The Runaway Actress

by Connelly, Victoria

  ‘Alastair,’ Connie said, ‘why don’t you go and get Maggie a drink? Maggie, come and sit here.’

  Maggie swallowed.

  ‘Shove up, everyone,’ Alastair said as he got up to go to the bar. ‘Connie wants to sit next to Maggie and, no doubt, Hamish wants to sit next to her too.’ Alastair gave Hamish a wink.

  ‘Now, that’s not fair,’ Angus said. ‘Why should Hamish sit next to Connie when he’s late arriving and the rest of us were on time?’

  There was a general murmuring of agreement from around the table.

  ‘Perhaps because Connie wants to sit next to him,’ Connie said and, once again, the whole pub fell silent. Connie Gordon had spoken.

  There was a sudden shuffling of chairs as everyone made room for Maggie and Hamish to come through.

  Alastair grinned as he watched. Connie certainly knew how to get her own way, he thought.

  Maggie wasn’t quite sure what to say when she sat down next to Connie but, luckily, Connie was the one to speak first.

  She leant forward slightly in a conspiratorial way. ‘Maggie, I’m so embarrassed about the way I behaved before. Can you ever forgive me?’

  Maggie looked at her. ‘Me forgive you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Connie said. ‘I behaved badly. I overreacted and I’m really sorry.’

  ‘But it’s me who’s sorry,’ Maggie said. ‘I really upset you.’

  Connie shook her head. ‘I was just a bit – well – surprised by some things. That’s all but it’s no big deal – really.’

  ‘But the signed photos—’

  ‘Don’t worry.’

  ‘And the website pictures.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘And Mortimer.’

  Connie smiled. ‘You can have him.’

  Maggie’s eyes widened. ‘But he’s yours. I’ve no right to him.’

  ‘You have if I give him to you.’

  Maggie didn’t know what to say.

  ‘It’s my peace offering and I hope you’ll accept him. With my love.’

  They looked at each other and Maggie couldn’t help smiling. ‘I’m so sorry I upset you, Connie.’

  ‘Not another word about it. We’re friends, aren’t we?’

  Maggie gasped. ‘Yes! Best friends!’ And, before she could stop herself, she’d squashed Connie in a bear hug.

  Chapter Twelve

  When Alastair returned with a cider and a packet of crisps for Maggie and a pint for Hamish, he – predictably – found his seat was gone. Still, determined not to let Connie be swamped by her fans, he thought he’d better take control.

  ‘All right, you lot,’ he said, his voice rising above the others’ with the ease of somebody who’s had to fight their playwright’s corner in a thousand theatres, ‘let’s get this meeting underway. This is a very special meeting of the fan club tonight because, as you can see, Connie Gordon is here in person.’

  ‘Hurray!’ Maggie shouted.

  Hamish put his fingers in his mouth and whistled.

  Euan clapped his great hands together and everybody else followed his example.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ Mrs Wallace said, ‘I thought it was a LADS meeting tonight.’

  ‘Och, Edna! We’ve got a Hollywood film star sitting in our midst!’ Sandy said. ‘And you want to talk about the boring old drama group.’

  ‘I would’ve thought it was of particular interest to Miss Gordon,’ Mrs Wallace said, pushing her great bank of a bosom forward. ‘She’s an actress, after all. Perhaps she’d be interested.’

  Everybody turned to face Connie, who swallowed. ‘Well, I – of course—’ she began.

  ‘Mrs Wallace has a point,’ Alastair interrupted. ‘A LADS discussion is long overdue. There’s a lot to sort out and I’ve got a few issues I’d like to raise. Perhaps later in the evening. We don’t want to scare Connie off now, do we?’

  ‘That’s exactly what I said,’ Sandy said, nodding wisely and ignoring Mrs Wallace’s bossy bosom that was pointing in his direction.

  ‘Can we ask Connie some questions?’ Kirsty piped from across the table.

  ‘Oh, yes!’ Catriona said.

  ‘Connie?’ Alastair said. ‘Would you be up for some questions?’

  Connie took a deep breath and Alastair watched as she surveyed the eager faces around her. ‘I don’t see why not,’ she said.

  ‘Good!’ Alastair said. ‘Who’s got a question, then?’

