Alastair nodded, hoping that his expression of panic was hidden by the darkness. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I remember.’
‘Come on, then. Get this door open. I’ve been stood out here for ages. It’s a wonder I’ve not frozen completely.’
‘But it’s open – didn’t you try it? I never lock it.’
‘You’re kidding me?’ She rolled her eyes in horror as Alastair opened the door for her without the aid of a key.
‘Don’t you have an outside light? It was really spooky standing out here all alone.’
‘No, I don’t,’ he said. ‘And it’s not spooky. It’s serene.’
‘Trust me – it’s spooky.’
‘How did you get here?’
‘Taxi from the airport.’
‘You flew from London?’
‘Well, I wasn’t going to drive all the way to the back of beyond, was I?’
He switched a couple of lamps on in the front room and took his coat off before stabbing at the fire, which was now looking very sorry for itself. Bounce rolled in the middle of the floor, waving his fat paws in the air before hurtling across the room to his basket where he turned around precisely three times before settling down for a good night’s sleep.
‘This is all very quaint,’ Sara said, stroking her short blonde hair, which had been hidden under a hat that was designed as a fashion statement rather than anything to keep a head remotely warm. ‘It’s all so small.’
‘No smaller than the flat in London,’ Alastair said, feeling as if he had to defend his little cottage against this interloper from the city.
‘No, I suppose not.’
‘And you didn’t get a view like the one I now have in London.’
‘I didn’t see the view – it was dark when I arrived.’
‘Did you see the stars?’ Alastair asked.
She shook her head. ‘No. I was texting you, trying to find out where the hell you were.’
‘I was in the village.’
‘Ah, yes. I drove through it on the way up here. There’s not much to it, is there?’
‘There’s enough.’
‘Enough for you and your new life, you mean?’
‘I’m happy here, Sara,’ he said. They stared at one another for a moment, both wondering what would come next. ‘Listen,’ Alastair said at last, ‘take your coat off and I’ll make us some tea.’
‘Aren’t you going to bring my suitcase in?’
Alastair’s eyebrows rose. ‘Right.’ He opened the front door and saw the suitcase parked in the shadows. It wasn’t exactly a modest overnight bag – more along the lines of a piece of luggage you might take on a fortnight’s luxury cruise and that knowledge panicked Alastair. What exactly was Sara doing here and how long was she planning on staying? They hadn’t been in touch with each other since …
He shook his head. He didn’t want to think about it. Couldn’t let himself think about it and yet her very presence brought all those memories crashing to the forefront of his mind, and he knew there was no getting away from them. He thought he’d done a pretty good job of running away from things when he’d found his modest little home in Lochnabrae but he was beginning to realise that you can never really run away from the past. It will hunt you down and make you face it sooner or later.
As he dragged the unwieldy case into the living room, he noticed that Sara had made herself comfortable on his sofa.
‘How did you know where I was?’ he asked and then realised how rude that had sounded.
‘Jeff gave me your address.’
Alastair secretly seethed at the traitorous friend. Jeff was Sara’s brother and, when they’d broken up, Alastair had kept in touch with Jeff just to make sure that Sara was okay but there’d been an unwritten subtext that his details wouldn’t ever be passed on to Sara. But then he remembered what Sara had been through and guilt flooded him.
‘How are you?’ he asked, noticing that her skin was snowdrop-white, almost transparent.
She gave him a little smile that reminded him of how fragile she was. ‘I’m well,’ she said. ‘Much better.’
He nodded. ‘Good. I was worried about you.’
‘I know you were and I’m so sorry for what I put you through. I can never forgive myself—’
Alastair’s hand rose in the air. ‘You don’t need to say anything.’
‘But I do.’ She sat forward on the sofa. ‘I wanted to try and explain—’
‘Please. Not tonight, Sara.’
She swallowed and he saw the familiar look of uncertainty pass over her face and it made his heart plummet with fear.
‘I’ll make that tea,’ he said. ‘Okay?’
She nodded.
‘Good.’
In the tiny sanctuary of the kitchen, he stared out of the window at the big black space beyond and wished that it would suck him out and split him into a million tiny pieces.
