Page 53 of A Scottish Lighthouse Escape

Chapter Twenty

Reece materialised behind me in the hallway.

‘Who’s your knight in shining armour?’

My cheeks popped with more colour. ‘The new lighthouse keeper. Tends to keep himself to himself.’

I knew I’d applied the same philosophy since arriving in Rowan Bay. I mentally dismissed more images of Mitch’s green-ringed eyes and his thoughtfulness. ‘Come on,’ I urged Reece, watching Mitch’s dark-haired, muscular frame vanish up the cliff steps. ‘Let’s give this art gallery a call. We should hit the ground running.’

Reece’s eye’s popped in surprise. ‘What? Now?’

‘Why not? No time like the present and all that.’

We returned to my grandma’s studio and I fetched my mobile from the desk. I pulled up the Lumiere Gallery’s website and located their phone number and dialled it. My stomach was flip-flapping around with a combination of nerves and excitement.

After several rings, a deep, modulated, Scottish female voice answered. ‘Good morning, the Lumiere Gallery. How may I help you?’

I smiled down the line. ‘Good morning, I was wondering if we might be able to make an appointment, please? We have some very impressive chalks and watercolours from a late, local artist. She was my grandmother. We hoped you might be interested in taking a look, with a possible view to exhibiting?’

‘Oh, I’m very sorry for your loss,’ replied the woman. ‘We would of course have to see the artwork before making a decision. Are they landscapes, portraits, still life…?’

‘A very eclectic mix,’ I explained, hoping I was doing a good job of verbally selling them.

Reece stood opposite me, listening to the phone conversation with interest.

‘My late grandma lived in Rowan Bay for years, so there’s a lovely, local angle to many of the pieces. In fact, some of her pictures feature Rowan Bay harbour, the lighthouse, the cliffs…’

‘Well, we could certainly take a look,’ mused the woman. I heard her tap the keys of a computer keyboard. ‘Could you give me some details first and then we can schedule a suitable appointment time for you to bring in a selection of your late grandma’s artwork?’

I stuck one thumb up in the air at Reece, delighted by how the phone call was playing out so far.

Reece beamed and jerked his thumb up at me in response.

‘Right. So can you give me your late grandma’s name please?’

‘Yes. It’s Tilda Michaels.’

The excited twittering from the woman at the other end of the phone vanished. I thought the line had crashed. ‘Hello? Are you still there?’ I asked.

The woman let out a weird cough. Her voice had morphed from friendly and enthusiastic to brittle in seconds. ‘I do apologise, but I’m afraid we won’t be able to consider your late grandmother’s work for exhibition. Our diary is very full right now.’

My shoulders stiffened in surprise. What on earth was going on here? Only a moment ago, she was all for it. ‘Sorry? I don’t understand.’

The woman was keen to wrap up the conversation. ‘Thank you for considering the Lumiere Gallery and I wish you success with finding another gallery for the work. Have a good day.’ The phone went dead.

I stared down at my mobile. She’d put the phone down on me!

Reece frowned down at my phone screen, back at me and then at my phone again. ‘What’s happened?’

I shook my head in disbelief. ‘I don’t know. She was so enthusiastic about seeing Grandma’s paintings, but as soon as I mentioned Grandma’s name, she realised their exhibition diary was choc-a-block and hung up!’

Reece’s bristly brows fenced. ‘Seriously? That sounds odd.’

‘I know. Tell me about it.’

I set my mobile back down on the desk, my head racing.

Reece shrugged under his woollen sweater. ‘Och, some of these arty types can be a bit unpredictable.’