  Kirsty leapt in first. ‘Why are you here, Connie? Are you filming something? Can I be an extra? I’m a really good actress!’

  Connie smiled. ‘I’m afraid I’m not filming although it’s so beautiful in Lochnabrae, somebody really ought to make a film here.’

  ‘Oh,’ Kirsty said, disappointment flooding her face. ‘Maybe I could be an extra in one of your films, though? I know! I could go back to Hollywood with you!’

  ‘Kirsty,’ Alastair said, ‘I don’t think the film industry works like that.’

  ‘Oh,’ Kirsty said.

  ‘But, if I ever need such a beautiful, talented actress in one of my films, I’ll let the director know where to find you,’ Connie said.

  Kirsty beamed.

  ‘Any more questions?’ Alastair asked.

  Maggie nodded and raised her hand as if she were back at school. ‘What made you want to visit us?’

  Connie took a sip of her drink and then put the glass down carefully in front of her, her fingers stroking its smooth sides. ‘I think I’m still trying to work that one out.’

  ‘Why now?’ Maggie persisted. ‘I mean, we’ve written to you so often over the years – you know – inviting you to come.’

  Connie nodded. ‘I know,’ she said, ‘but it’s only now that it’s registered.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Maggie asked.

  Connie shrugged. ‘I was looking for an escape. Everything suddenly seemed to be on top of me. I felt like I was suffocating and that was the moment I picked up your latest letter. It was just sitting there waiting for me to read it.’

  ‘It was a sign!’ Sandy said.

  ‘Yes,’ Connie said. ‘I think perhaps it was.’

  ‘Do you miss anything, Connie?’ Alastair asked.

  Connie looked into the middle distance. ‘What, you mean like the LA smog and the early-morning calls and being chased by the paparazzi?’

  Everyone laughed.

  ‘I’m trying really hard to think of something I miss but, you know what? I can’t. Not a single thing. Apart from a good skinny latte and my pool, maybe. I miss my early morning swim.’

  ‘We’ve got the loch,’ Hamish said and Alastair thought it was said rather too hopefully.

  ‘I’m guessing it’s not heated?’ Connie said.

  For a moment, nobody answered because they weren’t sure whether it was a serious question or not but then Connie giggled and everyone followed suit.

  ‘You know,’ Connie said, ‘you guys are so much nicer than the fans in the US. They’re so pushy. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve had a photo taken with a so-called fan and then they crop it so it looks like we’re an item and they sell some outrageous story to the press.’

  ‘We wouldn’t do anything like that, Connie!’ Maggie said.

  ‘But you did a pretty good job of suffocating her when you saw her a few minutes ago,’ Alastair said, still anxious for Connie.

  ‘But it was with the best of intentions,’ Maggie said with a grin.

  Alastair sighed. ‘Any more questions, anyone?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ve got a question,’ Angry Angus said, his voice low and monotonous and his eyebrows hovering darkly over his eyes. ‘Why haven’t you done a western?’

  ‘Oh, Angus!’ Maggie said. ‘I knew you’d ask that!’

  ‘And what’s wrong with that? You got to ask your question,’ Angus pointed out.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Connie said. ‘In fact, it’s a very good question. It’s true that I’ve stuck to genres which are familiar to me but that’s
not entirely my fault. The public soon builds up a perception about an actor and they come to expect certain things from you. If I did a western, I might disappoint some of those fans.’

  ‘Not me,’ Angus said.

  ‘Well, no,’ Connie agreed. ‘And that’s very kind of you. I actually like variety in my roles. I really don’t want to be typecast so perhaps a western would be a good idea.’

  ‘Then you should tell them directors when you get back,’ Angus said. ‘I can be your agent if you like.’

  The whole table laughed at this but Connie smiled politely. ‘I’m sure you’d make a very good one.’

  ‘He’s certainly bossy enough,’ Hamish said.

  ‘You’ve got to know what you want in this world,’ Angus said.

  ‘That’s very true,’ Connie said.

  ‘And westerns are the thing,’ he continued in his monoto-nous voice. ‘Mark my words. They’re the future of film.’

  Everybody tried to stifle their giggles. They were laughing just as much at his monotonous voice as the sentiment it expressed.