Don’t be so crass, he told himself, switching the kettle on and trying to find two unchipped mugs in the cupboard. You were in love with her once. Remember? He nodded his head at his reflection in the window. So stop thinking about yourself for five minutes and be kind to her – it’s the least she deserves.
He made the tea and returned to the living room, handing her a cup.
‘Thanks,’ she said, patting the seat next to her.
‘I’ll just get the fire going,’ Alastair said, reaching into the log basket and chucking a couple of logs into place. He could feel Sara’s eyes upon him as he stoked the fire into life and he delayed turning around to meet her gaze.
‘Alastair,’ she said at last, ‘come and sit down. I want to talk to you.’
He did as he was told, an awful feeling of inevitability draining him of all energy.
‘I know you don’t want to talk about it but I never got a chance to thank you,’ she said, her voice barely audible. He took a sip of his tea but didn’t say anything. ‘What I did – what I put you through – I can’t begin to imagine what you suffered.’
‘You don’t need to do this, Sara.’
‘Yes – yes, I do! Because you left before I could explain. You didn’t give me a chance and that wasn’t fair, Alastair!’
Alastair closed his eyes. ‘Listen,’ he said, ‘It’s not that I think we shouldn’t talk about this – we probably should – but it’s been a long day and I’m exhausted. I wasn’t expecting this tonight.’
There was a moment of silence when the only sound audible was the crackle of kindling from the fireplace.
‘You don’t want me here, do you?’ Sara asked, her voice suddenly becoming louder.
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘You don’t need to – it’s written all over your face.’
He took a deep breath – the sort he remembered taking a lot of when he lived with Sara. ‘Let’s not fight. Please. I don’t want to fight. Not again.’
There was an icy silence.
‘Okay,’ she said a moment later, ‘we’ll talk in the morning.’ She stood up, placing her half-finished tea on the table in front of her. It was then that something caught her eye. ‘You’re writing again?’ She picked up the notepad from the table.
‘Trying to.’
‘A play?’
‘No,’ he said abruptly, causing her to flinch. ‘Sorry,’ he added quickly. ‘I’m not sure what it is. It’s a bloody mess – that’s all I know at the moment.’
‘I’m sure it’s brilliant,’ Sara said and her voice was warm and gentle now, reminding Alastair of the early days when they had first met, before things had become so restless and strained. She waited a moment, looking as if she was hoping he’d say something but he remained resolutely silent. ‘Look, I’d better go to bed,’ she said at last.
Alastair nodded and then he realised what she was saying. ‘You’re staying here?’
‘Well, of course I’m staying here!’
‘I mean there’s no room.’
‘You’ve got a double bed, haven’t you?’
&nb
sp; ‘Yes, of course.’
‘Well, then …’
For a moment, Alastair thought of suggesting Isla’s bed and breakfast but Connie was staying there and he really didn’t want Connie and Sara meeting. Sara represented his old life whilst Connie represented … what, exactly? He wasn’t yet sure but he knew that he didn’t want to jeopardise it; he didn’t want the worlds of his past and possible future colliding.
‘I’ll sleep on the sofa,’ he said at last.
‘Oh, don’t be silly, Alastair. We shared a bed for three years.’
‘Yes, but not any more.’ Their eyes met and Sara seemed to understand him at last.
‘Look, we’ll talk in the morning, okay?’ he said. She nodded and he thought he could see tears in her eyes. Please don’t cry, he thought. Just let us get through tonight without incident.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Connie silently cursed herself for having believed Hamish as Alastair ran his hands through his hair and paced up and down the stage. They’d been rehearsing for over a week now and the honeymoon period was well and truly over.
‘Maggie, you’ve got just the right amount of coyness in this scene but, for goodness’ sake, keep still,’ Alastair told her. ‘Don’t keep roaming around the stage like a nervous animal. Olivia’s more in control of herself than that.’
‘Sorry, Alastair,’ Maggie said.
‘And Connie. You’re meant to be having fun with this scene. The “Make me a willow cabin at your gate” speech is light-hearted. This is Viola imagining herself in love and, when she cries out Olivia’s name, she really is crying out. Don’t just whisper it. Shout it!’ Alastair shouted.
