Blackstone's Pursuits (12 page)

‘Yes?’ she said, in a lovely island lilt. ‘Can I help you?’

All at once my mind swam back to a night in the cocktail bar of another hotel, in St Andrews, with my Dad and his sailor pal Archie. The girl there was as fresh-faced as this one, with an accent as soft as mist, and as wild as heather. Archie said to her, ‘Where are you from, then?’

‘Tiree,’ the lass replied.

‘Ah,’ said the old salt. ‘They’ll have had to lasso you to get you over here, then!’

Back in the present, Prim said, ‘I hope so. I’m looking for my sister. She’s with the film party, and I understand they’re booked in here. Have they arrived yet?’

‘Not yet,’ said the girl. ‘We’re expecting them any time now, though. Why don’t you wait in the bar. It’s just through there.’ She pointed along a narrow hallway to her left.

‘Okay.’ Prim took my hand and started off along the corridor, but I held her back, gently. ‘Suppose we wanted to stay tonight,’ I asked, ‘have you any room left?’

The girl shook her head. ‘Sorry. The film party have booked the whole place.

‘But there are plenty of hotels down in Oban,’ she added, doing her best to please. ‘You’ll get booked in there all right.’

We made our way through to the bar. It was a big room, square but for an alley off one comer, where a dartboard hung on the wall. A big open fireplace was set in its centre, topped by a copper flue which disappeared up into the roof. Prim took a seat in the corner, near the window. ‘What would you like to drink, love?’ I asked her.

‘Just a lime and soda. If they have any sandwiches, I wouldn’t mind one. It seems forever since lunch.’

I pressed the service bell; after only a second or two, a door opened behind the bar, and the young receptionist appeared. ‘Jesus,’ I said, ‘they work you hard.’

She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Och, I like it. You get to meet all sorts of interesting people.’

‘Aye, I can imagine,’ I said. ‘A right wee metropolis Connell Ferry must be.’

Prim and I sat together in the bar, munching thick crab sandwiches and looking northward out of the window, across the narrow mouth of Loch Etive, with the great Bens rising in the distance. ‘It’s amazing how insular people can be.’ She was speaking a thought aloud. ‘I’ve been to five European countries. I’ve straddled the equator. Yet here I am in Scotland in a place I’ve never seen before, in a different country to the one I thought I knew.’

‘You and me both,’ I said, slipping an arm around her waist. ‘You and me and thousands of our country-folk. Most central-belt Jocks get panic attacks as soon as they leave a built-up area. All this “Flower of Scotland” stuff is so much crap, you know. Our nation is like everywhere else in the world, a collection of tribes and villages, each one holding on to its own and living in suspicion and fear of its neighbours.’

‘That’s very profound, Osbert.’

I sipped my Coke and smiled, a touch self-consciously. ‘The mask slips occasionally. Just don’t tell anyone.’

She smiled and kissed my cheek. ‘I promise. The serious Oz is someone I’ll keep to myself.’

As she spoke, the door from the corridor creaked open, and in the same moment, the receptionist-barmaid-waitress appeared behind the beer-taps without being summoned by bell.

We recognised him at once, as soon as he stepped into the room. Miles Grayson was an impressive guy on screen. But I knew he had to be forty-something, and I had a cynical view of what he would look like close-up, once the make-up was stripped away. Come to think of it, I have the same cynical view of all actors and politicians. I was wrong about this bloke.

My Dad has a great saying, applied most often to our current Head of Government, ‘He seems to make a room bigger just by being in it.’ Miles Grayson was the opposite. He was one of those rare human beings who shrink the space around them. Even as he was then, tired after a long day, the vitality came from him in waves. He wasn’t very tall, around five ten, I guessed, but he carried himself like someone six inches taller. He was wearing black denim and black hiking boots, every inch the New Age Cowboy. He looked across and smiled at us, and automatically Prim and I nodded back, mouths hanging slightly open.

He turned to the barmaid and melted her with The Smile. ‘Is that Fosters cold, honey?’ She nodded vigorously, speechless. ‘I mean like really cold?’ I thought the lassie’s neck would snap. ‘Okay, then I’ll have a pint, in a straight glass please.’

Prim tugged my arm and whispered in my ear. ‘What do we do now?’

‘Seems like a good idea to let the man get outside his pint, then we’ll see.’

Grayson solved our problem. ‘What can I get you?’ he called across the bar.

‘I’ll have one of them, thanks.’ I pointed at the Fosters. ‘How about you, love?’

