‘But why?’ she asked, the first time a young woman had held up her phone. ‘I don’t own the place – I just work here.’

‘It’s for Instagram,’ the girl said, as if that explained everything.

‘No, I’d rather not. Ask Gilly instead,’ Rachel had said, backing away. ‘She’s far more photogenic anyway.’

She couldn’t complain about the increase in trade, especially since any books leaving the premises meant fewer would need to be packed up and removed when another buyer was found.

When a new candidate did come forward, it was informally, and Rachel met him first. Glancing over as she rang in another customer’s purchase, she at first dismissed the young man who had caught her eye as another tourist, here to see the lighthouse but nothing more. He couldn’t have been more than thirty, and was tall, with broad shoulders and long, shaggy blond hair that made him look as if he should be carrying a surfboard under one arm. He walked into the bookshop and stood still a minute or two, looking around with a sunny smile on his face. Rachel went on serving the line that had gathered at the counter, and the next time she looked he was making his way up the stairs. He didn’t seem to be looking for books, although he reappeared at the counter half an hour later with several under one arm.

‘This place is great,’ he said, putting down his finds in front of the till. ‘I can’t believe anyone would even consider knocking it down.’

Rachel smiled and saw that he’d chosen four volumes on traditional brewing techniques.

‘You’re Rachel, right?’ he asked, as she began to ring in his purchases. ‘The manager?’

Rachel tried to give a genuine smile, although she still wasn’t comfortable with strangers knowing who she was. ‘That’s right.’

To her surprise he stuck out a hand and, as she shook it, said, ‘I’m Bernie Stuart. I own Stu’s Brews, up in Fraserburgh?’

Rachel had seen the colourfully printed cans in the supermarket, beers with flavours like coffee and dark chocolate, sour lychee, mango lassie, peach melba.

‘Oh, hi,’ she said. ‘I like your whisky cask bitter.’

‘Ahh – the classic! That was the first beer I ever made, and I did it all in my dad’s shed,’ Bernie laughed. ‘Now we’re expanding so much, our current premises can’t handle our output. We’re looking for a new place. I’m kind of thinking that this would be perfect, actually.’

Rachel stopped bagging his books and looked up at him. ‘The lighthouse?’

‘Yeah,’ he said, his enthusiasm clear. ‘I mean, think about it. A brewery in a lighthouse? That’s worth its weight in publicity on its own. And we’d make sure to keep it as untouched as we possibly could, too. We’d need to put a few additional buildings in, but I’ve had a walk around the site and we could put the warehouse and bottling plant on the far side of the hill. The offices can go in the gatehouse. It’s perfect, really. No one in the village would even know the difference.’