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‘Thank you,’ Connie smiled, wondering what Danny would say to that and wondering what on earth Dundee cake was anyway.
‘And your driver too?’
‘Not for me, thanks all the same,’ he said, struggling with the cases. ‘I’ve to get back and it’s a fair drive.’
A few minutes later, Connie’s cases were all lined up neatly in her room on the first floor at the front of the B&B.
Once back downstairs in the hallway, Connie gave her driver a big tip to thank him for all his patience.
‘You know,’ he said as she walked to the front door with him, ‘there’s something familiar about you.’
‘Really?’ Connie said, still wearing her baseball cap and exaggerating her English accent once again.
‘You’re not on the telly, are you?’ he asked.
Connie laughed nervously. ‘You know, I’m always being asked that. I guess I’ve just got one of those faces,’ she said.
He continued to stare thoughtfully at her a moment longer. ‘Well,’ he said at last, ‘best get back to the city. You have a nice time, lass.’
Connie watched as he left and then closed the door.
‘Now then,’ Isla said, ‘how about that hot chocolate and cake?’
She led Connie through to a room at the back of the guest house. ‘I don’t often get to invite people here,’ she said. Connie smiled as she saw that a fire had been lit and a small table set with cups and plates. ‘I do like a real fire,’ Isla said. ‘It cheers the place up, doesn’t it?’
‘Smells wonderful,’ Connie said, sitting down in an old armchair next to it. ‘Really homely, isn’t it? I’ve never had a real fire. Wouldn’t dare in my house.’
‘Why not?’
‘White carpets!’
‘Ah, well, that’s why we all have these patterned ones,’ Isla said. ‘It’s messy, a real fire, with ash and the like, but I can’t imagine living without one. It’s like a friend that keeps you company each evening.’
Connie watched as Isla bustled around cutting cake. She left the room briefly and came back with two cups of hot chocolate.
‘The best hand warmer in the world,’ Isla said, handing Connie a cup.
‘Thank you,’ Connie said, taking a sip.
‘Why don’t you take that cap off, eh?’ Isla said. ‘You’ll warm through in no time in here.’
Connie was instantly on her guard. She was exhausted and the last thing she wanted was to go through the whole, ‘Yes, I’m really Connie Gordon’ conversation. That would have to wait till the morning when she felt like herself again.
‘Go on, now.’
‘Oh, my hair’s a real mess,’ Connie said. ‘I’d better keep it on.’
Isla shrugged her shoulders. ‘Suit yourself.’
Connie ate her cake and took another sip of her chocolate, hoping she hadn’t offended her landlady. They both watched the fire for a few minutes and Connie soon found that her vision was blurring as the orange flames danced wildly. Her body began to slump and it was soon a real effort to keep her eyes open.
‘Why, you’re practically nodding off there,’ Isla said. ‘And you’re so pale too.’ She leant forward in her chair. ‘Och, and you’ve not been taking care of your skin. It’s as dry as an autumn leaf.’
Connie flinched, a hand flying up to her face. ‘Is it? But I’ve been using face cream every night.’
‘Some cheap, nasty stuff, no doubt. You should try Benet’s Balm. The monks make it. I swear by it, you know. I’ll let you have some of mine.’
‘Right,’ Connie said.
‘Now, get yourself to bed. A good night’s rest will do you the power of good. Come down for breakfast when you’re good and ready. We don’t have a strict timetable here and you’re my only guest so there’s no rush.’
‘Thank you,’ Connie said, feeling mightily relieved that there was no pressure on her.
As she made her way to her room, she thought about all the people she should call. She should tell her PA, Samantha, that she’d arrived safely, and it would be courteous of her to ring her agent too but, when she saw the bed and the deep soft pillows, she thought better of being courteous. It could wait. Everything could wait.
Chapter Six
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.’