‘Lime and soda, thanks,’ said Prim.

The movie star turned barman, bringing the drinks across on a metal tray. ‘Do you two live here?’ he asked, as he sat down beside us. His accent was strange, a blend of Aussie, American and received pronunciation from drama school.

‘No,’ I said. ‘Edinburgh. How about you?’ Cheeky bastard, Blackstone, but I couldn’t resist it. Grayson’s right eyebrow twitched, and he smiled, not taken aback in the slightest. ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Cheers.’ I took a swallow of the Fosters. The girl was right. It was icy.

I put the glass down and held out my hand. ‘My name’s Oz Blackstone, and this is Prim Phillips.

‘You finished work for the day?’

Grayson ignored my question. Like many celebrities, he had perfected the royal art of acknowledging hundreds, even thousands of people simultaneously, putting out his own presence but absorbing none of theirs. Now it was as if he was looking at Prim for the first time. ‘Phillips,’ he repeated.

‘Yes;’ said Prim. ‘You might know my sister, Dawn. I think she’s working on your film.’

He looked at her, and a smile lit up his face. ‘Yeah, I know Dawn. In fact only three days ago I made wild, abandoned love to her ... but only for the cameras, worse luck. She’s a tough nut to crack, is Dawn.

‘So you’re her sister. The one with the great name. She told me about you, but she said you were in Africa.’

‘So I was, until Wednesday. I thought it’d be a nice idea for us to surprise Dawn. Is she here?’

Grayson looked at her, curiously, for a while, as if he was considering his answer. At last he shook his head. ‘No, she isn’t. She has a few days between scenes, and she asked me on Wednesday if she could take some time away. She left that same morning.’ His eyebrows rose, as if in anticipation. ‘She is due back on Monday, though.’

‘Dammit,’ said Prim, frowning. ‘She didn’t say where she was going, did she?’

‘No. She only said that she had some things to sort out, and needed a few days. I was disappointed, because I thought we’d been getting on pretty well together, but I said okay, because I could tell that she meant it.

‘I rate your sister in every respect, Miss Phillips. Quite apart from turning me on every time she walks on set, she’s a damn fine actress. In fact, I’ve told her writers to expand her part. This movie will make her a star. Then maybe she’ll have time for me. Like I said, she’s a hard nut to crack.’

He caught something in Prim’s eye. ‘Hey, I’m legit, honest. I came out of a relationship about a year back.’

A thought struck me. ‘I thought you were doing a remake of
Kidnapped.’

‘Yeah, that’s right,’ said Grayson. ‘Great story, ain’t it.’

‘So who are you playing? With respect, you’re a bit mature for young David Balfour.’

‘Just a bit, yeah. No, I’m playing Allan Breck. He’s the real hero, after all. Why d’you ask?’

‘No reason, really. It’s just that when I read
Kidnapped
at school, I don’t remember Allan Breck getting his leg over. I don’t remember there being any sort of a part for an actress, either, far less one that could be expanded.’

Miles Grayson spread his arms wide, with a grin that was as honest and disarming as the midsummer day was long. ‘Come on, guy, this is Hollywood. We’re out to entertain. The reason
Kidnapped
hasn’t been a hit before is that it’s been made like the story, a Buddy movie. You want to put bums on seats, like you say over here, you need some love interest.’

I shook my head. ‘Aye, man, fair enough. But next time you’re in Samoa, make sure you visit Robert Louis Stevenson’s grave. If you put your ear to the ground I’m sure you’ll hear him spinning round in his coffin.

‘What’s next? Long John Silver with two legs, so you can work in a tap-dance routine.’

The actor laughed. ‘Hey, Oz! How did you know I used to be a dancer?’

We were still laughing when the door behind us creaked once more. A harassed, bald, fat man heaved his bulk into the barroom. ‘Miles,’ he called. ‘There you are! Thanks for commandeering the limo! I had to come back in the bus with the technicians and the rest of the cast.’

Grayson waved a hand at him, dismissively. ‘Don’t give me that crap, Charlie. A good assistant director is a team member, not the team leader. Anyway, I had a call coming in from my agent, and I had to be back here to take it.’

The fat man ambled over to our table. ‘Too bad. You missed the excitement.’

‘Excitement! Up here?’

‘Yes. We had a visit from the law. The local crimebusters.’

‘What, looking for work as extras?’

‘No. Looking for that young lady you’re sweet on.’

Beside me, Prim sat bolt upright. Grayson glanced round at her, briefly. ‘Did they say what they wanted?’ he asked.

