She saw the blood on her thumb just in time and pulled back with a curse. That’s all she needed – to lose one of the irreplaceable prints and delicate lokta paper to a bloodstain. Edie returned to the sink, running the cut under the tap and then pressing it with a paper towel, frustrated. She’d slipped while carving the day before and the blade had stabbed a tiny but deep cut right into the fleshy base of her thumb. A rookie mistake that had come out of the fine angle she’d been trying to achieve for the next print. Grappling with the goat had obviously reopened the wound.

Edie binned the towel and slapped a plaster over the cut. She should get some air and stretch her legs, she decided, clear her head before she did the last thirty packages. She needed to go up to the bookshop anyway; she had a fresh box of postcards for the counter that she’d promised to Rachel last week but hadn’t had the time to drop off. She pulled on her coat, grabbed her umbrella and tucked the box under her arm before heading out, locking the door behind her.

Once out of her garden gate it was a short walk up the hill. Corner Cottage was at one end of a line of four connected houses. At the other end was the gatehouse now occupied by Cullen. Edie had asked him about their history, and he’d told her that once they had been homes for families employed by the estate. She wondered if one of the men who’d built the lighthouse had lived in her little house, although back then it would have been even smaller than it was now. A later resident had altered the two-up-two-down dwelling to add the stone lean-to extension that had become her light and airy print room.

She reached the porch that surrounded the lighthouse door, pushing it open just in time to hear Ron Forrester’s booming voice raised in a triumphant yell.

‘Checkmate!’

‘It’s a fix!’ Cullen declared, as he did every time Ron managed to best him.

Edie crossed the floor towards the counter to the tune of their familiar bickering.

‘Afternoon, Cullen, Ron,’ she said as she passed the chess table. ‘The Barbarian is still at the gates then?’

‘No chance,’ Ron grinned. ‘I’ve repelled the heathen hoards. Peace reigns once more.’

‘A peace won by ill means is no peace at all,’ Cullen retorted, ‘and I demand an immediate rematch.’

‘Oh, go on then,’ his friend agreed.

By the time they were clearing the board to start yet another game, Edie had reached the counter. She smiled at Rachel, who stood behind it.

‘Sorry you didn’t get these sooner,’ Edie said, putting down the box she carried. ‘I’ve had a bit on.’

‘Thanks for doing them,’ Rachel said, opening the box and lifting out a stack of postcards. ‘We’re nearly out. Want a coffee?’

‘That’d be lovely, thanks.’ Edie’s attention was caught by the sight of something behind Rachel. ‘Who’s that?’