When they were both in the street, Maggie couldn’t help noticing that Connie was peering at her neckline.
‘What’s wrong?’ Maggie asked.
Connie frowned. ‘I think your jumper’s on back to front.’
Chapter Eight
Maggie Hamill had never felt more important in her life than right there and right then – walking down the main street of Lochnabrae with Connie Gordon by her side. She could hardly believe it and kept taking little sideway glances at her companion just to make sure she wasn’t imagining the whole thing.
They walked by a row of white cottages between the bed and breakfast and Maggie’s shop and she couldn’t help hoping that they wouldn’t bump into anyone. Please don’t make Mrs Wallace be twitching her curtains now, Maggie begged. Or old Mr Finlay. Not that he’d recognise Connie but that wouldn’t stop him waylaying them. If there was one thing old Mr Finlay appreciated, it was a pretty young girl. Maggie shook her head as she thought of the time he’d managed to trap her as she was turning around from the chilled cabinet.
‘My my,’ he’d said, ‘but you’re a bonny lass, Maggie Hamill.’
Maggie had tried to move away from him but that would have meant sitting on the pork pies.
No, she thought, she couldn’t subject Connie to old Mr Finlay.
Unfortunately, just as Maggie thought they were safe, she heard his front door open.
‘Hello there, Maggie!’ he called, shaking his walking stick in the air and making his way hastily down the path. He really could move at an alarming speed when he wanted to.
‘Hello, Mr Finlay,’ Maggie said, with a resolute smile on her face. ‘Don’t let him near you,’ she whispered to Connie.
‘What?’
But it was too late to explain because Mr Finlay was upon them.
‘Why now,’ he said, his thin face creasing into a slavering sort of smile, ‘here’s a bonny lass I’ve not had the pleasure of meeting.’ And, before Maggie could even introduce them properly, he’d taken one of Connie’s hands and had suckered his mouth to it.
‘Oh!’ Connie exclaimed, doing her best to pull it away but not succeeding. His grip was iron-fast.
‘What a soft hand you have and what a lovely wee face. And what might you be doing here in Lochnabrae?’
‘Connie’s having a holiday,’ Maggie explained, ‘and we were just about to go out so if you’ll excuse us, Mr Finlay.’ Maggie grabbed Connie’s other arm but Mr Finlay still had hold of her and, for a few seconds, there was a bit of a tug of war until Maggie won with one colossal tug.
‘I’ll see you again!’ Mr Finlay said ominously.
‘Quick!’ Maggie said. ‘Before he follows us into the shop. We’ll never get rid of him if he makes it over the threshold.’
Connie allowed Maggie to drag her to safety.
‘I’m so sorry about that!’ Maggie said once they were safely behind the locked door of the shop. ‘He means well but he can be a wee bit – er – intense at times.’
‘Is he always so attentive?’ Connie asked, wiping her hand on her jeans.
‘Yes. As long as you’re female.’
Connie nodded. ‘I wish I could say I’ve never met anyone like that before but the whole of LA is like that.’
Maggie grinned. ‘Well, I promise you we’re not all cut from the same cloth as Mr Finlay.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Connie said. ‘I don’t think I could survive many of those encounters,’ she said, rubbing her arms. ‘So, this is one of the shops in Lochnabrae?’ she said, looking around “Maggie’s”.
‘Er, no,’ Maggie said. ‘This is the only shop in Lochnabrae.’
‘No! Really?’ Connie said.
‘Yes, really!’
‘How on earth do you survive without – without other shops?’
‘What do you mean?’
Connie looked around. ‘I mean, how can you live somewhere without restaurants and coffee bars and – well, everything else?’
‘Because this is Lochnabrae not Los Angeles,’ Maggie said. ‘We have to make do.’
‘You must do a roaring trade, then.’
‘We do when the weather’s bad and people can’t get to Strathcorrie. Other than that, it’s a bit of a struggle. Folks love a bargain and local shops just can’t compete with prices.’
‘So, Strathcorrie has all the shops and restaurants?’
‘I wouldn’t say restaurants although the pub there does a nice Sunday lunch.’