  ‘Well, I think that’s quite enough questions for the time being,’ Alastair said. ‘And you look like you could do with another drink, Connie. Our special guest of honour mustn’t go without.’ He got up from his chair.

  ‘Oh, you mustn’t treat me any differently from any of you guys. I want to be absolutely normal,’ she said, her hand diving into Maggie’s packet of salt and vinegar crisps as if to prove her point.

  ‘Well,’ Alastair said, ‘if you want to be treated absolutely normally, you’d better get the next round in.’

  ‘You mean more drinks? Sure!’ Connie laughed and got up from her seat. ‘You’re on.’

  Everybody had to get up for Connie to get out from behind the table and Sandy managed a quick squeeze of her arm as she passed.

  Alastair accompanied her to the bar.

  ‘How’m I doing?’ she asked.

  ‘You’re doing fine,’ he said.

  ‘Good,’ she said with a smile, her eyes sparkling with joy.

  ‘You’re not finding it all too much?’

  ‘No, no. It’s going okay, isn’t it? I mean, I feel like I’m really socialising – with people who aren’t journalists and – I don’t want to jump the gun here – but I feel like I’m accepted – for who I am.’

  ‘And who are you?’

  She grinned. ‘Tonight, I’m Connie Gordon – pint buyer and crisp eater.’

  Alastair laughed. ‘So you are.’

  Maggie was watching as Alastair and Connie got the drinks in.

  ‘They seem to be getting on rather well,’ Hamish said.

  Maggie raised her eyebrows. ‘Why shouldn’t they? She’s an actress and he writes plays. They’re bound to have things in common. Why? You jealous?’

  Hamish didn’t answer but continued looking towards the bar.

  ‘You fancy her, don’t you?’ Maggie said, suddenly realising that her brother had gone completely doe-eyed. ‘Look at me and tell me you don’t fancy her!’

  Hamish nudged his sister in the ribs. ‘Mags, you’d have to be born backwards and blind not to fancy a woman like her. She’s gorgeous.’

  Maggie sighed and, looking around the table, realised that her brother wasn’t the only man whose eyes were fixed on the beauty at the bar. Sandy was practically salivating, which wasn’t a nice trait in a man in his seventies. Even Angry Angus’s eyes were roving over her and he was famous for being incredibly hard to please when it came to the opposite sex. Maggie couldn’t blame them all for staring.

  ‘She is beautiful,’ she said, watching the way Connie’s glossy red hair moved as she talked animatedly to Alastair. Her face seemed to shine with life. Everything about her was beautiful and shiny: her skin, her eyes, her smile, and Maggie couldn’t help but feel a little plain and dull in comparison.

  ‘You all right, Sis?’

  Maggie looked at Hamish. ‘Yes. I’m fine.’

  ‘Blimey, I’m a right bloody mess, aren’t I?’

  ‘Oh, stop fussing. Connie didn’t even notice,’ Maggie told him.

  ‘No,’ Hamish said. ‘Someone like her wouldn’t ever notice someone like me, would they?’

  Maggie sighed and squeezed Hamish’s arm. ‘You mustn’t fall in love with her,’ she said. ‘She’s off limits.’

  Hamish frowned at her. ‘Why? She’s not seeing anyone, is she?’

  ‘Hamish! She’s a movie star.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘And you’re a – a—’

  ‘What? Say it, Maggie! What am I? A lowly mechanic? You think she won’t look at me because I fix cars? Because I don’t own a mansion with a pool? Well, maybe she’s not as shallow as that. Maybe she’s come here to look for a real man – not one of them plastic models you get in Hollywood.’

  Hamish got up and pushed his way around the table.

  ‘Hamish!’ Maggie called after him but he was out of the pub before she could stop him.

  ‘What’s the matter with him?’ Angus barked.

  ‘Nothing,’ Maggie said but she couldn’t help feeling anxious for her brother because she knew how much unrequited love could hurt and she wouldn’t wish that pain on anybody.

  Alastair and Connie returned to their seats having distributed all the drinks, and Alastair thought that it was time for his announcement. He’d been thinking about it for the last couple of weeks and felt quite sure he was right. He was the unofficial director of the LADS and, as such, usually got to choose the plays that were performed. For many years now, his own had been chosen but Alastair was rather tired of his own work and wanted to do something different – something that would wake both him and the LADS up.

