Page 25 of The Bookshop By the Loch

Tobias’s second shrug was another uneasy one. “I can set up a gallery here. I’ve been taking a look at those new flats on the outskirts of town and there’s one I’ve expressed interest in.”

Trevor’s mouth dangled open. “What? You mean, you’ve been house-hunting already?” Alarm revved up in his eyes. “This is all rather sudden, isn’t it?”

“No point in hanging around.”

“Right,” faltered Trevor, his eyes locked on his nephew’s dark, brooding expression. “But moving back here after all this time… relocating… well, it’s a big step.”

“It’s beginning to make more sense, the more I think about it,” insisted Tobias. “Getting away from the city and settling somewhere quieter, where I can paint.”

A concoction of emotions charged across Trevor’s face. “So, have you identified a suitable location for a gallery here? I’m not aware of any of the other businesses for sale in the town at the moment.”

“Exactly,” replied Tobias, aiming another pointed glower at me. “Like I said, I would’ve been very interested in this place.” He stared around at the interior of the shop.

Trevor’s voice was laced with irritation again. “It was on the market for five seconds and then I changed my mind. If I’d proceeded with the sale, of course I would’ve told you.” Trevor sighed. “From the minute the For Sale sign went up, I wondered if I was doing the right thing. I’ve just explained what the situation is.”

“Oh, you’ve made that clear.”

Tobias made a sudden move to leave the bookshop

“Tobias. Where are you going?” asked his puzzled uncle.

“I need to start shopping around for premises for my gallery.” Tobias drew up. “Nice to see your loyalties lie with family, Uncle Trevor.”

He offered me a lengthy stare. “Good luck, Ms Dunbar. Something tells me you’re going to need it.”

It was then that his mobile let out another demanding ring.

Tobias answered it and exchanged small talk with the caller, before launching into a description about using salt in his paintings for added texture. Then he was gone.

Chapter Nine

Trevor watched his scowling nephew retreat along the pavement, through the bookshop window.

His face still possessed a troubled edge.

“Ae you alright, Trevor?”

He frowned. “What? Oh. Yes. I’m fine, thank you. I just didn’t expect to have Tobias turn up so unexpectedly.”

“I take it you aren’t close to your nephew and sister-in-law.” I didn’t want to appear nosey, but my curiosity was piqued.

Trevor squinted against the light glancing off the loch. “No. Not very. At least, we used to be.” His voice tailed off.

“Families,” I said. “You can choose your friends but you can’t choose your relatives. I know what that’s like.”

“You can say that again.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“Tobias?” Trevor screwed up his eyes with concentration. “My goodness. It must be about eighteen months ago now, at my sister-in-law’s birthday party. She lives in Loch Muir, that little market town about forty-five minutes’ drive from here.” Trevor continued to explain. “I dropped by just to be polite, but didn’t stay long.” He flapped one hand in a dismissive gesture, as though the whole affair had been of little consequence.

I couched my words. “I hope this situation with me taking over as bookshop manager isn’t going to cause you any undue friction with Tobias.”

Trevor opened and closed his mouth several times. But his dilemma was cut short by the arrival of an older couple who were passing by with their two small grandchildren. He switched on a smile.

They popped their heads around the door, made encouraging noises about the revamp of Book Ends and wished Trevor good luck.

When they’d gone, Trevor stuffed his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “Nothing’s ever straightforward, is it?”