Patrick smiled at Katie. “Oh, we managed, didn’t we? It was completely different, though. I had never come across xenophobia before, but by God, it hit us in the face when we got here. I was known universally as ‘the Englishman’ at every harbour in Scotland. Seascape had been in business for five years, but when I started buying, it was always ‘sold to the Englishman!’ “ He smiled and shook his head. “But, my word, it was fun. I remember going up to Ullapool for the first time, and driving down the hill into the town. There were all these boats in the harbour, nearly every one of them was flying a different national flag, and sitting out in the bay were these bloody great Russian trawlers. When I got down to the harbour, I couldn’t believe my eyes. It wasn’t just fish that was being traded. It was everything! The Russians were bartering with their vodka and caviar, and the Scottish fishermen were dealing in Levi jeans and whisky, and the Spanish were in there too. It was just one big international, free-for-all market.” Patrick let out a scoffing laugh. “In Ullapool of all places! Stuck right up there in the northwest of Scotland!”

Dan smiled. He was beginning to warm to this man more with every moment that he was in his company.

“But it was hard to start off with, I have to admit,” Patrick continued, “especially for Kate. We’d sunk every last penny into the purchase of Seascape, so we were forced to live pretty much hand-to-mouth for a couple of years before we really got it going. And to do that, we had to expand the business, and that meant buying from other harbours. It was then that we came up against some pretty shady characters who didn’t like us butting in on their market.” He settled his elbows on the table. “I remember one time returning from the East Neuk of Fife with the refrigerated lorry stuffed full of prawns, and about twenty miles into the journey, the bloody thing just stopped dead. Now, what you’ve got to realize is that if the lorry stops, then the refrigeration unit packs up as well. So I was desperately looking around under the bonnet, but I just couldn’t work out what the hell the matter was with the damned thing. Anyway, having checked absolutely everything else, I eventually took the cap off the fuel tank and it sort of grated as I turned it. There was still sand stuck in the neck of the tank.”

“Someone had put sand in it?” Dan asked incredulously.

Patrick shrugged. “It was a warning. ‘Don’t come back here, Englishman.’ That sort of thing.”

“What about the load of prawns?”

“Oh, we unloaded this oozing, smelly load of pulp when I got back to Fort William.”

“You lost the lot?”

“Yes. About three thousand pounds’ worth.”