  He thought of the ridicule that had been poured upon him when some of his theatre cronies had found out what he was doing.

  ‘You’re leaving the West End for where? Lochnabrae Village Hall?’ Laurence Adams of The Countess Theatre had scorned. ‘You’re pulling my leg, right? I just can’t understand why you’re giving up directing in London.’

  Yes, everyone had laughed. Alastair was obviously losing his grip even to contemplate such a thing but he didn’t see it as that at all. As well as finding the peace he so desperately needed to create his work, he found working within a small community deeply rewarding and directing them in their annual play was always a pleasure. Okay, so they weren’t professional actors but hadn’t he had enough of them? The people of Lochnabrae were raw, they were deeply aggravating at times, especially when they put their favourite soap opera before rehearsals, but they were honest and true. They told him if his dialogue was crap. They let him know if his characters were wooden and unrealistic. You always got the truth out of them and that was rather refreshing. He’d even been inspired to write some really great new plays for them and had tried them out on his new friends before honing his material and sending it to his London agent.

  ‘Right, everyone,’ he said. ‘I think it’s time for some LADS business. Connie – you’ve heard about LADS? The Lochnabrae Amateur Dramatics Society?’

  Connie nodded.

  ‘Well, it’s that time of year when we start to think about the Christmas play,’ Alastair said, ‘and I thought it might be a good idea if we had a change of direction this year.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Sandy asked.

  ‘I mean that I’m not going to write the play for this year.’

  ‘Why not?’ Maggie asked.

  ‘Well,’ Alastair said, scratching his jaw, ‘I haven’t got one for a start. And I think we need to branch out – challenge ourselves a bit. All actors need to do that, don’t they, Connie?’

  ‘Oh, well, yes,’ Connie said.

  ‘That’s why you should do a western,’ Angus said.

  ‘Angus!’ Maggie said in warning, raising a finger lest he should start up again.

  ‘So,’ Alastair continued, ‘I was thinking about Shakespeare.’

  ‘Shackspeare?’ Sandy guffawed.

  ‘Yes. Shakes
peare. In the whole history of the LADS, not one Shakespeare play has been performed,’ Alastair said.

  ‘And with good reason,’ Sandy said. ‘They’re boring.’

  ‘We do Shakespeare all the time at school,’ Kirsty complained.

  ‘All the time,’ Catriona agreed.

  ‘Then you’ll be experts,’ Alastair said. ‘We’ll be needing your expertise.’

  ‘You’re pulling our legs,’ Mrs Wallace said. ‘Shakespeare’s not for around these parts.’

  ‘Why not?’ Alastair asked.

  ‘Well, it’s the language,’ Mrs Wallace said. ‘It’s all thous and thees and thines.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Alastair said. ‘I can see we’ve got another expert.’

  Mrs Wallace’s bosom quivered with pleasure at the compliment but the others around the table weren’t looking convinced.

  ‘Look,’ Alastair said, ‘it’s nothing to worry about. Sure, it’ll be a challenge but where’s the joy in something if it’s easy?’

  ‘I like easy,’ Angus said. ‘Easy always works for me.’

  ‘Maggie?’ Alastair said. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I never really got on with Shakespeare at school.’

  ‘But this isn’t school. You won’t be reading around the classroom in that god-awful way teachers force upon you. You won’t have to write essays about it. You’ll just be enjoying telling a story. So it’ll be a four-hundred-year-old story – so what? It’s stood the test of time – that’s the thing with Shakespeare. He’s special. He knew what was important: love, ambition, family, faith and he wrote about them with passion and great humour too, using the most beautiful language in the world. It’s a language we should celebrate and we can’t really call ourselves actors until we’ve done just that.’

  When Alastair finished, a strange silence fell upon The Capercaillie.

  ‘Well, when you put it like that!’ Maggie said. ‘It sounds rather tempting.’

  ‘I’m glad you think so, Maggie. And Hamish will be taking part, won’t he?’ Alastair asked, looking for him.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Angus said. ‘I mean, most of us struggle enough to remember our lines when it’s one of your plays, don’t we?’