‘It’s a lovely wee place. I think you’ll really settle in. And I’m so glad Reid saw sense. He’s a funny one.’ She shook her head.
After seeing a different side to the man, Juliette was both intriguedandunwilling to judge him. ‘I suppose if he’s been through a tricky divorce he won’t easily trust again.’
‘You got that right. Honestly, since Kate left, we’ve all been walking on eggshells. He worried me at one point. I thought he was a little more than just angry and upset, if you know what I mean. I feared for his mental health. He just wasn’t himself for so long. Still isn’t really. But, thankfully, he has that beautiful, kind-hearted boy to keep him on his toes. I don’t know what would become of him if he didn’t.’
‘Evin’s great. Such a sweet lad.’
‘Aye, he is. So, what did you think of the museum now you’ve finally seen it?’
Juliette went on to tell Morag about the photograph of her mum and how much she loved the place and couldn’t wait to start working there. The museum would be totally different, in many ways, to the job she was used to back home in the university library, it maybe had more in common with her volunteering job at the charity shop. But she was looking forward to chatting to people and learning more about the local area. And, as they say, a change is as good as a rest!
* * *
Juliette’s stomach was aflutter as she stepped over the threshold of Lifeboat Cottage adjoining the museum. It had once been a kind of dormitory for the lifeboat crew seeing as they couldn’t fit in the station house with the boat itself. It had been expanded and renovated over the years to include an inside bathroom; a fact Juliette was most grateful about. She placed her bags down in the hallway, deciding she’d have a proper look around before unpacking. The hallway was small but clean and very bright; black and white tiles covered the floor and pale cream paint the walls. A small sign on a locked door simply saidMuseum Access, which meant she didn’t need to leave the house to get into the place.Good, if the rain comes again.
There was a framed photograph that she guessed was dated around the nineteen twenties, which showed a line of men in full waterproof regalia and oilskin sou’wester hats, proudly standing before their small lifeboat. Behind the men was the building to the right of the cottage – the old boathouse. It looked vastly different today, with its additional windows and fancy glazed front door, but the size certainly lent itself to an interior crammed with historical artefacts.
On a shelf under a rather ornate mirror that hung beside the photograph sat a little locally produced book. Inside were some accounts of rescues and a list of the brave men who’d taken part. It seemed the team was small but mighty in the number of lives they had been involved in saving. She spotted the MacKinnon name and assumed this was the reason why Reid still had a connection to the place.
There was a staircase that led up from the hallway and a small table by the door with a large well-kept plant sitting atop it in a mosaic pot. There was a little folded card beside the pot which read:GUESTS PLEASE READ.
Obediently, Juliette lifted the card and opened it.
Dear Guest,
I’m Florence the Philodendron and I’ve lived here for many years. I like to be kept quite dry and in low light, hence my location. Please do not water me more than once a week and do not be tempted to move me to another location within the house or shop. Follow these instructions and I will stay around for many years to come.
Thank you,
Florence
Foliage with a human name was something completely new to Juliette and she couldn’t help the giggle that escaped at the prospect of being bossed around by a pot plant.
‘Hello there, Florence, or can I call you Flo? I’ll take your silence as a yes. Anyway, Flo, I’m Jules and I’m here to look after you for a few months. I promise to behave and leave you where you are.’ She nodded at the inanimate object and then rolled her eyes. ‘Well, talking to plants is supposed to be good,’ she outwardly informed the half of her brain that was screaming at her that she was being ridiculous. She huffed. ‘Hey, if it’s good enough for Prince Charles, then it’s good enough for me.’
The kitchen was a good size and featured all the mod cons she would need. There was a small table to one side and a range of rustic oak units to the other. The living room was painted a deep red, which wasn’t a colour she would’ve chosen for such a small space, but it somehow worked. There was a log burner in a large brick fireplace, and she knew she would be making plenty of use of it during her stay. There was a portable radio, a small flat-screen TV and DVD player with a selection of old movies just like mostholiday lethouses.
The rear bedroom was small and only housed a single bed. Juliette smiled when she imagined Dexter trying to fold himself into it if he did come to visit. The bedroom at the front was the bigger of the two and had the best views. It reminded her a little of her room at home. The ceiling was quite low – although not too low for Juliette’s five feet six frame – and the walls were painted a rich cream. There were beautiful watercolour Highland scenes framed on the walls, each with the signature she now recognised as Reid’s; just the kind of paintings she loved. The large oak wardrobe held plenty of storage for her things and there was even a matching dressing table.
The window overlooked the inlet to the front, and she stood for a few moments taking in the view. A small fishing boat bobbed up and down on the water as the skipper prepared nets and another man swept the deck. Beside the boat something was splashing around and playing in the water. She couldn’t quite make out what it was but wondered if it was an otter like the one that had inspired the author, Gavin Maxwell.
Her heart skipped and a wave of happiness washed over her, taking her somewhat by surprise. This felt right; like the tonic she needed. She even managed to quell the niggle of guilt playing on her subconscious.
No, Laurie would want me to be happy. He’d fully support my being here. I’m doing exactly what he told me to do.
Elsewhere, there were more landscape paintings adorning the walls. They depicted sea views and mountains vistas and were displayed in an array of frame styles. It was like walking into a gallery dedicated to Reid MacKinnon’s work.
After she had unpacked her belongings, Juliette made a drink with the tea bags and milk that had been left in a welcome basket for her and she munched on a piece of Caitlin’s melt-in-the-mouth shortbread from the cling-wrapped plate that had been left too. There was a little note that read:
Dear Juliette,
We, theLifeboat House Museum Co-operative,sincerely hope you enjoy your stay at our wee museum. If there are any problems, please do not hesitate to contact myself, Reid MacKinnon, on the number below, or Morag McDougal at Thistle House, and we will be happy to assist you.
We wish you a very pleasant stay.
How lovely of them, she thought as she placed the note back down beside the plate of shortbread.
She carried her tea back through to the museum with the intention of getting to grips with the place before the grand opening. It wouldn’t be a grand opening for anyone but her, nevertheless her excitement vibrated through every bone and nerve ending.
