Runaway Actress (24 page)

Isla stared at Connie, trying to discern what she meant. ‘You mean you’re thinking of giving up acting?’ Isla suddenly blurted.

‘Shush!’ Connie hushed. ‘He’ll hear you.’

‘But you can’t give up acting!’

Connie looked up at Isla. ‘Why not?’

‘Because you’re Connie Gordon!’

‘People keep saying that! I wish I knew what it meant.’

‘It means you’re an actress,’ Isla said. ‘The best there is.’

‘But I might be other things too,’ Connie said.

‘Like what?’ Isla asked.

‘Like – I don’t know but that’s what I’m trying to find out. Please don’t say anything to anyone, will you?’ Connie said.

Isla rested a hand on her shoulder. ‘Of course I won’t, my dear.’

‘You see, Bob doesn’t know yet although I think he has an inkling which is why he’s here.’

‘We could always lock him in his room until you’ve decided what to do,’ Isla said with a wink.

Connie laughed. ‘As much as I like the sound of that, I think I’d better try and sort things out as quickly as possible.’

‘Do you think he’ll stay long?’

‘No,’ Connie said. ‘If I know Bob, he’ll be out of here first thing tomorrow.’

‘Good riddance,’ Isla said.

‘But I’m not looking forward to the time between now and then.’

‘Maybe I should come with you tonight,’ Isla said.

Connie shook her head. ‘Thanks, Isla but I think I’d better face him alone.’

Twenty minutes later and Connie was standing in Bob’s room as he was fastening a pair of flashy gold cufflinks.

‘Are we going out for this meal or what?’ he asked impatiently.

‘I’m ready,’ Connie said.

‘You’re going out like that?’ Bob asked, turning around.

‘Sure. Why not?’

Bob peered at her closely. ‘You look different. Unwell.’

‘I haven’t got make-up on. That’s all. It’s no big deal, is it?’

‘No make-up? You’re going out and you’re not wearing make-up?’

‘I’m meant to be on holiday,’ Connie said, shrugging.

‘But you always wear make-up.’

‘So I’m having a change. I’m letting my skin breathe!’

Bob looked startled. ‘And what’s that smell?’

‘What smell?’

Bob sniffed, his sharp nose moving unnervingly close to Connie’s face. ‘Is that you?’

‘It’s my face cream. Benet’s Balm. The monks make it. It’s very nourishing.’

Bob shook his head in disgust. ‘And you need a haircut.’

Connie tutted. ‘I do not. It’s just that I haven’t blow-dried it this evening. I’m giving it a break. Skin, hair, me.
Everything
needs a break, Bob, so get used to it.’

He glared at her for a moment and she felt sure that he was on the verge of saying something quite horrible but he seemed to change his mind, grabbing his room key and leaving instead. What had happened to their relationship, she wondered? He hadn’t always been so antagonistic. When she’d first signed with him, he’d been positively pleasant but maybe that was just to gain her business. One thing was for sure now – she didn’t trust him.

They left the bed and breakfast just after eight. The sky was beginning to darken and there was a stillness that made Connie feel wonderfully serene.

‘Wait till you see the stars, Bob. They’re amazing. The sky’s stuffed with them.’

Bob grunted. ‘You’re the only star I want to see,’ he said. ‘You and my other clients who I left to come and find you in this hell hole.’

Connie rolled her eyes. This, she thought, was going to be a dreadful evening.

The Capercaillie was packed with everyone who’d been on the hike and more besides. Pints were being downed at an alarming rate and everyone raised their glasses when Connie entered.

‘Connie!’ Maggie shouted across the room. ‘I’ve kept you a seat,’ she said, patting the bench beside her.

‘I’ll join you later,’ Connie shouted back and then motioned to Bob who was making his way to the bar. Maggie nodded in acknowledgement. When Connie joined Bob, he was scrutinising the menu from behind his glasses. ‘What’s this meat pie like?’

‘I don’t know,’ Connie said. ‘Good, I expect. All the food’s wonderful.’

‘And loaded with cholesterol, no doubt.’

‘God! Will you relax for one moment?’ Connie snapped.

He looked up at her in alarm. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ he asked.

‘Me? Nothing! It’s you who’s uptight.’

Bob looked dumbfounded. He’d never been spoken to like that before by a client, Connie realised.

‘This foreign air’s affecting you,’ he said, his eyes returning to the menu. ‘Perhaps I should just have the salad.’

‘Have the pie, Bob. Live dangerously.’

