Chapter 36
M aureen’s heart was beating double-time—in a good way—and her brain was whirring with new ideas. She had not heard from the TV network but assumed her show had been snuffed. If the network executives could only see her now. She would have the last laugh. When she got back to the room, she would call her attorney to make sure she wasn’t violating any contractual agreements by writing a cookbook. A lawsuit wouldn’t help anyone. James would throw a conniption. What if Amanda was correct in her allegations about James’s infidelity? Would her husband have the gall to cheat on her after the death of her parents? For all she knew, he had been unfaithful to her their whole marriage.
While in the kitchen preparing Denny’s omelet, beating the eggs to a light and fluffy froth, Maureen planned her new cookbook, which would be a smash, a New York Times bestseller. She loved the Scottish theme. Her mind filled with ideas. When the snow let up, she would shower, dress, and look her best, then ask the obnoxious reporter to come back again. Someone would know the name of his employer. The Gazette would have the pleasure of announcing her new venture. Literary agents had approached her for years. All she needed to do was choose one and call their office.
Maureen toyed with the idea of extending their trip another month right here on the Isle of Skye. Then when home, after the book’s release, she’d have a book signing in the Big Apple. She’d hire a publicist to help launch her new career.
She selected a mélange of cheeses from the refrigerator and grated several, then she chopped green onions. She was out to impress her little sister, which brought a smile to Maureen’s face. Yet she had a nagging feeling someone was out to ruin her. Someone who wanted her spot on the TV show. They could have it. Maureen realized she couldn’t care less. Whoever it was could not replace the one and only Maureen Cook, who would emerge victorious. If only her parents were here to encourage her. Stop, she told herself. She must not return to that swamp of despair. She had money in the bank, her daughter, and talent galore.
Then a spectacular thought came to mind. She could direct and produce her own TV show, filmed right in her home’s kitchen. It had been updated last year and had all the amenities she’d need. Her followers would adore it. She had learned enough over the years to swing it. She’d switch to another network that had been begging her for years. Of course, she’d demand a bonus... Hold on, as the boss, she could have anything she wanted—just like Martha Stewart.
She cut into the butter and then slipped a small yellow cube into her warming pan, producing a sizzle. She poured the eggs atop the butter and sprinkled on the grated cheese. How she adored cooking.
She would miss the crew she’d grown so close to such as the cameramen, lighting experts, and the magical makeup and wardrobe gurus—who might jump at the chance of following her on her new venture. She imagined herself taking the recipes out of her new cooking book and selling thousands of copies each week.
Another bonus: she would be home every afternoon when Amanda returned from school. In the blink of an eye, her daughter would be headed off to college. Maureen hoped, anyway. Amanda didn’t seem to have much interest in school, but Maureen would at least be there when her daughter got home from school. And Maureen couldn’t count on Lydia working for her forever. Another six months at the most was what Lydia had promised.
Maureen admired her lovely omelet, browned just the way she knew Denny liked it. She looked around for a clean and attractive plate and found one with a pink floral rim. She wondered what she would use for embellishment but remembered Denny wouldn’t care and hated parsley. Oh dear, Maureen had forgotten to put in the toast. Cooking in this foreign kitchen had thrown her off her game, but she recovered when she noticed a bag of bread. She slid a couple of slices in the toaster, then headed into the dining room.
“One cheese omelet.” Maureen placed it before Denny. “What condiment would you like with your toast?” Maureen asked.
“More toast? I shouldn’t but since you ask.” Denny patted her flat tummy. “Honey, strawberry and raspberry jams, and marmalade are already on the table.”
“Perfect.” Maureen scanned the dining room looking for Lydia. Maureen finally located her at a table with Alec. Maureen turned to speak to her sister. “What on earth do Lydia and Alec have to talk about? Why isn’t she looking after Amanda?”
“In all fairness, that block of snow that fell off the roof knocked Lydia unconscious for a moment.” Denny turned to watch them too. “Do I think she’s taking advantage of the situation? Sure looks like it. Men can be so dumb when it comes to the guiles of women.”
Maureen thought of her husband and couldn’t disagree. But she didn’t want to make a snide comment about James.