Contents (57)
- Prologue
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Acknowledgements
- About the Author
- Also by Sharon Gosling
‘Right,’ said Ron, clapping his hands together. ‘Ezra, I think it’s time we got you back home and started getting ready, don’t you?’
Ezra took a deep breath. ‘All right then. Let’s do this. Rachel – we’ll see you there.’
Rachel smiled. ‘Absolutely. I can’t wait.’
Once they had left, Rachel closed the lighthouse doors and stood quietly for a moment, looking around the decorated bookshop. Eustace came to sit beside her feet, looking up at her with a dissatisfied miaow at all the disruption. I don’t like change, he seemed to be saying. Rachel bent and picked him up, feeling him purr as he rubbed his old head beneath her chin.
‘Come on, puss,’ she said. ‘Let’s go and get changed. How do you feel about a ribbon for your collar? It’s a special day.’
The bookshop phone rang as she was about to set foot on the stairs to the mezzanine. Rachel glanced at the clock, then put the cat down and went to answer it, thinking that it might be Gilly or Edie with some last-minute worry or request.
‘Good morning, the Lighthouse Bookshop,’ Rachel said, realizing with a jolt as the familiar words left her lips that they could well be the last time she ever said them. Once evening fell after the wedding celebration, the bookshop would not open its doors again.
It was neither Gilly nor Edie.
‘Rachel,’ said Liz McNally, of the Scottish National Trust, ‘I’m sorry to call you on a Saturday.’
McNally had been one of two of the Trust’s representatives who had visited the James MacDonald Tower earlier in the week, after Rachel had called them to explain the situation and to reveal the existence of the camera obscura.
‘I’ve got good news, I’ve got bad news, and I’ve got some questions,’ McNally said. ‘Can you spare a few minutes?’
‘A few,’ Rachel said. ‘I’m about to head off to a wedding, but go ahead.’
‘I’ll make this as quick as I can, then,’ said McNally. ‘Obviously the camera obscura and Eveline MacDonald’s story has to be preserved, there’s no question about that. Whatever happens, we’ll be pushing for its listing status to be raised to the highest grade immediately, which would mean any sale would have to be with the proviso that the new owner agrees to its preservation. I’m glad to say that provisionally, though, it’s a yes to the Scottish National Trust taking it on.’
Rachel’s heart leapt. ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘that’s great!’
‘The thing is,’ McNally went on, ‘the offer we’ll make to take the estate will be far lower than the owner would get if it went to a private buyer.’
‘The owner understands that,’ Rachel said, thinking back to her conversation with Trudy Goodwin and Alan Crosswick, who had rushed over from Aberdeen when he’d heard his client had unexpectedly turned up in Scotland. To his credit, Alan hadn’t seemed put out by Trudy’s change of heart about the camera obscura. He’d simply detailed what she could expect, which included the likelihood that even if the Trust was willing to take on the MacDonald estate, it would probably be for a pittance compared to what Bernie Stuart was offering. Trudy, equally to her credit, had shrugged and pointed out that a few weeks ago she hadn’t even known the place existed, let alone that she owned it, so anything she received would be a bonus she’d never expected anyway.