‘No,’ he said, snapping the menu shut. ‘Salad for me. No dressing.’

‘I’m having the pie,’ Connie told Fraser. ‘With chips, please.’

Fraser nodded and grinned.

‘Chips?’ Bob said.

‘Fries.’

‘I know what they are. I don’t need a translation.’

‘Then what’s the problem?’ Connie asked.

Bob removed his glasses and pinched his nose. ‘That’s what I’m trying to find out,’ he said.

‘Don’t you think we should go and join her?’ Maggie asked Hamish. ‘She looks really stressed out.’

‘He doesn’t look as if he’s in the mood for conversation,’ Hamish said. ‘Not with us, anyway.’

‘Best leave them to it for a bit,’ Alastair said, taking a swig from his pint.

‘What do you think he wants?’ Maggie asked.

‘Probably come to take her back with him,’ Alastair said, turning to look at Connie and Bob.

It was the answer Maggie had been dreading. She’d been hoping against hope that Bob might have some news for Connie that simply couldn’t be imparted by phone and that he’d be gone the next day and Connie would stay for ever and ever.

‘So she’s really going, is she?’ Sandy asked from the end of the table.

‘Looks that way,’ Alastair said.

‘I thought she was going to be in our play,’ Sandy said.

‘Aye,’ Alastair said. ‘Just as well we didn’t make a start then, isn’t it?’

‘I’m going to miss her,’ Kirsty said from the other end of the table.

‘Me too,’ Catriona said and the two of them gazed over at Connie.

‘It won’t be the same without her,’ Kirsty said.

‘No,’ Catriona said. ‘Everything will just go back to being boring.’

Maggie sighed. It was absolutely no comfort that she wasn’t the only one who was going to miss Connie.

Connie was halfway through her pie and chips, wondering why she’d never eaten proper food before in her life when it was so delicious. She could scream when she thought about the years that she had starved herself, the appalling diets she had been on and how listless and miserable they’d made her feel when, all the time, there was wonderful, home-cooked food out there just begging to be eaten and enjoyed.

She was just wondering if she could get the pie recipe from the pub landlord when Bob Braskett started in earnest.

‘I’ve flown across the Atlantic to bring you home – back to where you belong, Connie.’

At first, Connie didn’t say anything.

‘I’m a busy man but I’ve made time for you because you’re special to me.’

Connie almost choked on a chip. It was the closest Bob had ever got to saying anything remotely kind to her.

‘Really?’ she said, thinking it would be fun to milk this for all it was worth.

Bob looked suddenly bashful. ‘Of course you are. You’re my best client.’

‘I bet you say that to all your clients,’ Connie said.

‘I do but, in this case, I mean it.’

‘And I bet you say that to them all too.’

Bob put his knife and fork down and steepled his fingers together.

‘It’s time to come home with me, Connie. We can’t afford to have you a missing person any longer.’

Connie sighed. That’s what it all came down to, of course – money. She was a commodity and, when Bob said that she was his best client he meant that she was his best earner.

‘There’s a problem with that, I’m afraid,’ Connie said, knowing that now was the time to be absolutely honest with him.

‘Problem? What problem?’

Connie looked at him, her bright hazel eyes seeking his out. ‘I’m not sure I know where home is any more.’

Bob paused for a minute before speaking. His high forehead was wearing a frown of Grand Canyon proportions. ‘What? What did you say?’

‘I said I’m not sure where home is any more,’ Connie said again, slowly and clearly.

‘I don’t understand. What do you mean?’

‘What do you mean,
what do I mean?
I don’t know how else to put it,’ Connie said.

‘Wait a minute,’ Bob said, raising a hand and closing his eyes. ‘Let me get this straight. You’re unsure about something.’

‘Yes,’ Connie said. ‘To be honest – and I want to be honest with you – I’m unsure about a lot of things just now.’

‘Okay,’ Bob said calmly.

Connie pushed her plate to one side and started to twist her fingers in her lap. He was listening to her, wasn’t he? He was really trying to understand her. It was no less than she should have expected from her agent but, coming from Bob Braskett, this sort of understanding was nothing short of miraculous.

For a moment, neither spoke. Bob still had his eyes closed as if he was searching for the answer to some ancient mystery.

‘Bob—’ Connie began.

‘I’ve got it!’ he said, his eyes springing open.

‘Got what?’ Connie asked.

‘What it is you want,’ Bob declared smugly. ‘More money, right? I can get you more money.’

