Page 32 of A Scottish Lighthouse Escape

Mitch stopped dead. His eyes turned to flint. He ignored the reporter’s outstretched hand. Mitch looked like a dark, avenging angel in his heavy, long coat. ‘How did you find out I was here?’

Harvey Flanagan dismissed the question. ‘We don’t reveal our sources, sir.’ He gave Mitch what he probably hoped was an endearing smile. ‘Now I won’t take up too much of your time.’

‘You won’t be taking up any of my time, I can assure you. I don’t speak to reporters.’

Unperturbed, the journalist continued. ‘If you could just spare a few minutes, Mr Carlisle, please? I’m writing a feature for the paper about civil action cases and the impact they have on business people like yourself. I’m sure many readers would be interested to hear what happened to you after⁠—’

Mitch didn’t give the journalist any more time. He pushed his chiselled, glowering face into the reporter’s. ‘Are you hard of hearing? I said I don’t speak to journalists. Now, sod off before I ask Kane here to see you off.’

Kane let out a low, menacing growl.

Staring down at the German Shepherd’s fixed attention on him, Harvey Flanagan took a few eager steps backwards. ‘There’s no need for threats, Mr Carlisle.’

‘Oh, they aren’t threats,’ clarified Mitch.

The journalist straightened his askew, navy and silver striped tie.

‘And don’t bother coming back here again.’

Kane took another deliberate step towards Harvey Flanagan.

The reporter took this as his cue to retreat to his car – a battered, tomato-red Kia – parked up further past the remote woodland. He wasted no time in jumping into his vehicle and speeding off.

Mitch stood there, his shoulders and back ramrod straight, watching the shabby car disappearing up the road. Bronte and Kane meanwhile were having a high old time chasing each other around the front of the cottage.

I eyed Mitch with confusion. What on earth was all that about? And what was it that reporter had started saying about the effect of civil court cases on business people like Mitch? Whatever it was he hadn’t wanted me to know.

Mitch flashed me a look from under his black beanie. He offered no explanation about why a reporter from a big newspaper like the Glasgow Mail wanted to talk to him. He cleared his throat. ‘I hope that character didn’t give you any grief?’

I eyed him. ‘No, not at all. I’m fine, thanks.’

There was an awkward silence, with just the water in the bay sloshing down below.

‘And your prowler?’

It was clear Mitch was keen to move the conversation on to another topic.

‘He hasn’t been back since, although I did see him in the high street, after I’d been shopping.’

Mitch’s thick, dark brows flexed under his hat. ‘What, just now?’

‘Yes. I spotted him across the road from the supermarket. He’d bought a newspaper and was going back to his car.’

Mitch digested what I’d just told him. ‘Well, any more issues, you know where I am. Where we both are.’ He gestured to Kane, whose tongue flapped. ‘I mean it, Rosie. You aren’t on your own.’

An odd flutter of gratitude took me by surprise.

Mitch gave Kane an affectionate scratch behind one ear. Then he turned and strode off back up the path towards the lighthouse, with no explanation offered about what had just happened – or why.