for a place and then you had to fight to keep it. In the land she inhabited if you showed your weaknesses, especially if you were a woman, they’d be used against you.
“But your career doesn’t laugh with you, understand you and hold you when you’re scared or tired.”
“What I can’t do for myself, I’ve learned to do without.” She ate a piece of shortbread and closed her eyes. It was still slightly warm from the oven, and she tasted sweetness as it crumbled in her mouth. A montage played through her brain—baking with her mother in the kitchen, hands dug deep into soft flour. Arriving home from school and immediately heading to the kitchen for a snack. Was it the food itself that was a comfort, or the memories that came attached like a sugar coating? Did we love food because food meant love? “This is perfect. I’ve never tasted anything better. Except perhaps your porridge. Also the soup you served last night. And the lamb. In fact everything you’ve served us since we arrived here.” Having thought she wasn’t hungry, she now realized she was starving. She broke off another piece of shortbread. “I think your grandmother might have been right about it having healing properties. Have you thought about writing a cookery book?”
Mary laughed. “To teach someone to make shortbread? It’s a staple in thousands of kitchens around here. No one needs my recipe.”
“I disagree.” Gayle glanced at the cakes and pies cooling on the countertop. “What you do here is special.”
“I make ordinary food. These days no one is interested in ordinary food.”
“I disagree. You could call it Tastes from a Highland Kitchen. No, wait...” Gayle paused. It was a relief to feel some of her energy returning. “Tales from a Highland Kitchen. You include personal stories about the recipes, like the one you just told me. Maybe interspersed with photographs of the estate.”
“Who would be interested in that?”
“In good, traditional recipes with human interest and family stories thrown in? A lot of people. Think about it. If you’re keen, I can make a call to my publisher.”
“Your—” Mary plopped down on the chair. “Are you serious?”
“Yes. I’m not promising they’ll go with the idea of course, but I like to think I can spot potential and you have it in spades. Maybe later, when I’ve washed my face and done something to get rid of this headache, we can sit down and brainstorm ideas. You can feed me more of your excellent food, which definitely does have magical properties, and you can tell me more stories of growing up here and your grandmother. And here’s another thought—” Gayle’s mind had gone from feeling sluggish and soaked with regret, to alert. “How would you feel about teaching cookery?”
“Teaching?”
“Talk to my daughter, because this is more her field than mine, but I could imagine that there would be a big demand for small groups of people to come and stay for a few days of cookery.”
“A cookery week?”
“Maybe not a week. Short breaks. They can cook what they’re going to eat while they’re here. So basically you’d have help in the kitchen. Or maybe you offer that as an extra when they’re here for their house party. Cook with Mary.”
Mary laughed. “I’m starting to understand how you’ve done so well in life.”
“I don’t think I’ve done well at the things that matter.”
“You’re focusing only on what you didn’t give the girls, instead of looking at what you did give them.”
“Maybe.” It was humbling how badly she needed to hear someone tell her that she hadn’t made a complete mess of things. Inside she felt doubtful, crumpled and insecure.
And maybe Mary realized that.
“Here’s something else to think about.” She offered another slice of shortbread. “It’s never too late to build a snowman, Gayle. It’s never too late to dance, or laugh, bake cookies or date a man. It’s never too late.”
Samantha
“I have no idea where she’s gone. She’s probably taken a taxi to the airport,” Ella said, “because I refused to let her make choices for me. I’ve probably upset her.”
Samantha clasped her hands behind her back to hide the fact they were shaking. She was so angry with her mother. Gayle was the one who had insisted on spending Christmas with them. Why do that, if she didn’t want to make it a happy time for her granddaughter? How could she intentionally upset little Tab? The shaking grew worse. She kept her focus on her sister. “I’m