Connie flinched. She wasn’t used to being shouted at and she hadn’t known that Alastair was a shouter either. Up until now, she’d only seen the sweet mountain-striding dog owner who took care of weeping women he found by the side of lochs but the Alastair she was witnessing now was a far cry from that incarnation.
She watched as he paced to the end of the hall, his teeth gridlocked as the rest of the cast looked on in astonishment. Alastair’s shouted at Connie, their faces seemed to say. This was better theatre than anything Shakespeare could have written.
‘Again!’ he bellowed from the back of the hall.
And Connie’s torture began all over again. And again. And again.
‘Right,’ Alastair said at last after the sixth attempt to get the scene right. ‘That’ll have to do for tonight. We’ll move on to scene three after a tea break,’ he announced and Connie watched in relief as he disappeared below the stage.
‘I have never ever met a ruder director,’ Connie told Maggie. ‘Well, I have, but I was being paid an obscene amount of money to work with him.’
‘I guess that would make a bit of a difference,’ Maggie said.
‘We’ve only had a few rehearsals and he expects us to be perfect.’
‘Aye,’ Maggie said. ‘He does.’
‘I thought he liked me,’ Connie said. ‘I thought—’ She stopped.
‘Thought what?’ Maggie said.
‘Oh, nothing!’
‘He does like you!’
‘Then why’s he treating me like this?’
‘Because he’s a sod,’ Maggie said. ‘Once a year, when he turns to his role as a director, Alastair McInnes becomes a sod.’ Maggie sighed. ‘But I’ve never seen him as bad as this before. I wonder what’s wrong with him.’
‘He’s not talking to you like he talks to me,’ Connie said. ‘And the looks he’s been giving me! I’m not going to take much more of this, Maggie. I’m warning you. And it’s freezing in here,’ she added with a theatrical shiver.
‘Alastair doesn’t allow us to put the heating on until the end of October but we really do need to take the chill off the place, don’t we?’ Maggie said. ‘And there is that little heater over there. Hamish!’
Hamish looked up from where he was sitting reading his copy of the play at the back of the hall. Maggie nodded towards an ancient heater and Hamish wheeled it out and plugged it in.
‘Is that thing safe?’ Connie asked as it was switched on. Two bars glowed a pernicious orange and there was a terrible smell of burning.
‘Probably not,’ Maggie said, stretching her hands out to try and defrost them. ‘Cheer up, Connie,’ she said. ‘It’s just been a tough day. It’ll get better.’ But Connie didn’t believe her. She sat down at the edge of the stage, her jean-clad legs dangling over. For a moment, she thought of the past week. Other than the rehearsals, it had been unnervingly quiet. There’d been nothing reported about her in the local paper although she was still worried about what the odious Colin Simpkins might be up too. Still, she’d felt safe enough to risk a trip to Strathcorrie with Maggie.
‘I’ll get the bus back,’ she’d announced as they’d come out of the bakery loaded with goodies.
‘The bus?’
‘I’m going to do a bit more shopping,’ Connie said.
‘I can wait for you,’ Maggie said.
‘It’s okay,’ Connie said. ‘I don’t know how long I’m going to be.’
Maggie hesitated but then shrugged her shoulders. ‘I’ll see you later, then. You’re sure you’ll be okay on your own?’
Connie laughed. ‘I’ll be fine.’ She watched Maggie go and then gave a sigh. What was she doing? But she knew what. Ever since she’d first seen the castle with Maggie on their first outing together, she hadn’t been able to get it out of her mind. She crossed the road towards the estate agents, Forsyth and Son, and opened the door and walked inside. Old Mr Forsyth was on the telephone, explaining that one of the farms on his books had just been sold and that there really was no use in trying to persuade him to unsell it.
Connie glanced around and saw a young man sitting at a desk.
‘Mr Forsyth?’ she hazarded a guess. The young man looked up and his mouth promptly fell open as he proceeded to fall over himself to stand up. ‘M-m-miss Gordon?’