‘No,’ Connie said, and she could feel herself deflating with disappointment. She’d sincerely believed that Bob was trying to understand her. ‘I don’t want more money. I’ve got more than I know what to do with in one lifetime.’

Bob looked a little crestfallen that he wasn’t right. ‘Well, why not enjoy it?’ he said, determining to take control of things again. ‘Buy yourself an island in the Caribbean – that’s the latest craze. Or a fancy yacht or an airplane. Everyone deserves a treat.’

‘I don’t want a treat,’ Connie said. Even to her own ears, she was beginning to sound like a petulant child. ‘You don’t understand. Even
I
don’t understand what I want.’

‘Oh, gawd!’ Bob suddenly exclaimed. ‘You don’t want a baby, do you?’

Connie looked at him with bemusement. ‘Who said anything about a baby?’

‘Please don’t tell me you’re pregnant,’ Bob said. ‘Or – worse – going to adopt some little foreign kid with jaundice.’

‘Bob! What a thing to say.’

‘Because all the stars are doing it and it means their work suffers. I’ve seen it over and over again. The kid always comes first.’

‘That’s the most outrageous thing you’ve ever said,’ Connie told him, ‘and you’ve said some pretty appalling things in your time.’

‘So you’re not adopting a kid?’

‘No, I’m not adopting a kid.’

‘Thank Christ for that.’

‘I’m getting a drink,’ Connie said with a sigh, scraping her chair back. ‘Do you want one?’

Bob shook his head and Connie made her way to the bar, her head throbbing. A drink was the last thing she needed when she was feeling the way she was but it was the only thing that was going to get her through this dire evening.

As the others chatted on their table, Alastair was surreptitiously watching Connie and Bob. Things weren’t looking good between them. Connie looked pale and anxious and Bob looked red and angry. It was sad to witness. They were so obviously two people who wanted different things out of their business relationship.

Alastair thought about the Connie he’d seen up on the hills that day. She’d been laughing, smiling and chatting. Her face had glowed the most gorgeous pink and her eyes had been beautifully bright. Yet here she was looking like a doll whose stuffing had been ripped out of her. It was taking all his willpower not to get up and walk over there but what could he possibly say? He had no business over there. He wasn’t a part of their world and, even if he did think of something to say, they wouldn’t listen to him. This, he knew, was Connie’s decision and he had to trust her to make the right one.

Still, he couldn’t help thinking of that moment when their hands had touched at the stile and how easy it would be for him to cross the pub and take her hand in his now and run back up into the hills with her until she was laughing again.

I must not fall in love with this woman
, he told himself.
She’s an actress and I’ve sworn off actresses. They’re bad news. Just remember what happened last time. And a Hollywood superstar would be far worse than any stage actress.

‘Alastair?’ Maggie’s voice suddenly broke into his thoughts.

‘Yep?’ he said, shaking the Cathy and Heathcliff image of himself and Connie from out of his mind.

‘You okay?’

‘’Course,’ he said, dragging his eyes away from Connie.

‘What do you think’s going on over there?’ Maggie asked as Connie scraped her chair back and stalked over to the bar.

‘Well, it doesn’t look like a nice cosy chat, now, does it?’

‘I’m going to go over there,’ Maggie said.

‘No,’ Alastair told her, placing his hand on hers.

‘But that man’s going to take Connie away, I just know it.’

‘That might be so but you’ve no business to interfere.’

‘But I’m her friend,’ Maggie said.

Alastair took a swig from his glass. ‘Maggie,’ he said quietly, ‘we’ve got to let Connie go.’

Maggie’s face crumpled. ‘Don’t say that.’

‘She was only ever visiting – you must realise that,’ Alastair said.

‘She’s happy here,’ Maggie said. ‘She told me so and I’ve seen the change in her. You have too. And you like her, don’t you? I know you do.’

‘Aye,’ Alastair said. ‘I can’t deny that but we can’t keep her here. This isn’t where she belongs.’

‘How can you be so sure?’ Maggie demanded.

‘Because I know actresses,’ Alastair said, ‘and they don’t live in places like Lochnabrae.’

‘Why not?’

‘They just don’t. Oh, they might think that’s what they want for a while. They might take a holiday or even buy a cottage in the middle of nowhere and play housekeeper for a while – I’ve seen it before – but it’s a role that doesn’t fit. Sooner or later – and it’s usually sooner – they crave the bright lights and the adulation of an audience and head back.’