‘God! Where do you all eat? And what do you all do here?’
Maggie laughed. ‘We mostly eat at home or in the pub. It’s a quiet life, I’ll give you that, but most of us are happy with it.’
‘And you get by – with your shop, I mean?’
‘Things could be worse,’ Maggie said. ‘Of course, they could be better. The shop was run by my parents and by their parents before that and I’d hate to think of it closing. It’s so important to the community – especially for the old folks who can’t get out much. We’ve already lost the post office and the school closed down years ago too. The shop’s all we’ve got now.’
‘And the pub?’
‘Aye!’ Maggie said. ‘The pub will be here for ever. As long as there’s men to do the drinking, the pub’ll be safe. You’ll get to see it later. It’s a sight to behold,’ Maggie said with a laugh.
‘Is it near the HQ? You were going to show it to me.’
‘Yes, yes!’ Maggie said, suddenly wondering what sort of a state the HQ was in. It was fine when it was just herself but was it really fit for the arrival of its queen? ‘Can I get you a cup of tea first?’ she asked, thinking she could possibly nip into the room first whilst Connie watched the kettle.
‘No, thank you,’ Connie said.
‘I might just make one for myself.’
Maggie led Connie through to the kitchen at the back of the house – a funny pokey room that was in a far worse state than the fan club HQ.
‘You’ll have to avert your eyes,’ Maggie said as she realised that she hadn’t done the dishes that morning. Or the ones from the night before. There’d been that really great movie on until late and she’d put off tidying up until the next day. Then there’d been the call from Isla. ‘I’m usually very tidy,’ she said.
‘You don’t have to explain,’ Connie said. ‘I live on my own too and it’s easy to be a little sloppy.’
‘Sloppy? You?’
‘Well, I would be if I got a chance. The trouble is, if I drop something or leave something unwashed, somebody comes along and picks it up or washes it before I’ve even noticed.’
‘Wow! It must be amazing having your own staff. Do you have a lot?’
‘I have staff coming out of my ears,’ Connie said. ‘Drives me crazy. Sometimes, I’d just like the house to myself, you know? It’s a bit like living in public at times.’
‘Gosh,’ Maggie said, trying to imagine what that must be like.
‘That’s one of the reasons why I’ve come here,’ Connie said. ‘I want to try and be – well – normal for a while. Find out who I really am without all the trappings of success, you know?’
‘No,’ Maggie said. ‘I mean, I can’t imagine what it must be like being you. And I have tried – many times! I read about you in all the papers and magazines and the online reports. I’ve always thought it must be wonderful. I can’t imagine wanting to escape from that sort of life and come to a place like this.’
‘Can’t you?’
Maggie shook her head. ‘It’s so – ordinary here. Nothing exciting ever happens. Not unless you count my brother Hamish streaking down the main street once a year on Burns’ Night after he’s had one too many.’
Connie smiled. ‘But you have something else here.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Peace,’ Connie said.
‘Och, I don’t know about that. You should hear the men coming out of The Capercaillie in the evenings. It’s not very peaceful then.’
‘No, not
that kind of peace,’ Connie said. ‘I mean that sense of place. Of permanence, harmony, nature – that sort of thing. I felt it as soon as I arrived.’
‘Aye, we’ve plenty of nature. You can’t move around here for nature.’
‘And the lake – I mean loch,’ Connie said. ‘It’s so beautiful.’
Maggie nodded. ‘Now, there’s a place that’s peaceful,’ she said. ‘You can hear whole conversations people are having on the other side. The sound travels right across the water.’
‘Really?’
‘Oh, aye,’ Maggie said. ‘There’s no privacy here. My father used to tell a story about a young couple who were dating. It was rumoured that the man was going to propose to his sweetheart one night by the loch so the whole village turned out, watching from the other side and, after he popped the question, a huge cheer went up!’
Connie laughed and then looked out of Maggie’s kitchen window. ‘Just look at that view. There’s something stunning wherever you turn.’
Maggie followed Connie’s gaze towards the fells. ‘It’s not so bad.’
