The Angel of the Lighthouse Read Free Page B

cottage. The stairs were shallow, leading down to the open-plan lower floor. To the left was the living area and to the right was the kitchen. A frosted glass door at the far end of the building was presumably the bathroom. It was a cluttered home, but it wasn’t a mess. Books and magazines were piled up on every surface, stacked two or three deep on shelves, and spilling from overflowing bookcases onto the floor. The whitewashed walls were almost invisible beneath photos and pictures of the natural world. One wall of the living area was completely dominated by the huge granite fireplace.
    The exposed wooden beams of the ceiling were dotted with odd-looking objects that Skye struggled to identify as the man ushered her towards a seat in the living area. He slid a pile of magazines out of the way and righted a fallen chair for her to sit in. She sat, and he moved towards the kitchen. She heard water running.
    “How does soup sound?” he called.
    “Sounds good to me,” she replied, leaning back in the chair.
    For all its clutter, the house was inviting and warm. She felt comfortable here, as if she’d been here before. It was nothing like her own small apartment, and it was worlds away from her fiancé’s minimalist lifestyle. But it suited him, in a way that she couldn’t explain in words.
    As the kettle came to the boil, the front door rattled and opened. Another man entered, wrapped in a bright yellow slicker.
    “It would freeze you out there,” he called to the man in the kitchen, before he seemed to realise that Skye was sitting there. His face brightened in a smile.
    “Ach, hello there lass. Glad to see you up and about.”
    His accent wasn’t a local one, Skye thought as she watched him strip off the slicker and make his way towards the table, dodging the stacks with the ease of long practise. He moved three books from another seat, before offering his hand across the table.
    “Jack Millar, lightkeeper here at station fifteen. And don’t take this the wrong way, but now that I get a proper look at you, I’m sure that I’ve seen your face before. Have I?”
    Skye had to laugh. “Skye Metcalfe, and you might have. I work for Channel Thirty Two, doing documentaries and interest pieces.”
    “That’s where I know you from,” Jack snapped his fingers, pleased, as the other man came out from the kitchen carrying three steaming mugs. “Has the big man here remembered to give you his name?” Jack asked.
    “Not yet,” Skye said.
    Jack mock scowled, shaking his head at his companion’s absent-mindedness. “Well, he’s generally known as Aries, since he refuses to tell me what his parents named him. You’d think he was embarrassed or something. And I can’t find his driving license or passport.”
    “Aries?” Skye asked. “Like the Zodiac sign?”
    “Exactly that,” the newly named Aries said as he set the mugs on the table, From somewhere behind him a microwave pinged.
    “That must be some name,” Skye said in a stage whisper to Jack, who chuckled lowly.
    Aries shook his head. “Keep guessing,” he said, and headed back to the kitchen.
    Skye found her eyes following him. There was something about the way that he moved, with grace and controlled power in every step. Would his hands move with the same grace as they touched the body of his lover?
    She frowned inwardly. Now, where had that thought come from? Objectively speaking, he was a handsome man, but she was taken, and off the market. She shouldn’t be speculating about anyone’s lovers!
    And certainly not imagining yourself in that position, a little voice whispered in her ear. It sounded like her fiancé.
    “One of these days, I’ll figure out the name,” Jack confided in her. “I don’t know what I’ll do with it when I have it, but I’ll do something.”
    Skye dragged her mind back to simpler things, and brought her eyes back around to look straight at Jack, rather than admiring Aries’ backside. “So, you said that you’re a