Читать книгу The Runaway Actress - Виктория Коннелли, Victoria Connelly - Страница 11

It wasn’t until the next morning that Isla Stuart realised she had a movie star in her guest house. Connie had woken up just before eight o’clock and couldn’t get back to sleep again. But neither did she want to. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a free morning – a free day. If she wasn’t up for an early morning make-up call on set, she was usually rudely awoken by Danny who would force sit-ups, squats and all manner of muscle-crunching tortures upon her.

‘Not today,’ she said, flinging back her duvet and padding across the carpet to the window. She drew the floral curtains back and gasped – really gasped – at the view that greeted her. So that was the loch of Loch View. She looked out in awe at the huge stretch of silver water and, on the distant shore, the mountains rose up into the sky, perfectly mirrored by the waters beneath them. It was the kind of morning that inspired great thoughts and Connie couldn’t wait to rush out and be a part of it.

She flung herself under the hot shower in the tiny en suite, washed the travel-weary hours out of her hair, put on a dash of make-up and rooted around in one of her suitcases for jeans and a shirt. Was it cold outside? The sun was shining but Connie had a feeling that that was nothing to go by in Scotland. What was it her mother used to tell her? ‘If the midges aren’t biting you, Jack Frost is.’

Finally, she was ready to venture downstairs in search of breakfast.

‘Morning, Isla,’ Connie said cheerily.

‘Oh, my dear, you’re up already,’ Isla said, turning around from the breakfast table in the front room. ‘CONNIE GORDON!’ Isla exclaimed, dropping the slice of toast she’d been buttering as realisation dawned on her.

Connie froze.

‘Oh, my lordy! It’s Connie Gordon, isn’t it?’

Connie nodded, her face flushing with embarrassment.

‘I didn’t think. I mean, when you said you were Miss Gordon on the phone and last night – I didn’t twig! Oh, how silly of me! How rude you must’ve thought me.’

‘No, Isla! Not at all. You gave me such a warm welcome. I couldn’t have asked for a warmer one.’

‘But that’s not the same thing at all. I didn’t know who you were.’

Connie stepped forward and placed a hand on Isla’s arm.

‘Oh!’ Isla exclaimed.

‘You mustn’t treat me any differently from your other guests.’

‘What nonsense!’ Isla said.

‘I mean it,’ Connie said, taking a seat at the table. ‘It’s one of the reasons I came here.’

Isla looked confused. ‘How do you mean?’

‘To escape all that. All that sycophancy!’

‘I’m not sure I know what that means.’

Connie smiled. ‘It means endless flattery. I read it in a script once.’

Isla’s powdered forehead creased. ‘You wanted to escape endless flattery so you came to the headquarters of your fan club? I think you might’ve made a mistake there.’

‘You do?’ she said and then sighed. ‘Oh, dear.’

‘Oh, aye! Everyone loves you here. Well, apart from Angry Angus – so he says – but I have my suspicions. I was walking by his house just last week and happened to see him watching Just Jennifer. He had three cans of lager on his coffee table. He was in it for the long haul,’ Isla said with a smile and a nod.

Connie grinned. ‘I’m sure everyone will be fine,’ she said. ‘Once they realise I’m just a normal person.’

‘But you’re not a normal person. You’re a star – a famous movie star.’

Connie looked across the table at Isla. ‘But I don’t know if that’s really me, all the parties and red carpets. I don’t really know who I am and I’ve come here – away from it all – so I can find out.’

‘Oh, my poor gal! Well, I’m not sure if I can help you finding out who you are but there’s one thing I can do – and that’s make you a big slap-up breakfast fit for a movie star!’

‘Isla!’ Connie protested but it was too late. She’d disappeared into the kitchen at the back of the guest house.

Connie bit her lip. Maybe she had made a big mistake coming here. It had been easy enough to get on a plane and leave Hollywood but it was going to be a lot harder to leave the movie star image behind her.

Maggie was teetering on top of a stool, stacking boxes of porridge on a high shelf when the shop phone rang. She clambered down to answer it.

‘Maggie?’ a voice squealed at the other end.

‘Isla?’

‘She’s here,’ Isla whispered.

‘Who’s here?’

‘She! Her!’ Isla said, her voice high and excitable.