‘Not so bad? It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.’
‘You should see the view from the HQ,’ Maggie said, completely forgetting her cup of tea and the mess she was going to try and tidy away before inviting Connie in. ‘It’s the best view in Lochnabrae. Apart from Alastair’s, that is.’
‘Alastair?’
‘The man whose dog wrecked your trousers.’
‘Oh, him.’
‘He lives up the hill just outside the village. You can see the whole of the loch from there and the village too and all the mountains. It’s amazing – especially when you get those great white clouds reflected in the loch. You’ll have to go up there.’
‘Will I?’
‘Oh, yes! Only make sure you’re wearing something dark and dog-proof.’
Maggie led the way upstairs and turned into a bedroom to the right of the landing. ‘Here we are,’ she said. ‘The Connie Gordon Fan Club HQ.’
Connie stood looking dumbfounded and Maggie watched her eyes roving over everything from the magazine clippings on the noticeboard to the movie posters on the walls. There was a shelf filled with Connie’s films on DVD and there were framed postcards of the films too. Everywhere she looked, her own face smiled right back at her.
‘It must seem a bit strange,’ Maggie said. ‘It’s not all mine, though. The whole fan club collects little bits and pieces. Hamish – that’s my brother – he buys the posters from an online site. He just adores your films. He’d love to meet you.’
‘You’ve got an Oscar!’ Connie said.
Maggie giggled. ‘Well, it’s plastic,’ she said, picking it up and showing it to Connie. ‘We bought it when you were nominated for best actress for Just Jennifer. Which you should have won, by the way. You were completely robbed that evening.’
‘Completely,’ Connie agreed jokingly and then gave a little smile and handed back the plastic Oscar.
‘What would you have said?’ Maggie asked.
‘What?’
‘If you’d won the Oscar. What would your speech have been like?’
Connie took a deep breath. ‘Well, I’m not sure.’
‘You mean you didn’t plan one? I thought everyone planned them in case they won and then forgot everything in the excitement of winning.’
Connie shook her head. ‘Not me. I really didn’t think I’d win so I just went along for an evening out.’
‘Oh,’ Maggie said, unable to hide her disappointment. ‘But, if you had – what would you have said?’
Connie looked thoughtful. ‘I’d probably have burst into tears like Gwyneth Paltrow and Halle Berry.’
‘No,’ Maggie said. ‘I think you would’ve given a beautiful speech. Go on,’ she added, handing her the plastic Oscar again, ‘give your speech.’
‘Maggie – I—’
‘Go on!’ Maggie said, a pleading look on her face.
Connie didn’t look too happy to be clutching the fake Oscar again and, for a moment, Maggie thought she was going to leg it out of the HQ altogether and never be seen again. Had she pushed things? Was it all a bit daunting for her to be trapped with a nutty fan and asked to give a speech? Maggie was just about to apologise when Connie suddenly started talking.
‘I’m determined not to cry tonight because I don’t have my waterproof mascara on but I would like to thank all the people who’ve helped me on my way. First, my mother, who has pushed and pulled me from the age of four, plastering my face with make-up and dragging me to endless classes and auditions even when I wasn’t well. Remember when I’d cracked a rib from falling off a horse doing that remake of Black Beauty? You thought I was fooling and made me go tap dancing. Luckily, the teacher could see I was in pain and got me to the hospital in time. If it hadn’t been for you, mother, I might’ve had a slightly more normal upbringing and not be suffering from exhaustion after working tirelessly for so many years. I might also have made a few real friends too. Perhaps even gotten married and had kids. I wasn’t really a person to you, was I? I was a commodity. Connie the commodity! To be sold to the highest bidder.
‘But it’s not just my mother I want to thank. I’d like to thank my agents past and present. The ones who have ripped me off, thinking I’m too thick or too busy to notice, and those who’ve put me forward for inferior jobs because they’ll bring in the big bucks. I’d also like to thank the men in my life – all the slimeballs and the cheats I’ve had the misfortune of dating. I can safely say that they’ve behaved even worse than some of my stalkers. At least stalkers usually adhere to their injunctions. And, finally, I’d like to thank my fans. Some of the letters I receive are truly mind-blowing and I’d just like to settle some matters here and now if that’s all right. No, I won’t drop everything and marry you, Mr Complete Stranger, nor will I send you photographs of myself naked. So, please stop asking me and leave me alone.’
