been helping her do that.’

‘Well, leave it with me and I’ll give you a call if I find her.’

‘Thanks, Alastair.’

Alastair put down the phone and sighed. Normally, he hated –
hated
– being interrupted when he was in full flow but he had to admit that this situation was a little out of the ordinary. After all, how often did a Hollywood star hang out at his croft?

And then it dawned on him. They’d already met. Of course! The girl by the loch he’d thought had looked like Connie Gordon
had been
Connie Gordon.

‘Oh my God!’ he said with a sigh, thinking of the appalling mess Bounce had made of her beautiful trousers – her beautiful movie star trousers. ‘Best not tempt fate again,’ he said. ‘Sorry, Bounce. We’ll have a walk later.’

Bounce’s head tilted to one side as he watched his master put his coat and boots on but, as he hadn’t been given the signal, he remained curled up in a black ball in his basket.

Alastair left his house, not bothering to lock the door – nobody really did in Lochnabrae and he was pretty sure he’d hear Bounce’s bark if there were any intruders. He might appear a big softie but he was actually a pretty good guard dog.

He headed down the track towards the loch. The air was wonderfully still. It was the kind of morning that made you want to down tools and head for the hills – to climb right up into the clouds and breathe deep lungfuls of crisp clear air and bathe your skin in the brilliant light. But he couldn’t do that today – he was a man on a mission and what a strange mission it was: to find an actress.

As a playwright, Alastair had worked with many actresses in his time and knew that they could be the most highly unpredictable of creatures although he had to admit to being drawn to them in the past. There was something about their passion and drive – their capability to focus so wholeheartedly on a performance and that uncanny ability to inhabit another persona and create magic on the stage. He had to admit that he found those qualities incredibly attractive but there was a downside, of course. At their very worst, actresses could be both egotistical and insecure – not the best of combinations.

Alastair wondered if Connie had these all too familiar traits. He’d seen many of her films. As a resident of Lochnabrae, he was, naturally, a member of the Connie Gordon fan club but, beyond her work, he knew very little about her unlike some of the members who liked to keep up-to-date with the latest Connie gossip.

She’s been nominated for an Oscar, he thought to himself. She’s best known for her romantic comedies. She once wore a white dress that went practically see-through at an awards ceremony due to some strange new lighting. Yes, Alastair remembered that.

Alastair cleared his throat. He shouldn’t be thinking about such things now. He had to
find
Connie not fantasise about her. She might have twisted her ankle or become lost.

But what exactly was he going to say to her if he did find her and would she want him to say anything at all after their last encounter? If she was all right maybe he could get away without saying anything at all but simply sneak away and tell Maggie that everything was okay. Yes, that would be the ideal, wouldn’t it? But that wasn’t to be because, as soon as he came out of the woods onto the shore of the loch, he saw her.

She was sitting on a solitary bench. Alastair knew the bench well. It had been placed there by the widow of Hector Campbell, ‘Who loved this place above all else’. Alastair would often sit there with a sandwich, walking down from his croft and sitting quietly, his thoughts drifting from subject to subject as the gentle waves of the loch broke upon the sands. Had Connie come here seeking the comfort of Hector’s bench too? He watched her for a moment. She sat perfectly still, her face turned away from him, eyes focussed on the silver-blue water before her. At first, he thought she looked peaceful but then her shoulders shook and he realised that she was crying.

He frowned and then took a deep breath, knowing he couldn’t leave her crying there on her own.

‘Hello, there,’ he called softly once he was a few feet away. ‘Connie, isn’t it?’

Connie turned to face him and he could see that her eyes were red and her pale face was a little blotchy.