Runaway Actress (13 page)

Alastair laughed. ‘So you are.’

Maggie was watching as Alastair and Connie got the drinks in.

‘They seem to be getting on rather well,’ Hamish said.

Maggie raised her eyebrows. ‘Why shouldn’t they? She’s an actress and he writes plays. They’re bound to have things in common. Why? You jealous?’

Hamish didn’t answer but continued looking towards the bar.

‘You fancy her, don’t you?’ Maggie said, suddenly realising that her brother had gone completely doe-eyed. ‘Look at me and tell me you don’t fancy her!’

Hamish nudged his sister in the ribs. ‘Mags, you’d have to be born backwards and blind not to fancy a woman like her. She’s gorgeous.’

Maggie sighed and, looking around the table, realised that her brother wasn’t the only man whose eyes were fixed on the beauty at the bar. Sandy was practically salivating, which wasn’t a nice trait in a man in his seventies. Even Angry Angus’s eyes were roving over her and he was famous for being incredibly hard to please when it came to the opposite sex. Maggie couldn’t blame them all for staring.

‘She is beautiful,’ she said, watching the way Connie’s glossy red hair moved as she talked animatedly to Alastair. Her face seemed to shine with life. Everything about her was beautiful and shiny: her skin, her eyes, her smile, and Maggie couldn’t help but feel a little plain and dull in comparison.

‘You all right, Sis?’

Maggie looked at Hamish. ‘Yes. I’m fine.’

‘Blimey, I’m a right bloody mess, aren’t I?’

‘Oh, stop fussing. Connie didn’t even notice,’ Maggie told him.

‘No,’ Hamish said. ‘Someone like her wouldn’t ever notice someone like me, would they?’

Maggie sighed and squeezed Hamish’s arm. ‘You mustn’t fall in love with her,’ she said. ‘She’s off limits.’

Hamish frowned at her. ‘Why? She’s not seeing anyone, is she?’

‘Hamish! She’s a movie star.’

‘So?’

‘And you’re a – a—’

‘What? Say it, Maggie! What am I? A lowly mechanic? You think she won’t look at me because I fix cars? Because I don’t own a mansion with a pool? Well, maybe she’s not as shallow as that. Maybe she’s come here to look for a real man – not one of them plastic models you get in Hollywood.’

Hamish got up and pushed his way around the table.

‘Hamish!’ Maggie called after him but he was out of the pub before she could stop him.

‘What’s the matter with him?’ Angus barked.

‘Nothing,’ Maggie said but she couldn’t help feeling anxious for her brother because she knew how much unrequited love could hurt and she wouldn’t wish that pain on anybody.

Alastair and Connie returned to their seats having distributed all the drinks, and Alastair thought that it was time for his announcement. He’d been thinking about it for the last couple of weeks and felt quite sure he was right. He was the unofficial director of the LADS and, as such, usually got to choose the plays that were performed. For many years now, his own had been chosen but Alastair was rather tired of his own work and wanted to do something different – something that would wake both him and the LADS up.

He thought of the ridicule that had been poured upon him when some of his theatre cronies had found out what he was doing.

‘You’re leaving the West End for where? Lochnabrae Village Hall?’ Laurence Adams of The Countess Theatre had scorned. ‘You’re pulling my leg, right? I just can’t understand why you’re giving up directing in London.’

Yes, everyone had laughed. Alastair was obviously losing his grip even to contemplate such a thing but he didn’t see it as that at all. As well as finding the peace he so desperately needed to create his work, he found working within a small community deeply rewarding and directing them in their annual play was always a pleasure. Okay, so they weren’t professional actors but hadn’t he had enough of them? The people of Lochnabrae were raw, they were deeply aggravating at times, especially when they put their favourite soap opera before rehearsals, but they were honest and true. They told him if his dialogue was crap. They let him know if his characters were wooden and unrealistic. You always got the truth out of them and that was rather refreshing. He’d even been inspired to write some really great new plays for them and had tried them out on his new friends before honing his material and sending it to his London agent.

‘Right, everyone,’ he said. ‘I think it’s time for some LADS business. Connie – you’ve heard about LADS? The Lochnabrae Amateur Dramatics Society?’

Connie nodded.

‘Well, it’s that time of year when we start to think about the Christmas play,’ Alastair said, ‘and I thought it might be a good idea if we had a change of direction this year.’

‘What do you mean?’ Sandy asked.

‘I mean that I’m not going to write the play for this year.’

‘Why not?’ Maggie asked.

‘Well,’ Alastair said, scratching his jaw, ‘I haven’t got one for a start. And I think we need to branch out – challenge ourselves a bit. All actors need to do that, don’t they, Connie?’

