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‘Here we go,’ Maggie said, entering the room. ‘Two teas.’
Connie was sitting at Maggie’s desk, her back to the door.
‘You all right?’ Maggie asked but Connie didn’t answer. Maggie put the two mugs down on the adjacent coffee table and it was then that she saw what Connie was looking at. She’d found the folder.
‘Maggie, what are you doing with all these photographs?’
‘Oh, they’re for the fans.’
‘My fans?’
‘Yes,’ Maggie said, nodding. ‘Well, I don’t get quite as much fan mail as you do.’
Connie didn’t laugh. ‘My fans write to you here?’
‘Yes. The address is on the website – look.’ Maggie woke the computer up and found the relevant page. ‘The fan site’s going from strength to strength. We get so many visitors now and I do my best to keep them coming back with the journal updates.’
Connie began reading the contact page of the website, her face slowly turning to a menacing paleness.
‘You charge for the photographs?’
‘Yes,’ Maggie said. ‘Ten pounds. They’re beautiful – real value for money – ten by eight glossies. Here,’ she said, opening the folder.
‘I’ve seen them.’ Connie said, looking at the screen again. ‘It says here that they’re signed.’
Maggie nodded, biting her lip. She had a feeling she knew what was coming.
Connie turned to face Maggie. ‘Would you mind telling me what’s going on here?’
‘It’s the fan club,’ Maggie said. ‘We send out signed photographs of you to those who ask for them.’
‘But who signs them?’
There was a pause before Maggie answered. ‘Me,’ she said.
Connie’s mouth dropped open. ‘You? You sign the photos – in my name?’
‘Yes,’ Maggie said. ‘I’m very good. Look,’ she said, pulling a piece of paper out from a drawer and signing across it with her big black pen before handing it to Connie, who studied it through narrowed eyes.
‘Good?’ Maggie asked.
Connie looked up. ‘You forge my signature?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t call it forge—’
‘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 row 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.’
