‘And sell these photos – these copyrighted photos – for money?’
‘Oh, the money isn’t for me!’ Maggie said quickly. ‘It’s for the LADS.’
‘What lads?’
‘The Lochnabrae Amateur Dramatics Society. We have a hall – it’s really run-down – and the profits from the signed photographs go towards its upkeep.’
Connie slowly shook her head. ‘But this is all wrong, Maggie. You can’t go on doing this. People think these photos have been signed by me.’
‘Isn’t my signature good enough? I thought I’d got it about right now.’
‘But that isn’t the issue here!’ Connie said. ‘People are paying because they think I’m signing the photos.’
‘But you’re too busy. We didn’t want to bother you with them. And I’ve heard of movie stars’ secretaries signing things for them or awful photocopied signatures being sent out too.’
‘I’m not arguing with that. That happens a lot but – well – this just doesn’t seem right. You’ve got to see that!’
Maggie looked down at the carpet and shuffled from foot to foot. ‘Is your tea all right?’
‘Maggie!’
‘What?’ She looked up. Connie’s face had turned quite pink.
‘What else has been going on here?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Have you been selling other things?’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know. Buying knickers and selling them as having been worn by Connie Gordon?’
Maggie looked as if she’d just been punched. ‘No! I’d never do anything like that!’
‘Are you sure?’ Connie got up from the chair and started looking around the room. It was then that her eye caught something and her face instantly froze.
‘Mortimer!’
‘What?’ Maggie said.
‘What are you doing with Mortimer?’
Maggie turned and saw what Connie was looking at. ‘The teddy?’
‘Yes! What’s it doing here?’
‘I bought it online last year. The seller said you’d auctioned it for charity and they’d bought it.’
Connie’s face now changed from pink to a frightening shade of red. ‘That’s a lie!’ she said, crossing the room and grabbing the stuffed toy from the shelf. ‘I never sold this bear. It’s a childhood toy and it went missing two years ago along with other personal items. I was suspicious of my housemaid and fired her. Things stopped going missing after that.’
‘Oh, Connie! I’m so sorry. I had no idea.’
‘Really?’
‘I’d never have bought it if I’d known. Or, rather, I’d have bought it to return to you.’
Connie nodded her head vigorously but she didn’t look as if she believed Maggie. ‘Sure you’re not going to sell it on yourself ?’
‘What? No!’
‘God almighty!’ Connie exclaimed. ‘I’ve flown all this way to try and escape this sort of thing.’
‘But I didn’t know he’d been stolen.’
Connie wasn’t listening. She’d made up her mind.
‘I can see now,’ she said, ‘that everyone’s the same. Everyone’s just out to get a piece of me.’
‘Connie!’ Maggie called in desperation as she left the room, teddy in hand, and thumped down the stairs. ‘Don’t go! Please!’
But it was too late. Connie left the shop, slamming the door behind her.
‘Oh, dear!’ Maggie said. ‘That didn’t go quite like I’d imagined it would.’
Chapter Nine
Connie marched back to the bed and breakfast, Mortimer clutched in her right hand. It had been the very last thing she’d expected to find in Lochnabrae – dear sweet Mortimer – the one remnant of a childhood that had lasted so brief a time.
For a moment, she thought about how lonely her childhood had been. She’d hardly ever met any other children because she’d been working most of the time. In fact, the only other children she’d met had been other child actors and, when they hadn’t been acting, they’d been spending time with their tutors on the set, desperately trying to cram in schoolwork between takes. It had been a sad and strange time and Mortimer the bear had had more than his fair share of tears showered upon him.
She looked down at the yellow face of the bear and sighed at the scuffed black eyes and the fraying ears. He wasn’t much of a bear, she thought, and she was bemused that anyone would seriously want to pay good money for him at an online auction but, then again, stranger things had happened. One of her actor friends had heard of a yoghurt pot that had been taken out of his trash can and sold. Fans were a bizarre breed.
Reaching the bed and breakfast, Connie did her best to pull herself together. The last thing she wanted was to attract the attention of Isla. She couldn’t face that now so she opened and shut the front door as quietly as she could and was just about to make her way to her bedroom when a heavily-powdered face peered around the kitchen door.
‘Is that you, Connie dear? Can I get you anything?’
‘No, thank you. I’m just going up to my room. I have a bit of a headache.’
‘Oh, dear! Let me get you—’
‘No! Really. I don’t need anything. I just need some space, okay?’ Connie said, racing up the stairs and slamming her bedroom door. So much for sneaking in and acting normal, she thought, berating herself for her hot temper.
Connie sat down on the end of the bed, her hands holding onto Mortimer as if her life depended on it. ‘What are we doing here, Morty? We don’t belong here, do we?’
The worn glass eyes looked back up at her questioningly. And then she realised that she’d just stolen the poor bear. Whatever way she looked at it, Maggie had paid for Mortimer – whether it had been innocent or calculating – and Connie supposed it was only fair that she reimbursed her.
‘What a mess!’ she said, placing Mortimer on the bed. She walked across to the window and gazed out at the loch. She’d come here to escape and she couldn’t help feeling frustrated and disappointed that things weren’t panning out as she’d imagined. She tried to think back to what she’d expected when leaving LA for Lochnabrae. Peace. Well, it was certainly peaceful here. Solitude. Not as long as Isla Stuart and Maggie Hamill were on the scene. Escape.
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 ro
w 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.
The Runaway Actress Page 7
