Page 57 of A Scottish Lighthouse Escape

Having examined Reece sufficiently, Mitch concentrated again. ‘Wow. That’s odd that the gallery wouldn’t even take a look.’

I ground my teeth. ‘I know you’ll think I’m biased. I probably am, but most of those paintings being exhibited in that gallery right now can’t hold a candle to my grandma’s.’

‘Oh, I know that,’ agreed Mitch. ‘I’ve seen them for myself.’

‘You go up there often then? To the Lumiere Gallery?’ I asked him, intrigued.

‘I do. Just for something to do. To get away from the confines of the lighthouse and the bothy for a bit.’ His lips hinted at a small smile and I found myself fiddling with the hem of my coat as he looked at me.

‘Nice and peaceful up there. Languid atmosphere and just the art for company. Suits me fine.’

I examined him again. He really did prefer his own company. ‘Well, we’ll just have to try and find another gallery who might be interested. It’s just … the Lumiere Gallery was a place my grandma was rather in awe of, considering all the prestigious Scottish artists who’ve exhibited there.’ A faraway look entered my eyes. ‘Ever since I was small, she was always armed with a paintbrush. She was able to capture the essence and shadow of life.’

Mitch listened. Another indecipherable look passed across his face, which had adopted a sudden and serious edge. ‘It takes such talent and dedication to be able to paint. I don’t think it’s something you can learn. You’re born with it. It’s a gift.’

I found myself surprised by his sudden openness. ‘Yes. You’re right. It is.’

I noticed he’d produced a stray cleaning cloth from his fleece pocket and was turning it over and over in his hands. His fingers began to knot it, wrapping the material around and around his fingers. If he continued doing that, he’d shred the thing. He noticed me watching his hands and pushed the cloth back inside his pocket. ‘You’ve had a real time of it, haven’t you?’

‘Sorry?’

‘Your grandma, your husband and then Barclay leaving.’

‘Yes, I’ve had better times in my life.’

I was aware his expression had softened as he continued to study me. Bloody hell, those eyes of his. They were lethal. I refocused. ‘We just wanted to do something special for her, that’s all. It turns out that she always wanted to have her work exhibited, but she was terrified of failing.’

I realised I was under scrutiny again from Reece’s hypnotic, blue-green gaze. I shuffled from foot to foot in my ankle boots. I was doing it again! Reacting to this man. Well, that would have to stop. He carried on looking at me, a pensive expression clutching at his features. ‘Let me help. Please.’

‘You just did,’ I assured him. ‘That’s all the paintings back inside now. Thank you for lending a hand with them.’

‘No. I don’t mean that.’ He hesitated and pushed his hands into his jean’s pockets. ‘Could I come inside for a few moments please? I wouldn’t mind taking a look at some of your grandma’s other work, and I can help you back down to her studio with these ones.’

Before I could debate it, Mitch was inside, almost filling the hall with his tall, dark presence. I watched him pick up the lighthouse picture again. ‘Her studio is at the bottom of the hall, you said?’

I shot a look at Reece, who offered me a small, cryptic smile. I didn’t know what that meant. ‘Er … yes… Right at the bottom, facing you. Thank you.’

Mitch strode off on his long legs, clutching the painting with reverence. Reece had already moved off just ahead of him and was placing the bluebell painting inside the open studio door.

As I approached, the studio looked like a child’s paintbox. The late morning light was sending strobes of winter sunshine across the wooden, paint-splashed floor. It glanced at her precious collection of glass butterflies up on the mantlepiece above the old, gothic-style fireplace.

‘This is where it all used to happen.’ I managed a smile.

But Mitch wasn’t listening. He was too interested in Grandma’s artwork. He set down the painting he was carrying and took in his surroundings. His attention zoomed in on my grandma’s other paintings propped against the back wall. ‘You said she always wanted to have her work on display?’

‘Yes, she did, although when you asked her, she’d always deny it.’ I took in her palettes of paint that I couldn’t bring myself to pack away. ‘She never knew how good she was.’ I clasped my hands together. ‘Anyway, at least we tried to get her featured in the Lumiere Gallery. I hope I can thumb my nose at that old bat when another gallery snaps up her work.’

‘Let me help,’ erupted Mitch, breaking through my thoughts.

I blinked at him. ‘Sorry?’

His voice sounded almost desperate. ‘Let me see if I can get her paintings accepted by the Lumiere Gallery. At least let me try.’

I stared at him and then at Reece, who’d been listening intently from the other side of the room. ‘But… But that woman in the gallery gave us a flat no,’ he said.

‘Well, she might not if I ask her.’

I narrowed my eyes at him. ‘What makes you think that you’ll have more success than us?’