Page 64 of A Scottish Island Summer

‘You know I’m right.’

Logan remained silent for a few moments, still gripping his mobile in his hand.

I could make out Iona’s irritated voice. ‘Logan? Logan? Are you still there?’

He gave me a grudging nod, before turning his attention back to his sister on the other end of the phone. ‘I’m with Darcie at the moment. We’re just leaving Sligachan Bridge. I take it you’re at the shop now? Right. OK. See you in about twenty minutes.’

* * *

No sooner had Logan and I stepped inside Rock God, with its faint traces of bagpipe music, than Iona came barrelling out from behind the counter. She shoved her loose, blonde hair out of her eyes. ‘This has to stop.’ She blushed with temper.

Logan didn’t reply. He cast his eyes around his shop. ‘Where’s Rhona?’

‘I sent her home. Och, there’s no point the two of us standing here like two useless bookends.’

‘I bet she was delighted about that,’ he grumbled under his breath. He turned to me. ‘She isn’t the most conscientious of people, is Rhona.’

‘Yes, I got that impression from what you said before.’

Iona slid me an awkward smile. ‘Hi, Darcie. How are you? How’s the book research going?’

But she didn’t allow me to answer.

Instead, Logan’s sister planted her hands on her hips, taking a pointed gaze around at the silent shop with its glittery, encrusted rocks and shiny pebbles on the shelves. Frustration bristled out of her. ‘I’m not asking you, Logan. I’m telling you. I’m sick of this place being a ghost town and I’m undertaking a public relations programme. You don’t have to thank me.’

Logan eyes widened with alarm. ‘Like hell you are!’

Iona was unrepentant. ‘I’ve just heard that Vincent Meiklejohn asked his grandson to set up social media accounts for him. They’re even talking about recruiting a marketing manager.’

‘What? For a fish farm?’ Logan half-laughed.

She pushed out her determined, pretty, pointed chin. ‘At least he’s realised that getting their business in front of the public is a must. That’s why I’m going to come up with a plan to improve the fortunes of this place.’

Logan rubbed at his forehead in desperation. ‘Look, Iona, I don’t mean to sound rude and I know you mean well, but you aren’t qualified in PR.’

Iona looked indignant. ‘But I came up with those leaflets for The Old Dog and Duck.’

‘The Old Dog and Duck?’ I repeated, confused.

‘Local pub,’ answered Logan. ‘Iona produced leaflets about their Friday night pub quiz.’

‘Ah. OK.’

His younger sister carried on, undeterred. ‘And don’t forget the public relations drive I did for the town hall Christmas Fayre last year.’

‘Public relations drive?’ barked Logan with incredulous laughter. ‘You walked up and down Portree High Street, wearing a sandwich board and tinsel!’

Iona stuck out her bottom lip. ‘Now you’re just being pedantic.’

‘No, I’m stating facts.’ He closed his eyes for a few seconds. ‘I know you’re doing this with the best of intentions, and I appreciate it, but the answer’s “No, thank you”.’

Iona looked like she was ready to combust.

I gave Logan a brief dig in the ribs. ‘Look, I’ve got a suggestion to make. Iona, why don’t you come up with a few ideas on how to promote this place and Logan can take a look at them?’

Logan looked stricken. I popped my eyes at him in a meaningful way, as if to say, ‘For goodness’ sake, she’s only trying to help! Placate your sister.’

After a few more moments, he gave a reluctant nod. ‘Aye. OK. Sure.’