‘Yes,’ Connie said, wondering if she should have been wearing her disguise again.
‘I love you,’ the young Mr Forsyth said. ‘I – er – I mean, I love your films.’
‘Thank you,’ Connie said, watching as the young man’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed.
‘Well, well,’ old Mr Forsyth said as he came off the phone. ‘And what can we do for you?’
‘Father, it’s Connie Gordon.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Miss Gordon,’ old Mr Forsyth said.
His son stared at him. ‘Father, Connie Gordon!’
‘Aye?’ he said.
‘The actress!’
‘So you’re an actress,’ old Mr Forsyth said. ‘Not much call for work in these parts. You on holiday?’
‘Kind of,’ Connie said. ‘Maybe looking to buy.’
‘Then you’ve come to the right place. A small second home, is it? Quiet croft somewhere?’
‘Not exactly,’ Connie said. ‘I’m interested in Rossburn Castle.’
Old Mr Forsyth’s mouth dropped open. ‘Well, I never,’ he said. ‘You can’t be serious.’
‘Why not?’
‘You know the amount of work that needs doing to it? It’s not the easiest option for a holiday home.’
‘But I might not want it as a holiday home,’ Connie said.
He nodded. ‘Well, if you’re interested, Miss Gordon, I’d be very happy to show you around.’ And they’d left to see it straight away in Mr Forsyth’s car, taking the winding road out of Strathcorrie, across the moors towards the rundown pile of ancient stones that had so piqued Connie’s interest.
‘Who’s the owner?’ Connie asked.
‘Oh, Fletcher Gordon. An ancestor of the original Gordons who built the castle centuries ago.’
‘A Gordon?’
‘Aye.’
‘Like me! I had no idea.’
‘Perhaps that’s why you’re attracted to it. It’s in your blood,’ Mr Forsyth said.
‘And where’s he moving to?’
‘California, I’m told.’
‘Really? And I left there to come here. How strange the world is.’
‘Aye,’ Mr Forsyth said. ‘I hope you’ve got a hat. It can be fair breezy up there.’
And so could Mr Forsyth’s car, Connie thought. It was old and rattly and had several draughts that had caught Connie by surprise. Perhaps she should put her hat on now, she thought. She also couldn’t help noticing the collection of sweet wrappers that lay on the floor and there was a pervading smell of mint.
‘Humbugs!’ Connie said.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I can smell humbugs. My mother used to eat them all the time.’
‘Oh, aye – humbugs. That’ll be Forsyth mark two. A devil for the sweets. Leaves this car littered, he does. No use telling him. He doesn’t listen. Won’t listen till the day his teeth fall out.’
Connie grinned. ‘I’ve had mine filed and whitened and capped.’
‘Your teeth?’
She nodded, flashing him a very white smile.
‘Very nice,’ Mr Forsyth said.
‘And very painful and expensive. It’s just another way I’ve given in to it all.’
‘All what?’
‘The business of being a movie star.’
‘So it’s not all glamour and sparkle?’ Mr Forsyth said.
‘I’m afraid not.’
‘And that’s why you’re here?’
Connie nodded. ‘I wanted to get as far away from it all as possible. I needed to learn how to breathe again. How to just live, you know?’
‘Oh, aye,’ Mr Forsyth said. ‘And Lochnabrae is the right place for you to do this living?’
‘I haven’t decided yet,’ Connie said. ‘But it’s looking like a very strong candidate.’
They made a turn in the road and that’s when Connie saw Rossburn again with its sturdy walls and soaring turrets.
‘I can’t pretend that it won’t be a lot of work for whoever takes it on,’ Mr Forsyth said.
Connie nodded. ‘I realise that,’ she said.
‘And a lot of expense,’ he added.
Connie smiled. ‘I’ve been looking for something to spend my money on.’
In fact, the castle wasn’t half as bad as she’d been led to believe. Okay, so there were parts of the castle that were in ruins like the north tower and the old chapel. What else did you expect from a twelfth-century castle? But most of it had been habitable until fairly recently and, with the help of a few experts, Connie was sure it could be beautiful again.
The Runaway Actress Page 24