Victoria Connelly - The Runaway Actress

The front door of Loch View suddenly opened, breaking into Connie’s thoughts.

‘Ms Gordon, is it?’ the elderly lady greeted her. ‘I’m Isla Stuart.’ She had a sweet face completely caked in white face powder and her cheeks were two perfect circles of scarlet. ‘I’ve been waiting up for you.’

‘Oh, I’m not too late, am I?’

‘Och, no! But I do tend to nod off in the evenings if there isn’t someone to take care of. Now, I expect you’ll be ready for a cup of hot chocolate and a wee slice of Dundee cake?’

‘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.

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.