Page 32 of A Scottish Lighthouse Escape (Scottish Escapes #9)

Chapter Twenty-Two

R eece let out a disbelieving gasp into my ear when I rang him.

‘Are you joking? But how the hell is that supposed to work? Mitch isn’t an artist as well, is he?’

‘Don’t worry,’ I assured him down the line, trying to sound far more convinced than I felt. ‘Mitch has promised me that he’ll tell that Mangan woman the truth on opening night. By then, it’ll be too late for her to do anything about it.’

Mitch sat close by in one of the armchairs, all long legs and dark hair. He must have sensed I was looking at him because he glanced up at me from his phone.

I averted my eyes.

‘So, Mitch led that woman to believe he painted your grandma’s pictures?’

‘No. Mitch said Ruth Mangan jumped to the wrong conclusion.’

‘She did,’ interjected Mitch, overhearing both sides of the conversation. ‘She just assumed the artist was me. I definitely didn’t lead her to believe that.’

Reece let out an awkward noise. ‘And you’re happy about this, Rosie? You’ve got no qualms about it?’

‘I wouldn’t say I’m happy about it,’ I confessed. ‘But desperate times call for desperate measures, and for whatever weird reason, this Ruth Mangan rejected Grandma’s art when she found out she had painted them.’

I wasn’t prepared to let this go. I had to find out why.

‘I know you think I’m jumping to conclusions, Reece, but Ruth Mangan has something against my grandma. I’m certain of it. I don’t know what that is yet, but I’m determined to find out.’

Reece still didn’t sound convinced.

More thoughts about Ruth Mangan pushed themselves to the front of my mind. ‘Oh, and guess what date the exhibition is going to be on? Another artist cancelled for personal reasons, so the slot was empty.’

‘Go on, tell me.’

I paused for dramatic effect. Would Reece remember the date of my grandma’s birthday? ‘The thirteenth of December.’

Reece let out a cross between a laugh and a gasp. ‘You’re joking?! Tilda’s birthday.’

He did remember. I shouldn’t have doubted him.

‘Well, in that case, I think we have no option but to proceed. It seems like fate is on our side.’

Mitch jerked his head up. ‘Be careful though, Rosie, with regard to digging around Ruth Mangan. You don’t want to mess this up.’

‘I’m not going to mess anything up.’ I was indignant. ‘I’ll be discreet.’

Mitch waggled a brow.

‘I promise,’ I protested.

‘Mitch is right,’ warned Reece into my ear. ‘Just be careful.’ He fell quiet for a few moments. ‘I don’t have anything to rush back to Edinburgh for. In fact, I’ve already checked and this place where I’m staying doesn’t have any more guests booked in until 6 January.’

A rush of relief came over me. Christmas was looming ever closer and I wasn’t relishing the prospect of spending it alone up here in Rowan Bay.

I knew if I called Mia or Lola, they would be up here in no time with festive hampers, pampering gifts, bottles of Moet and an assortment of expensive advent beauty calendars.

But I realised I didn’t want that. I wanted to be here with Bronte.

And even though Reece and my grandma had never worked out, I liked the older man. He was repentant, honest and still carried a torch for Tilda, even after all these years. ‘So, you’re planning on hanging around?’ I asked him.

‘If you have no objections.’

‘Don’t be silly. Of course not. It will be lovely to have you here.’

It was strange. At first, I’d experienced pangs of resentment towards Reece. I’d felt angry and disappointed in him, on my grandmother’s behalf.

But then, after reading my grandma’s diaries and witnessing Reece’s pain and regret over what had happened all those years ago, he’d made me see that we all fumble through life at times, stacking up regrets, making mistakes, and carrying with us dreams and wishes we’d never realised. I knew that now only too well.

And it was clear just from seeing Reece’s face whenever he spoke about Grandma, that he wanted to try and make amends.

‘We’ll keep you informed about how things are going with the exhibition planning,’ I said, rounding off the call.

‘When do you want to drop by again? You could come by for a coffee or we could have lunch if you like?’

‘I was going to suggest tomorrow,’ said Reece. ‘Although, if the weather forecast is right, I think it might not be such a good idea to try and venture out.’

‘Why?’

‘Oh, a hellish snowstorm, snow bomb, or some such thing. Anyway, forecasters don’t always get it right. Speak to you soon, Rosie.’

I hung up.

Mitch brandished his phone, having caught some of what Reece was saying about the weather. ‘Reece is right. Awful snowstorm on the way, by all accounts.’

Mitch set down his phone on the arm of the chair.

