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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.
Chapter Seven
Alastair watched in amazement as the red-headed woman stomped off in the direction of Lochnabrae, her trouser legs splattered and stained.
‘What were you thinking of, Bounce?’ he asked, bending down and tickling him behind his sopping head. Bounce looked up at his master with big brown uncomprehending eyes. ‘That is no way to introduce me to a lady! No way at all.’ Bounce rolled onto his back presenting Alastair with a muddy wet belly. ‘I’m not tickling that, mate,’ he said. ‘Come on.’ As soon as Alastair stood back up to full height, Bounce sprang up too, running back into the shallows of the loch and splashing himself all over.
Alastair turned and watched the receding figure of the woman. There’d been something oddly familiar about her but he couldn’t think what. He was quite sure he’d never met her before; he would’ve remembered somebody that rude. But there was a quality about her that he felt sure he recognised. And then it clicked.
‘Connie Gordon!’ he said, causing Bounce to turn and leg it towards him. ‘That’s it! She looks just like Connie Gordon.’
Maggie buzzed around the house like a bluebottle. Connie Gordon. Here in Lochnabrae! Was it because of her letters? Why hadn’t she written to tell her she was coming?
She flung herself into the shower and washed as quickly as she could and then she started to attack her hair. It was far from ideal having to apply a hairdryer to her fleece-like hair but she couldn’t meet Connie Gordon with unwashed hair, could she? And what was she going to wear? She thought of the sorry pairs of jeans in her wardrobe and the tired jumpers full of holes. There was the dress she’d worn to her cousin’s wedding but wouldn’t it be a bit odd to show up wearing that on a mid-week morning in Lochnabrae?
‘It’ll just have to be the cleanest and least holey things I can find,’ she said to herself, hanging her head upside down in an attempt to dry it before Christmas.
It was half an hour later by the time she got to Isla’s.
‘Where is she?’ Maggie said, breathless with excitement.
‘She’s gone,’ Isla said.
‘Gone! What do you mean, gone?’ Maggie looked around in panic.
‘She went out – a walk around the village,’ she said.
Maggie’s eyes widened in horror. ‘And you let her go? You had Connie Gordon here and you let her go?’
‘Well, what was I meant to do?’
‘Keep her here!’ Maggie cried. ‘At least until I got here. Oh, my! She could be anywhere. She might’ve escaped!’
‘Och! You’re getting carried away. She just wanted a breath of fresh air. She wouldn’t just leave. All her stuff’s upstairs.’
‘Stuff ?’
‘Suitcases. Three large ones. Goodness only knows what’s in them.’
Maggie’s mouth dropped open. ‘Can I see?’
‘Well, it’s not usual for me to show people my guest’s rooms,’ Isla said.
‘But it’s not usual for you to have a Hollywood movie star staying here, is it?’
Isla and Maggie’s eyes locked in mutual understanding. ‘Oh, all right then. just keep this between us, for goodness’ sake,’ she said, and the two of them hurried up the stairs together. ‘Did I tell you she touched me?’ Isla said. ‘She actually touched me! I’ll never wash this jumper again.’
‘Come on,’ Maggie said, anxious to get a look at the room before Connie returned.
Just as a formality, Isla knocked on the door. ‘She’s defi-nitely out,’ she said, unlocking the door with her landlady’s key.
‘Let us in then!’ Maggie said excitedly and, once Isla unlocked the door, the two of them entered the room.
Maggie gazed in wonder at the sight that greeted her. The bed had been left unmade and the dressing table was cluttered with all sorts of things: two great bulging make-up bags spilled lipsticks, mascaras and tubes of pale foundation. There were hairbrushes and perfume bottles too. Maggie dared to pick one up. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. The bottle was an elegant teardrop shape in ridged glass that felt fabulous under her fingertips. Gently, she removed the golden stopper and sniffed.
‘It’s like heaven!’ she said, spraying herself in a cloud of Wishes. ‘So this is what a movie star smells like,’ she said to herself, inhaling deeply.
‘Maggie! Put that down! You shouldn’t touch those things.’
But Maggie couldn’t help herself. This was as close as she’d ever been to her idol and she was enjoying every single minute of it.
‘Look at this mirror,’ she said, picking up a silver hand mirror that gleamed in the bright light of the bedroom. ‘Have you ever seen anything like it?’ Maggie turned it over and saw a beautiful ‘C’ had been engraved on the back. ‘Oh!’
‘Maggie!’ Isla suddenly yelled. ‘Look at this!’
Isla had given into temptation and dared to peep inside one of the suitcases. Maggie gasped as she too saw the contents.
‘They’re evening dresses!’ Maggie said.
‘Where does she think she’s going to wear all these around here?’ Isla said, cooing as she touched the silky soft fabric of an ivory-white dress.
‘Would you look at that?’ Maggie said, pulling out a sapphire-blue gown trimmed with sparkling silver beads.
‘Don’t take it out,’ Isla all but screamed.
But Maggie couldn’t possibly leave it in the suitcase. It would be like showing a child a jar of sweets and telling it not to eat them.
The dark blue gown unravelled to the floor as Maggie held it up against her. ‘I LOVE it!’
Isla giggled and pulled out a velvet gown in a sumptuous amethyst. ‘Lordy lord!’ she said.
‘Oh, Isla!’ Maggie said, placing the sapphire-blue gown on the bed and reaching out for the velvet. ‘I remember her wearing this one. It was at a premiere for Keep Me Close. She looked so beautiful – like one of those Pre-Raphaelite women with her hair all loose and curly.’
Soon, the bed was strewn with gowns. Golds, silvers, greens and blues, satins, laces and velvets. Maggie was almost jumping up and down with excitement and both women lost themselves in the moment, surrounded by the kinds of couture they’d only ever glimpsed in magazines.
‘Do you think I could try one on?’ Maggie asked, fingering a lacy gown in emerald-green.
‘Well, I don’t think you should,’ Isla said, trying to be stern.
Maggie’s face fell. To be so close to so many beautiful dresses and not to be allowed to try them on …
‘Oh, go on then!’ Isla suddenly said. ‘Just one!’