The director shook his head. ‘They muttered something about her being a witness in a court case. Nothing serious, they said. I told them, “In that case, come back on Monday.” That seemed to satisfy them.

‘Look, old boy. I’m off for a bath. I’ll see you down here for a drink before dinner. Seven-thirty okay?’

‘Yes, fine,’ Grayson muttered, absently. The fat man nodded, a farewell and slouched out of the room.

‘A court case,’ said the actor, looking curiously at Prim. ‘What d’you think that’s about?’

‘I told you,’ she said, batting not an eyelid. ‘I’m just back from Africa. How would I know?’

‘Mm. Yeah, of course. Funny, I had this feeling there was something troubling her, something she wasn’t telling me, but I didn’t press her. Look, if you do find Dawn over the weekend, tell her that if she does have a problem, old Miles’ll fix it for her.’

Prim nodded. ‘I’ll tell her that. I’m sure it’ll be nothing, though. Dawn’s one of nature’s worriers, even when there’s absolutely nothing to worry about.’ She took my hand again. ‘Oz, if Dawn’s away till Monday there’s no point in hanging about here. If we leave now we can get back home tonight.’

I followed her lead and stood up. ‘Okay, let’s hit the trail. It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Miles. We’ll make sure that Dawn’s back on Monday, raring to go.’

We started to leave, but I couldn’t resist. I’m just a punter at heart, after all. ‘I don’t suppose you’d autograph a beer mat, would you?’ I asked. ‘For my Dad, like.’

Grayson laughed, as if reassured that life really did hold no surprises. He took a pen from his breast pocket and scrawled a signature on a Foster’s mat. ‘Cheers,’ I said. ‘I’ll buy the beer next time.’

‘Hold you to that. So long.’

We waved him goodbye and made our way out of the bar, leaving him draining his Fosters.

‘What a nice guy,’ said Prim.

‘Aye, and he fancies your sister too. She could be all right there, if we can just keep her out of the slammer.’

She flashed me a worried smile.

‘Are we really going back to Edinburgh?’ she asked.

‘No thank you very much. I don’t think we want to do that right now. Eventually Mike Dylan will have been through every grocer’s till in town, and he’ll realise we told young Morrow a porky about the fiver. I think we should body-swerve him for now, till we find Dawn. And to be on the safe side we should get out of here too, in case the plods come back looking for us.

‘Tell you what, it’s been a few weeks since I’ve seen my Dad. We can make it to Anstruther as easily as Edinburgh. Let’s head for there, unless you want to go to Auchterarder.’

She shook her head. ‘No, I need more time to think up a cover story about Dawn. Let’s go to Fife: I fancy meeting the old man who could spawn a son like you!’

In which we dine in style and Mac the Dentist is caught in flagrante.

I have this thing about drinking and driving, so I let Prim drive us eastward, retracing our route as far as Lochearnhead, where we followed the Perth road, along the lochside, rather than heading for Stirling. The sun was low in the sky as we left the M90 at Milnathort and cruised around Loch Leven, into Fife.

It’s a funny place, the old Kingdom, my birthplace; a real amalgam of cultures, with its agriculture in the north, its Black Country to the west, and away on its tip, jutting into the sea, its East Neuk.

‘I suppose that the place where you grow up always seems different from anywhere else,’ I said to Prim as she drove, quickly but with assurance, ‘but every time I go back to the East Neuk now, to Anstruther, I feel like I’m stepping into fairyland. Life has a different pace there, as if time passes more slowly. I don’t know another place like it.’

‘I know what you mean. When I was wee, and when Dawn was a baby, we went to Elie for our holidays. We took a house for a month. I remember days on the beach, whatever the weather, and scones and Coca Cola in the tennis pavilion. My Granny came with us; she used to sit all afternoon by the bowling green, watching the play. She didn’t understand what was going on, but that didn’t matter. It was her thing, and she did it.

‘I have this secret dream that one day I’ll live in Elie.’

I frowned and tutted. ‘Us East Neukers don’t really approve of Elie. “Elie for the elite”, we say. Too many of the houses belong to weekenders. My Dad says that when he was a kid, Elie was a working village. It had fishermen, golf-club makers, market gardeners and so on, and everyone let rooms in their houses to holidaymakers. But then more and more of the houses were bought up by folk from Glasgow and Edinburgh, lawyers and doctors and the like. All of a sudden the place was a ghost town in the winter, and there were fewer holidaymakers in the summer too, as those houses weren’t let out any more.