Connie stopped, her face red and her eyes looking slightly glazed. She blinked, as if suddenly remembering where she was.
‘Right,’ Maggie said, her eyes wide in surprise. ‘Well, that was some speech.’
Connie handed back the Oscar. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure where all that came from.’
‘The very pit of your being, I imagine,’ Maggie said. ‘Would you like that cup of tea now?’
‘I don’t suppose you’ve got a skinny latte?’
Maggie shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not. But I make a really good cup of tea.’
Connie nodded and slumped into the chair by the computer.
‘Coming right up,’ Maggie said, leaving the room and returning downstairs to the kitchen. Once there, she stood staring into space. What had just happened there? A famous Hollywood movie star had just let rip about the whole business, dispelling all the myth and magic. It had been the very last thing Maggie had been expecting. But then, what had she expected? She’d never really thought Connie Gordon would turn up in Lochnabrae at all and yet here she was.
‘Poor Connie,’ Maggie whispered, smiling at the irony of the words. She’d never thought those two words would ever be placed next to one another because not only was Connie one of the highest paid movie stars in Hollywood but she was incredibly lucky too. She was beautiful, intelligent, gifted, and she was happy, wasn’t she? All those things made a person happy – that’s what everyone believed. Yet there she was up in Connie HQ with a face as dark as December.
‘But I can do something about it,’ Maggie suddenly said, putting the kettle on and making two cups of tea. ‘She came to me. She needs my help.’
Maggie stared into space, thinking about the enormity of her situation. The most beautiful actress in the world was upstairs and needed her help! It was a huge respon-sibility. Was she up to the challenge? She nodded. Yes, of course she was.
Stirring an extra large spoonful of sugar into her tea and leaving Connie’s black and sugarless so she could add whatever she wanted, she returned
to Connie HQ upstairs.
‘Here we go,’ Maggie said, entering the room. ‘Two teas.’
Connie was sitting at Maggie’s desk, her back to the door.
‘You all right?’ Maggie asked but Connie didn’t answer. Maggie put the two mugs down on the adjacent coffee table and it was then that she saw what Connie was looking at. She’d found the folder.
‘Maggie, what are you doing with all these photographs?’
‘Oh, they’re for the fans.’
‘My fans?’
‘Yes,’ Maggie said, nodding. ‘Well, I don’t get quite as much fan mail as you do.’
Connie didn’t laugh. ‘My fans write to you here?’
‘Yes. The address is on the website – look.’ Maggie woke the computer up and found the relevant page. ‘The fan site’s going from strength to strength. We get so many visitors now and I do my best to keep them coming back with the journal updates.’
Connie began reading the contact page of the website, her face slowly turning to a menacing paleness.
‘You charge for the photographs?’
‘Yes,’ Maggie said. ‘Ten pounds. They’re beautiful – real value for money – ten by eight glossies. Here,’ she said, opening the folder.
‘I’ve seen them.’ Connie said, looking at the screen again. ‘It says here that they’re signed.’
Maggie nodded, biting her lip. She had a feeling she knew what was coming.
Connie turned to face Maggie. ‘Would you mind telling me what’s going on here?’
‘It’s the fan club,’ Maggie said. ‘We send out signed photographs of you to those who ask for them.’
‘But who signs them?’
There was a pause before Maggie answered. ‘Me,’ she said.
Connie’s mouth dropped open. ‘You? You sign the photos – in my name?’
‘Yes,’ Maggie said. ‘I’m very good. Look,’ she said, pulling a piece of paper out from a drawer and signing across it with her big black pen before handing it to Connie, who studied it through narrowed eyes.
‘Good?’ Maggie asked.
Connie looked up. ‘You forge my signature?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t call it forge—’
The Runaway Actress Page 6