‘Isla, what are you talking about?’

‘Connie. Connie Gordon.’

‘What? On the telly? Am I missing something?’

‘No. Not on the telly. Here. In Lochnabrae. She’s in room number two right now.’

‘No!’ Maggie cried.

‘Yes. I say, yes!’

‘Why didn’t you call me?’

‘I am calling you!’ Isla said, perplexed.

‘I mean, when she arrived?’

‘Well, I didn’t recognise her last night.’

‘What do you mean, you didn’t recognise her? She’s Connie Gordon – one of the world’s most famous actresses.’

‘But she was just a lass wanting a room for the night. And her hair was all scrunched up under a cap. Oh!’ Isla suddenly yelled.

‘What is it?’

‘I told her that her skin was dry. I gave her my pot of Benet’s Balm. She must think I’m so rude.’

‘And she’s with you now?’

‘Aye.’

‘And you’re sure it’s her? You’re sure it’s our Connie and not some lookalike pretending to be her?’

‘No! It’s her!’

‘Oh my God!’ Maggie exclaimed as the realisation dawned on her. ‘It was my letter, wasn’t it? She read my letter!’

‘Maggie – you’ve got to come over here.’

‘Yes,’ Maggie gasped. ‘I’ll come over. MY HAIR!’

‘What?’

‘I’ve got to wash my hair. Oh, why couldn’t you have rung me last night? My hair always goes frizzy when I wash it in the morning.’

‘But I didn’t know last night,’ Isla said.

‘Look, I’ll come over as soon as I can.’

‘Don’t be long,’ Isla said. ‘I don’t know what to say to her. Not after the Benet’s Balm incident. She must think I’m mad.’

Maggie hung up the phone and stood perfectly still for a moment and then she did something she hadn’t done since Jimmy Carstairs had dropped a house spider down the back of her blouse at primary school. She screamed.

There was a road that snaked its way out of Lochnabrae, winding up into the hills and affording anyone who walked that way the very best of views. The whole of the loch was visible from there and the cluster of houses along the main street looked like pearls on a string when viewed from above. In the autumn, the colours were spectacular, the rich reds and golds blazed like jewels, and the air was the purest in the Highlands. That’s why Alastair McInnes had chosen it as his home. He’d spent so much of his life in noisy, dirty rented flats in London but, as soon as he was able, he’d left the city behind him and returned to his roots in the Highlands. It was what writers did, wasn’t it? You found a quiet corner of the world to call your own and the words would flow out of you. Only they weren’t flowing at the moment.

It was only half past nine but Alastair’s eyes were already sore. Perhaps it had something to do with him glaring at his computer screen for half the night and not going to bed much before dawn. He looked at his computer in frustration. He just couldn’t get the heroine right. She wasn’t jumping off the page yet. She wasn’t real.

‘Come on, Bounce!’ he said, and the black Labrador puppy that was snoozing by his feet under his desk leapt up immediately. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

A good hike in the hills was the remedy for many things: a hangover, a decision to be made or a broken relationship but, today, he was hoping it would be a cure for his constipated writing.

Throwing on a tatty wax jacket and shoving on a pair of ancient boots, he opened the front door of the old crofter’s cottage. It was still a bit of a novelty to do such a thing. To open his front door and be able to see the hills and the sky – that was such a treat. For a moment, he remembered his last flat in London and the dark communal hallway that always smelt of rubbish and the litter-strewn street outside where it was impossible to park. No, this was the life for him, he thought. There was no going back and relief filled him at that realisation. Life in London had been difficult for him both professionally and personally and he didn’t want to repeat those experiences ever again.

Shaking thoughts of his past away, he watched as Bounce leapt over the little stream that ran alongside the cottage. Alastair did the same thing only he didn’t double back to drink from it like his dog. The grass was tussocky here and spongy after the rain in the night and made satisfying squelches as he walked.