‘I’m sure it won’t be as bad as they’re making out,’ I said, trying to sound hopeful.

Mitch didn’t look convinced. ‘Red warnings for this part of the country. Means the lighthouse and I will be busy.’

I flopped down in the opposite armchair.

Bronte took this as her cue to plonk herself down in front of me for some fussing. ‘I appreciate you helping us, Mitch.’ I paused. Was it a good time to ask him again his reasons for helping? Why had he been so keen to get involved? ‘I know you’re probably not going to tell me…’

‘Then why ask the question?’

I ignored him. ‘You still haven’t told me why you were so insistent on helping us out.’

Mitch shuffled in the armchair. I watched him fiddle with his phone. ‘Och, of course I have.’

‘No, you haven’t.’

He took a pointed look at his wristwatch.

His wall was up again, deflecting any personal questions.

‘I’d better head back and take Kane out.

The big guy will be crossing his legs.’ Mitch was an expert at dodging questions, refusing to open up.

He rose from his chair and towered over me. ‘You sure you’re okay with everything?’

I wrapped my arms around myself. His gaze was intense. ‘Yes. Well… kind of.’

When he frowned down at me, I nodded. ‘I mean, yes, of course I am.’

‘Good. When I hear from Ruth, I’ll let you know.’

And in a whirlwind of dark hair and long, black, swirling coat, he was gone.

* * *

I woke up the next morning with a sense that there was whiteness through the curtains.

I clambered out of bed and peeked out of my bedroom window.

Sure enough, the forecasters had predicted the white stuff today. There were snowflakes being whisked in the air. It didn’t look too bad, but I guessed snow was to be expected at this time of year.

Christmas was sticking its frivolous, glittery nose around the corner.

My head was whirring at the thought of that and what Mitch had got me into with this exhibition. It was my choice though and I’d said yes.

Mitch could be rather persuasive, I surmised. I felt myself blush and mentally changed the subject.

I drifted around, tugging open the cottage curtains in the sitting room and then hitching up the kitchen blind.

Bronte gave me her usual, enthusiastic welcome. Outside, the flakes were becoming fatter, as they spun down from the sky.

I’d finished giving Bronte her breakfast, eaten my cereal, and was just about to head for a shower when my mobile rang from my bedroom. I dashed down the hallway to answer it.

Mitch’s name popped up on the screen.

I found myself wrapping my fluffy dressing gown tighter and fiddling unnecessarily with my bun.

‘Hi. Sleep well?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I did, thanks, despite finding myself caught up in an art conspiracy.’

There was an impatient sigh. ‘Och Rosie,’ he growled. ‘We’re hardly stealing the Mona Lisa.’

He didn’t give me a chance to come back with a reply. ‘Are you busy this afternoon?’

My cheeks zinged. I wasn’t busy. I was never busy now. I hadn’t been busy since I got here. I was intending on doing a little more sorting of Grandma’s studio after lunch, but I could do some of that this morning. ‘Er… no… Not too much on today.’

‘Well, in that case, you could come over about two if you like. I’ve had an email from our friendly neighbourhood gallery owner.’

‘Was it written in blood?’

Mitch laughed. ‘Not quite.’

‘What did the email say?’

‘She wants to start getting preparations underway for opening night. I think we should discuss it.’

‘Okay. I can take Bronte out for a quick walk before coming over.’

‘Great,’ he replied. ‘And feel free to bring her with you. She can keep Kane company.’ He paused. ‘Oh, and take care when you make your way over. The forecast said it’s due to get worse later.’

I showered, threw on a cosy jumper, jeans and thick socks and after letting Bronte out for a charge around the snowy garden, checked out my emails on my phone.

Mia had sent me a message, to say that Snow, I’ll Always Love You had shot up to number five in the Amazon charts.

A glimmer of happiness lit up briefly in my chest, before fizzling out again like a firework.

I’d been so preoccupied with everything, I hadn’t even thought about checking out my book sales and rankings.

Before all this, I would’ve been glued to Amazon, checking my reviews and refreshing the rankings every half an hour.

I spent the remainder of the morning tidying up more of Grandma’s studio for something to do and filling a couple more black bin liners with tatty stationery and threadbare paint brushes.

Then I began the difficult process of choosing which of her paintings should be exhibited.

She had such a varied mix of artwork it was hard to decide which should make the cut.

I did remember, though, the ones Ruth Mangan had already seen when Mitch had taken them into the gallery, and so I ensured they were put to one side.

We didn’t want to show our hand too early.

* * *

I ended up losing myself in more of Grandma’s journals and time ran away from me.