instantly recognising the diamond necklace Connie was wearing. Maggie could list the other three events her idol had worn it to and which dresses she’d been wearing it with. She prided herself on her knowledge; she was the keeper of all things Connie.
One of the photos she was now saving showed Connie in profile with her perfect nose. Maggie automatically wrinkled her own huge tuber of a nose, wondering if a lowly shopkeeper could justify plastic surgery. And then she found a photo of Connie handing the award to the actor, Forrest Greaves.
Maggie whistled. ‘Now that must’ve been interesting,’ she said to herself, knowing how he’d double-crossed Connie on the set of one of her films. Still, he was devilishly handsome. Perhaps it had been worth having her heart broken. She saved the picture with a quick click and then got to work updating the website blog.
There was always so much to do. Connie was always in the news and Maggie loved unearthing the stories on the internet although she didn’t publish everything because a lot of the stories were clearly fabricated. Like the time it had been reported that Connie had been abducted by aliens and given birth to ET’s lovechild. Maggie shook her head as she remembered. Poor Connie. It must be so frustrating to have such rubbish printed about you. The UK press was bad enough but the US really did take some beating.
Maggie had often dreamed about visiting America and going to see the homes of the stars in the Hollywood Hills but she didn’t suppose it was ever going to happen. People like her just didn’t travel. She’d once been to Edinburgh on a school trip. They’d seen the castle and heard the canon fire, and had visited the dark narrow streets of the Old Town and the wide Georgian splendour of the New Town but all Maggie could remember about the trip was how sick she’d felt on the coach. It had taken hours to reach their capital city and hours back to the Highlands and Maggie had been completely done in by it all. So how on earth would she fare on a trip to America? She’d never survive the ordeal, would she?
‘I’ll never leave Lochnabrae,’ she said to herself. But it wasn’t so bad as fates went. She really did love the little Highland community with its tiny white houses and stunning views, and most of its residents were happy with their lot too. She couldn’t think of anyone from the older gener-ation who’d ever been over the border into England let alone left the UK. Mrs Wallace and her husband holidayed in Mull every single year and Isla had once had a trip to Oban but hadn’t liked it. Sandy Macdonald had ventured further afield in his youth but he was a hearth and slippers type these days. He didn’t even like going into Strathcorrie on market days any more.
‘Too many damned people!’ he’d say. ‘You can’t walk in a straight line without bumping into somebody or other.’
What would Connie Gordon think of them all, Maggie wondered? She’d travelled the whole world, hadn’t she? The people of Lochnabrae would seem so very dull and unadventurous to her.
Maggie looked away from the computer screen, her eyes drifting to the view outside. What would Connie think of their little corner of the world, she wondered?
‘I don’t suppose we’ll ever know,’ she said to herself before returning her gaze to the computer in search of more images of her idol.
Chapter Five
Like most women, Connie had never been very good at travelling light and, as she waited for her luggage on the carousel along with everyone else at Glasgow Airport, she was beginning to wonder how she’d manage on her own. Of course, she could have travelled VIP and had everything done for her but she’d been determined that this trip would be different. She’d booked her own taxi to the airport and had even booked her own tickets, which was a new experience as she usually left such mundane jobs to her PA, but it had felt good doing something for herself for once in her life – even if she had got a bit lost walking into the airport and had nearly missed her flight when she couldn’t find her passport.
To avoid the press and the fuss that usually went hand in hand with luxury travel, Connie had decided to fly to Scotland incognito. She’d scraped her trademark red hair into a ponytail and flattened a baseball cap onto her head. A face free from make-up and the obligatory enormous sunglasses completed the disguise. It was rather like playing a part, she thought – the part of an ordinary girl going on holiday – and she’d been enjoying the experience until it came to hauling her own luggage off the carousel and struggling with it.
‘Can I help you?’ a gentleman’s voice suddenly asked with a soft Scottish accent.
Connie turned around. A tall athletic man in a nice suit stood looking at her. ‘Oh, thank you,’ she said and watched as he found a trolley for her and placed her three suitcases onto it.
‘Are you wanting a taxi?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I am.’
‘Allow me,’ he said, leading the way to the taxi rank outside the airport.
‘I can’t thank you enough,’ Connie said, removing her sunglasses and smiling. As soon as she did, she knew she’d made a mistake.
‘Good God!’ he said. ‘Aren’t you—’ the man cocked his head a little and looked at her quizzically. ‘Connie Gordon?’
‘Oh, lord, no!’ Connie laughed, exaggerating her English accent and pushing her sunglasses back on. For most of her childhood, Connie had had an English tutor which meant that she was often hired to play English roles in films and, although she occasionally had an American twang, she could easily get away with being English.
‘I could’ve sworn!’ the man said. ‘You look just like her. Remarkable! You could be in the movies.’
‘Well, I’m very flattered,’ she said, looking up and down for a taxi and hoping for a quick escape to avoid further questioning. ‘Ah! Here’s one,’ she said as the next available car pulled up and a man got out to load her suitcases. ‘Thanks for your help,’ she said to the suited gentleman.
‘My pleasure,’ he said, staring at her in wonder.
Connie hopped into the taxi and the driver was soon pulling out from the kerb.
Phew, she thought. She’d made it.
‘Where to, lass?’ the driver asked.
Connie leant forward in her seat. ‘Lochnabrae, please.’
‘Lochnabrae Road? Lochnabrae Street?’
‘Just Lochnabrae.’
‘In Glasgow?’
‘No.’
‘Outside Glasgow then?’
Connie nodded. ‘It’s near a town called Strathcorrie.’
‘Strathcorrie?’
‘You know it?’
‘Aye, I know it. That’s over a hundred miles. It won’t be a cheap fare, lass. You got the money to pay for it?’
‘Of course,’ Connie said. ‘I wouldn’t get in a taxi if I didn’t have the money for my ride.’
‘Just checking. I don’t want to be stranded in the back of beyond with a lass with no money.’
Connie
