The Runaway Actress. Victoria Connelly

dress she’d worn to her cousin’s wedding but wouldn’t it be a bit odd to show up wearing that on a mid-week morning in Lochnabrae?

      ‘It’ll just have to be the cleanest and least holey things I can find,’ she said to herself, hanging her head upside down in an attempt to dry it before Christmas.

      It was half an hour later by the time she got to Isla’s.

      ‘Where is she?’ Maggie said, breathless with excitement.

      ‘She’s gone,’ Isla said.

      ‘Gone! What do you mean, gone?’ Maggie looked around in panic.

      ‘She went out – a walk around the village,’ she said.

      Maggie’s eyes widened in horror. ‘And you let her go? You had Connie Gordon here and you let her go?’

      ‘Well, what was I meant to do?’

      ‘Keep her here!’ Maggie cried. ‘At least until I got here. Oh, my! She could be anywhere. She might’ve escaped!’

      ‘Och! You’re getting carried away. She just wanted a breath of fresh air. She wouldn’t just leave. All her stuff’s upstairs.’

      ‘Stuff ?’

      ‘Suitcases. Three large ones. Goodness only knows what’s in them.’

      Maggie’s mouth dropped open. ‘Can I see?’

      ‘Well, it’s not usual for me to show people my guest’s rooms,’ Isla said.

      ‘But it’s not usual for you to have a Hollywood movie star staying here, is it?’

      Isla and Maggie’s eyes locked in mutual understanding. ‘Oh, all right then. just keep this between us, for goodness’ sake,’ she said, and the two of them hurried up the stairs together. ‘Did I tell you she touched me?’ Isla said. ‘She actually touched me! I’ll never wash this jumper again.’

      ‘Come on,’ Maggie said, anxious to get a look at the room before Connie returned.

      Just as a formality, Isla knocked on the door. ‘She’s defi-nitely out,’ she said, unlocking the door with her landlady’s key.

      ‘Let us in then!’ Maggie said excitedly and, once Isla unlocked the door, the two of them entered the room.

      Maggie gazed in wonder at the sight that greeted her. The bed had been left unmade and the dressing table was cluttered with all sorts of things: two great bulging make-up bags spilled lipsticks, mascaras and tubes of pale foundation. There were hairbrushes and perfume bottles too. Maggie dared to pick one up. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. The bottle was an elegant teardrop shape in ridged glass that felt fabulous under her fingertips. Gently, she removed the golden stopper and sniffed.

      ‘It’s like heaven!’ she said, spraying herself in a cloud of Wishes. ‘So this is what a movie star smells like,’ she said to herself, inhaling deeply.

      ‘Maggie! Put that down! You shouldn’t touch those things.’

      But Maggie couldn’t help herself. This was as close as she’d ever been to her idol and she was enjoying every single minute of it.

      ‘Look at this mirror,’ she said, picking up a silver hand mirror that gleamed in the bright light of the bedroom. ‘Have you ever seen anything like it?’ Maggie turned it over and saw a beautiful ‘C’ had been engraved on the back. ‘Oh!’

      ‘Maggie!’ Isla suddenly yelled. ‘Look at this!’

      Isla had given into temptation and dared to peep inside one of the suitcases. Maggie gasped as she too saw the contents.

      ‘They’re evening dresses!’ Maggie said.

      ‘Where does she think she’s going to wear all these around here?’ Isla said, cooing as she touched the silky soft fabric of an ivory-white dress.

      ‘Would you look at that?’ Maggie said, pulling out a sapphire-blue gown trimmed with sparkling silver beads.

      ‘Don’t take it out,’ Isla all but screamed.

      But Maggie couldn’t possibly leave it in the suitcase. It would be like showing a child a jar of sweets and telling it not to eat them.

      The dark blue gown unravelled to the floor as Maggie held it up against her. ‘I LOVE it!’

      Isla giggled and pulled out a velvet gown in a sumptuous amethyst. ‘Lordy lord!’ she said.

      ‘Oh, Isla!’ Maggie said, placing the sapphire-blue gown on the bed and reaching out for the velvet. ‘I remember her wearing this one. It was at a premiere for Keep Me Close. She looked so beautiful – like one of those Pre-Raphaelite women with her hair all loose and curly.’

      Soon, the bed was strewn with gowns. Golds, silvers, greens and blues, satins, laces and velvets. Maggie was almost jumping up and down with excitement and both women lost themselves in the moment, surrounded by the kinds of couture they’d only ever glimpsed in magazines.

      ‘Do you think I could try one on?’ Maggie asked, fingering a lacy gown in emerald-green.

      ‘Well, I don’t think you should,’ Isla said, trying to be stern.

      Maggie’s face fell. To be so close to so many beautiful dresses and not to be allowed to try them on …

      ‘Oh, go on then!’ Isla suddenly said. ‘Just one!’

      Maggie squealed and began disrobing quickly.

      She’d just got down to her thermal undies when the front door slammed.

      ‘She’s back!’ Isla gasped.

      Maggie’s eyes doubled in size. ‘Quick!’ she said. ‘Put the dresses away!’

      Isla began stuffing the gowns back in the suitcase as Maggie hurriedly put her clothes back on, falling onto the bed as she dragged her jeans up her legs and causing a zip-rip of static as she pulled on her jumper.

      ‘We’ve got to get out of here,’ Isla whispered and the two of them legged it onto the landing.

      ‘Where is she?’ Maggie said, relieved that they hadn’t been caught.

      ‘She must still be downstairs,’ Isla said, locking Connie’s bedroom door as quietly as she could.

      The two of them crept down the stairs and, there by the door, stood Connie Gordon, examining her trousers with a defeated look on her face.

      ‘Oh, hello,’ she said, looking up.

      Isla nodded. Maggie just stared.

      ‘Are you all right?’ Isla asked. ‘Did you have a nice walk?’

      ‘Yes,’ Connie said. ‘Well, apart from the complete madman I met by the loch.’

      Maggie and Isla looked at each other.

      ‘Angus?’ Isla said.

      ‘I didn’t ask his name,’ Connie said. ‘And he didn’t volunteer it. But he had a dog with him. A black one.’

      Maggie’s eyes widened. ‘Bounce?’

      ‘I beg your pardon?’

      ‘The dog’s name,’ Maggie said. ‘That’d be Alastair’s. Alastair’s your madman. Well, he’s a writer actually but that’s the same thing as a madman, isn’t it?’

      ‘You look like a Dalmatian,’ Isla said, gazing at Connie’s trousers.

      ‘I’ve got to get out of them. They’re sticking to my legs,’ Connie said.

      Isla and Maggie were still standing at the foot of the stairs.

      ‘Can I get by?’ Connie asked.

      ‘Oh!’ Maggie exclaimed. ‘Sorry.’ She moved out of the way.