‘Oh, well, yes,’ Connie said.

‘That’s why you should do a western,’ Angus said.

‘Angus!’ Maggie said in warning, raising a finger lest he should start up again.

‘So,’ Alastair continued, ‘I was thinking about Shakespeare.’

‘Shackspeare?’ Sandy guffawed.

‘Yes. Shakespeare. In the whole history of the LADS, not one Shakespeare play has been performed,’ Alastair said.

‘And with good reason,’ Sandy said. ‘They’re boring.’

‘We do Shakespeare all the time at school,’ Kirsty complained.

‘
All
the time,’ Catriona agreed.

‘Then you’ll be experts,’ Alastair said. ‘We’ll be needing your expertise.’

‘You’re pulling our legs,’ Mrs Wallace said. ‘Shakespeare’s not for around these parts.’

‘Why not?’ Alastair asked.

‘Well, it’s the language,’ Mrs Wallace said. ‘It’s all
thous
and
thees
and
thines
.’

‘That’s right,’ Alastair said. ‘I can see we’ve got another expert.’

Mrs Wallace’s bosom quivered with pleasure at the compliment but the others around the table weren’t looking convinced.

‘Look,’ Alastair said, ‘it’s nothing to worry about. Sure, it’ll be a challenge but where’s the joy in something if it’s easy?’

‘I like easy,’ Angus said. ‘Easy always works for me.’

‘Maggie?’ Alastair said. ‘What do you think?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I never really got on with Shakespeare at school.’

‘But this isn’t school. You won’t be reading around the classroom in that god-awful way teachers force upon you. You won’t have to write essays about it. You’ll just be enjoying telling a story. So it’ll be a four-hundred-year-old story – so what? It’s stood the test of time – that’s the thing with Shakespeare. He’s special. He knew what was important: love, ambition, family, faith and he wrote about them with passion and great humour too, using the most beautiful language in the world. It’s a language we should celebrate and we can’t really call ourselves actors until we’ve done just that.’

When Alastair finished, a strange silence fell upon The Capercaillie.

‘Well, when you put it like that!’ Maggie said. ‘It sounds rather tempting.’

‘I’m glad you think so, Maggie. And Hamish will be taking part, won’t he?’ Alastair asked, looking for him.

‘I’m not sure,’ Angus said. ‘I mean, most of us struggle enough to remember our lines when it’s one of your plays, don’t we?’

Alastair nodded. ‘I know you think it’ll be difficult but that’s part of the challenge actors must face.’

‘But we’re not really actors, now, are we Alastair?’ Sandy said.

‘Humph! Speak for yourself,’ Mrs Wallace said.

‘But we’re not!’ Sandy insisted. ‘I can’t remember me own telephone number some days let alone a speech by Shackspeare.’

‘Then we’ll ease you in gradually,’ Alastair said. ‘I’m not going to give you Hamlet’s soliloquies, for goodness’ sake. I thought we could do
Twelfth Night
. It’s a comedy.’

‘Is it funny, then?’ Angus asked.

‘It’s a comedy, Angus,’ Alastair repeated.

‘I know but some of that so-called comedy don’t work now, does it? What them ancient folk thought was funny might not be funny today.’

‘It’s funny, Angus – believe me. It’s got girls dressing up as boys and girls falling in love with the boys who are really girls. It’s got mistaken identity and one of the best revenge plots ever.’

‘It sounds perverted to me,’ Mrs Wallace said. ‘Can’t we do a nice farce?’

‘Oh, gawd blimey no!’ Angus said, ‘All them slamming doors and fainting women!’

‘Or one of those nice Gilbert and Sullivan plays?’ Mrs Wallace suggested.

‘With singing?’ Alastair said. ‘Are you sure that’s wise?’ he said, looking around the table at the LADS present.

‘Well, maybe you’re right,’ Mrs Wallace said. ‘But
I’ve
got a very good voice, I’ll have you know.’

‘Aye,’ Sandy said, ‘a fine pair of lungs, I’ll warrant ye.’ His eyes, which were starting to blur with one Scotch too many, gaped at Mrs Wallace’s impressive chest.

‘So, what do you all think? Are we on for giving Shakespeare a go?’ Alastair asked.

Nobody answered for a moment.

‘I am,’ Maggie said.

‘Good gal, Maggie!’ Alastair said. ‘I knew I could count on you.’

‘And me,’ Kirsty said. ‘Me and Catriona are in too.’

‘Anyone else? I know this is a play where lasses dress as lads but it would be nice to have one or two
real
lads involved.’

‘Well then,’ Sandy said, ‘I dare say I could give it a go.’