‘This way, Bounce,’ Alastair called as he took the path down the hill. Bounce removed his head from a clump of bright bracken and then tore down the path, overtaking his master. Alastair laughed as he watched the sleek black streak of dog. That was another thing he’d always wanted but his previous landlords had always insisted on ‘no pets’. He’d had Bounce just a few weeks now but already he couldn’t imagine his life without him. It was good having a dog when you were a writer. They were silent companions. They didn’t interrupt you with speech when your head was already full of words but they were there if you needed to reach out and touch something warm and, of course, Bounce got him away from the dreaded computer at least twice a day. Although Alastair was a great walker anyway and sometimes threw a bit of climbing in for good measure, he had no doubt that his physique wouldn’t be quite as toned if it wasn’t for Bounce. Whole days could fly by when his writing was going well and the world outside his walls was often forgotten.

Yes, he thought, it was good to get out, breathe in some fresh spring air and try to forget about plots, characters and speeches that sounded neither natural nor interesting.

The track led through a wood and then sloped steeply down towards the loch. The rain the night before had made the path slippery but the smell was wonderful. Alastair inhaled deeply, wondering why nobody had invented an aftershave half as good as that. Not that he needed it. He only managed a shave every couple of weeks, preferring a stubbly, low-maintenance complexion. He ran his hands through his dark hair. That could do with some attention too but it was such a hassle driving all the way to Strathcorrie and it wasn’t as if there was a woman in his life to impress. His mother would go spare if she could see him but, luckily, she was in Edinburgh and he could sort himself out before his next visit. She liked the Alastair of a few years ago who’d had a nice wee office job in London with regular hours. The sort of job that required a suit, a tie, a briefcase and a nice neat haircut.

‘And unrelenting boredom,’ Alastair said, causing Bounce to look back at him.

No, his mother had not been impressed when he’d told her he was going to be a full-time writer, even though he’d had numerous plays published and even sold one to a film company.

‘But the money, Alastair! What are you going to live on?’

‘Fresh air and whisky,’ Alastair had joked.

His mother had gasped in horror.

‘I’ve bought a little crofter’s cottage in the Highlands. It’s as cheap as chips. Won’t cost much to run. It’s perfect.’

But it was no good. For his mother, there was no world outside of Edinburgh. The Highlands? That was a place for tourists. People didn’t really live there, did they?

‘Well, I do,’ Alastair said out loud as he walked. ‘I DO!’ he shouted, his voice echoing beautifully as he neared the loch. He loved that about this place. It made him want to run and shout and be foolish. In short, it made him feel young again. Not that he was exactly over the hill but it was a long time since he’d shouted just for the fun of it.

Connie was walking around the loch when she heard a man shouting.

‘I DO!’

She looked around, expecting to see someone, but there was nobody there. How strange, she thought. Was there some sort of wedding ceremony taking place? It would certainly be a stunning location for it but, as far as she could see, she was the only person there. There wasn’t a single soul around – not in the mountains, by the loch nor even across the other side of the water in Lochnabrae. The whole world felt as if it were sleeping.

Connie took a deep breath, luxuriating in air that didn’t smell of traffic. There was such a stillness here. LA was always in such a rush: people rushing to get to work, to lunch, to the gym, to the dentist’s. There hadn’t been any sign of rushing so far in Lochnabrae, Connie thought. It had been like stepping back in time, which was utterly delightful. Although she was slightly perturbed by the obvious lack of shops. There wasn’t a single coffee bar or deli counter. Probably a small price to pay, she thought to herself, for such blissful calm and not a single long lens in sight. She was sure she could get used to it here.

Trying to put aside all thoughts of what she was going to do when she started to crave a skinny latte, Connie found a group of boulders by the sandy shore of the loch and chose one to sit on. She hoped it was clean because she had put aside her jeans and was wearing very expensive pale blue Chanel trousers and a matching jacket in celebration of the sunshine. Perhaps not the best choice for a walk in the Highlands, she admitted. She’d just have to take care.

She was just looking out across the sheeny water when her mobile beeped. Service! She took it out of her pocket. There hadn’t been any service in the village but there seemed to be a signal at this side of the loch and it appeared that Connie had a heap of messages waiting for her. She sighed. She really should have left her mobile at home or at least in the B&B. For a moment, she deliberated throwing it in the loch but her curiosity got the better of her and she took it out of her jacket pocket. The first message was from her agent.

‘Connie! Where the hell are you? Samantha told me some crap about you taking a vacation? Are you out of your mind? You can’t do this to me. Don’t you realise you have commitments here? I need you to come back—’

Connie deleted the message before getting to the end of it. The next one was from Samantha.

