Victoria Connelly - The Runaway Actress

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.’

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.