‘Excellent! And Angus? What do you say?’

Angus cleared his throat. ‘I say I’ll do it as long as I’m not one of them cross-dressers.’

‘You have my word for it,’ Alastair said. ‘Mrs Wallace, now you’ll take a part, won’t you? You know how I always value your work as an actress.’

Sandy spluttered into his tumbler but Mrs Wallace chose to ignore him. ‘I will bring my own special magic to the Bard,’ she said.

‘I know you will,’ Alastair said. ‘And Euan?’

Everyone turned to face Euan Kennedy who’d barely said a word since the arrival of Connie Gordon.

‘Aye,’ he said softly and slowly. ‘I’ll play a part.’

Alastair rubbed his hands. ‘And Hamish too and Isla. Where’s Isla tonight?’

‘Oh, she’s over in Strathcorrie at Mrs Patterson’s,’ Maggie said. ‘But I’m sure she’ll want to be involved.’

‘Great,’ Alastair said. ‘Well, if you can think of anyone else who’d like to be involved – on- or off-stage – let me know. We can always use more people.’

At that, Sandy cleared his throat.

‘What?’ Alastair asked.

Sandy nodded towards the head of the table and everyone turned to look at Connie who was sitting there, examining her beer mat as if she’d never seen one before in her life.

‘Connie!’ Angus all but shouted.

‘What?’ Connie shouted back, shocked into sudden alertness.

‘Connie should have a part too!’ Maggie said, following the train of thought. ‘Oh, you will, won’t you, Connie?’

Connie looked completely gobsmacked by the very idea. ‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly.’

‘Why not?’ Sandy asked.

‘Oh, say yes!’ Catriona said. ‘It would be amazing. A real Hollywood actress in our play!’

‘But I don’t know how long I’m staying,’ Connie said.

‘That doesn’t matter, does it? Tell her, Alastair! She
has
to have a part,’ Maggie insisted.

‘Now, don’t go putting pressure on Connie. She’s got her own roles to worry about,’ Alastair said and there was an anxious expression on his face that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

‘Go on, Connie, lass!’ Sandy said.

‘Aye,’ Angus said. ‘If you’re not going to make a western, the least you can do is be in our play.’

‘Even if it’s just for a wee while,’ Maggie said.

‘Go on!’ Kirsty said. ‘Please!’

‘Yes,
please
,’ Catriona echoed and, suddenly, the whole bar was full of ‘go ons’ and ‘pleases’.

‘ALL RIGHT!’ Connie suddenly blurted. ‘Enough already! I’ll be in your play.’

A huge cheer went up in The Capercaillie followed by an ear-splitting whistle from Angus. Everybody was beaming. Connie Gordon – movie star – was going to be in their play. They couldn’t have been happier.

Only Alastair and Connie didn’t look happy with the arrangement. They both sat in stunned silence, a look of doom hovering over their faces as the rest of the pub went mad with elation.

Maggie wasn’t as elated as she should have been by Connie’s acceptance of a role in the forthcoming LADS play. Such news would normally have had her reeling for joy but she had something else on her mind that evening: Michael Shire. Where was he? Maggie looked at her watch. It was half past nine and there was no sign of him. Maybe he wasn’t coming or maybe he’d met up with Hamish at the flat.

Everybody at the table was chatting away. Maggie looked at them. They all looked happy and contented. Even Connie was looking relaxed now and was leaning forward on her stool, nodding and smiling with Kirsty and Catriona. But Maggie didn’t feel like smiling. At least, she didn’t until the door of The Capercaillie opened and in walked Michael Shire.

Maggie gasped. He was just as she remembered him: tall, broad shoulders encased in his leather biker’s jacket, and shoulder-length black hair that curled in such a way that made Maggie’s fingers itch to twirl it.

Euan was the first – or rather second – to spot him. ‘Michael!’ he called. ‘Get yerself a drink and join us.’

Mikey nodded, casting his eyes around the table. Maggie caught them and smiled, her face heating up like a furnace.

‘Are you all right, our Maggie?’ he asked.

She nodded.

‘I’ve got something I want to ask you later,’ he said with a wink and then walked across to the bar.

Maggie’s heart fluttered like a caged bird’s. He wanted to talk to her. He had something to ask her. Perhaps he’d come to his senses at long last. He’d travelled the world and had come back to their little corner of Scotland because he had realised that Maggie was the only woman he wanted. He’d take her hand and lead her out of The Capercaillie into the velvet-soft night. ‘Maggie, my Maggie!’ he’d whisper, the stubble on his face brushing against her cheek. ‘I’ve waited so long to tell you. I came as quickly as I could. My darling Maggie. How I’ve longed for this mo—’