‘I’m so sorry to disturb you, Connie, but Bob’s been on the phone constantly. I told him you were away but he won’t believe me. You’ve got to call him.’

Connie deleted it, and several more irate messages from Bob and anxious messages from Samantha.

The final message was from Forrest Greaves.

‘Babe! Where are you? I can’t stop thinking about you. You looked so hot in that dress at the awards. Give me a call. You know you want to.’

‘Oooo! What a slime ball!’ Connie said, switching her mobile off and stuffing it into her pocket. She still couldn’t believe that she’d fallen for his smarmy charm.

Why couldn’t everyone leave her alone? Couldn’t she just have some time and space to call her own? She got up from the boulder and dusted down the bottom of her pristine trousers. She deserved a break, didn’t she? She couldn’t remember the last time she’d taken one. She stormed across the beach towards a nearby wood, feeling her stress level soaring. Why did there have to go and be a mobile signal?

Get rid of it, a little voice inside her said. Go on!

‘Right,’ she said, doing an about-turn and heading back to the loch, reaching in her pocket for the intrusive instrument. Taking a deep breath, she stretched her arm back and then flung it as far as she could into the silvery depths of the loch.

It was then that she heard a strange sound. Turning around, she saw a black dog hurtling towards her, its legs and belly covered in thick brown mud.

‘WOOF! WOOF!’ it barked, its great paws eating up the ground as it hurtled full on into the water.

‘What the?’ Connie stared, watching it as it swam out into the loch.

‘BOUNCE!’ a voice called and Connie turned, seeing a dark-haired man emerging from the woods and striding across the sandy shore towards her. ‘Come here, Bounce!’

Connie watched, spellbound as the dog swam on towards the centre of the loch and, only after the man had called his name again, turned and headed back to the shore.

‘Here, Bounce!’ the man yelled but the dog didn’t seem to be listening to him and, as soon as it emerged from the water, it took a few leaps towards Connie and only then did it shake the loch water from its coat.

Connie screamed as the icy, muddy water cascaded over her, splattering her pale outfit.

‘Oh no!’ she cried. ‘No!’ But the dog didn’t seem to understand. In fact, her response only seemed to excite it more and it began leaping towards her, its puppy paws bouncing off the legs of her trousers until they were more black than blue.

Connie flailed her arms about as she tried to shoo the dog away. She’d only ever worked with well-trained animals on film sets and had no idea how to control such a furry ball of frantic energy.

‘BOUNCE!’ the man yelled, running towards the dog and pulling him away, making the dog sit at a safe distance. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said.

Connie looked up, her eyes full of embarrassed fury. Her cheeks were blazing with shock and humiliation. ‘What … Who … Look at the state of my clothes! I’m a mess! That dog is … is out of control!’

The man’s dark eyebrows drew together. ‘I said I was sorry. I couldn’t stop him in time. He’s just a puppy.’

‘He should be on a lead if you can’t take charge of him,’ Connie snapped.

‘You can’t keep a young dog on a lead.’

‘Well, you should’ve stopped him!’

‘He saw you throw something into the loch. He’s a Labrador. They like to retrieve things. He didn’t mean any harm. He was just doing what comes naturally to him.’

‘I’ve heard that line from men before,’ Connie said, ‘and it’s no excuse for bad behaviour! Just look at my trousers. They’re ruined.’

‘I’ll pay for them to be dry-cleaned,’ the man said.

‘They’re not just dirty. The material’s snagged. They’ve been tugged and clawed—’

‘Look!’ the man said, sounding impatient now, ‘I said I was sorry but if you’re going to wear unsuitable clothes when you go hiking, you’re asking for trouble.’

‘Oh, so it’s my fault now, is it?’

‘I’m just saying, you should be wearing something a little more practical.’

‘And when did I ask for your advice?’ Connie asked, glaring at him and noticing a pair of blindingly blue eyes. She’d never been so embarrassed in her life and hated the thought of this stranger seeing her in such a state. ‘I’ve got to get back,’ she said. ‘Don’t let the dog come near me again!’

Connie pushed past the man and made her way – as dignified as was possible in the circumstances – towards the village in search of a pair of trousers with slightly fewer paw prints on them.