Chapter 2

Hatching a Plan

Almost every cook who had spent any length of time working in the Glenbogle kitchen put their personal stamp on the rather ancient, no-frills space. For Lexie it was photos. They were tacked up on small cork boards, on shelves, on the back of cupboard doors, holding places in recipe books, on the fridge and even on that beloved sepia-toned poster—which no one seemed to reference—identifying a myriad of indigenous mushrooms. When Irene Stuart was hired she brought with her a stunning collection of high-quality chef's knives. There was a smaller, personal kit of about seven knives each having its own slot in a soft black carrying case which rolled closed and was secured with a small bit of Velcro and a tie. Then there were the larger ones, the cleavers and such which Golly, estate ghillie and consummate handyman saved from a life of being jostled around in a drawer, a guaranteed way of dulling the blades, by rigging a magnetic strip to the wall whereupon they could rest comfortably, sharply waiting for the chance to be used.

In Ewan Brodie's case his interest in music was just as important to him as was his interest in cooking. On a small cloth-covered table in the corner of the kitchen near the huge black stove, tucked in messy piles amongst pieces of crockery were about 50 CD's or roughly half his collection and a pretty decent, at least for what he was paid, Sony CD player. Though the acoustics of the room were terrific common decency and house rules prevented him from listening to the tunes as they were truly meant to be heard; loud and bouncing off the walls. But, as a former pre-adolescent destined to become a regular tearaway, he was grateful for the job and the second chance he had been given by the MacDonalds and therefore tried very hard not to abuse his privileges.

"Okay," Ewan pushed a few buttons on the CD player then turned to face Duncan. "Listen to this next track."

As both lads played their various 'air' instruments Golly entered the kitchen. He was carrying several hunted rabbits, all hung from a string in his which he proceeded to cart into the pantry. Carefully and methodically he laid them out on a butcher block then arranged them one by one on hooks overhead suspended from a square metal contraption secured to the ceiling. While he worked he shook his head at the noisy music and Duncan had taken notice.

"Wuh? Not your cup of tea, 'eh, Golly?" Both Duncan and Ewan laughed.

"Och, this isn't music, lads! If it's real music you're after, you have to look to the classics."

"Oh aye, and who would that be, The Beatles?"

"Aye, sure, The Beatles. They diversified." Seeing as neither of the younger men responded, Golly added, "They didn't stick with one type of song or one tempo. They changed it up a bit. They sang ballads, love songs, folksy tunes and rock-n-roll."

"Check it out, Ewan," Duncan joshed, "Golly's a fan of The Fab Four! Who knew?"

While Duncan and Golly continued their discussion, Ewan crossed the kitchen to check a pot bubbling away on the stove.

"Psst!"

Ewan stopped stirring briefly then shook his head and continued mixing the contents of the pot.

"Psst! Psst!"

Knowing this time he'd definitely heard something he twisted his head slowly to the left and spotted Donald's barely discernable body standing just beyond, motioning with his hand for Ewan to join him. Replacing the lid, he cautiously approached Donald.

Before either had spoken, Donald put a finger to his lips and said, "Shhhh!" Ewan nodded, following along with the weird instructions. "Do you know anything about fishing?"

"Fishing? Yes!"

"Shhhh! And salmon, what do you know about salmon?"

"Aye, well you have to fish to get the salmon."

"Hey, this is no time to be a smart aleck! I need you to meet me in my room at twenty-two hundred hours—tonight."

"Right, why?"

"What?"

"Why," Ewan repeated.

"Shh! Shh! Shh! Lower your voice, lad. I need your help with…well let's just say I need your help with a special project. Are you in?"

"Yea, okay what the hell!"

"Oh and one last thing," Donald leaned in closer as if this last detail was the most crucial, "come alone!"

As Donald stole off into the night, Ewan returned to the kitchen, "Tsk," he said to no one in particular, "Really, who would I bring?"

Lexie in Molly's Studio

Lexie sat at her desk in what used to be Molly's painting studio. Though she did still paint from time-to-time Molly preferred the brisk outdoor air, setting up an easel on the side lawn or even in the library where the sunlight streamed in brightly in the colder months. The room, situated between Molly and Hector's bedrooms was tiny and cozy. The pale yellow wallpaper which had been up for years was starting to show its wear but was a good calming foil to the rows of shelves still containing colorful tempera paints, tubes of oils, bottles of solvents, brushes and various accumulated odds and ends.

Lexie opened up her laptop and scrolled to the search engine then typed in a topic. Although she clicked on one of the retrieved choices her eyes drifted. Her attention span was nil. Sitting just feet away from her in her father-in-law's bedroom was her husband. She knew that sometimes late at night Archie would sit in the room, not on the bed or in one of the old wooden chairs with the rush seats but in the back, leaning against the wooden lid of the built-in tub that Hector was so fond of soaking in. Though most of Hector's personal effects had been removed, his bedroom was still pretty much intact. Not so much the 'shrine' that she'd felt Jamie's room had become for the family but more just a remembrance of the cantankerous but loveable Hector.

She felt a bit selfish realizing that the one thing that stuck out most in her mind about what Archie had said in the office earlier that day was that he'd been forced to give up his London life. Had he also meant his former girlfriend Justine, Lexie wondered. Several years had gone by now, but still. The thoughts were always there, weren't they? They'd been a pair for such a long time, he and Justine. One doesn't easily forget someone they've know quite so intimately for that length of time. Five years, it was. Ample enough time to become familiar with someone else, to become comfortable with another's ways. Two lives merged into one. Archie did love her, Lexie was sure. But would their relationship ever be that in sync?

Deciding it would probably be best to call it a night, she logged out of her screen. The great sale on baby cots and other related items would have to wait for another day, as would the very important discussion she needed to have with the wee lad or lassie's Daddy.

Donald's Attic Bedroom

Looking out the window at the bird's eye view Donald MacDonald had from his small attic bedroom made him literally feel as though he were sitting on top of the world. The enormous dark sky shimmered with what appeared to be thousands of shiny little gold sequins. He remembered this sky, an undiluted canopy of speckled darkness, unaffected by the artificial lighting normally cast by the congested city atmospheres of which he was so familiar.

A knock at the door in that recognizable 'secret code rhythm' meant Ewan was right on time.

"En-ter!!"

Ewan turned the knob on the door with his left hand. In his right he held a covered dish with three bottles secured under the same arm; two beers and a bottle of malt vinegar.

"Brought us a snack for the meeting, Donald," Ewan indicated the covered plate, "Made those homemade chips you like, even remembered the vinegar. And," he held up the bottles of beer, "something to wash it all down with." He placed the food and drinks on a trunk then sat in the offered chair, eyeing his surroundings. The vaulted ceiling and rough texture of the stone walls was unlike any of the other rooms Ewan had seen at Glenbogle. "This place is fantastic."

"Well, through a young man's eyes, it was for me, too but now with my arthritic knees it's more work than it's really worth to climb all of those stairs. When it's hot outside, the room's unbearable; when cold, it's freezing. But day or night, mind the view is always magnificent."

"I'll switch bedrooms with ya any day! So what's all this about fishing?" Already salted to his liking, Ewan set to the task of thoroughly dousing the chips with vinegar.

Donald clapped his hands and rubbed them together then pulled Lord Kilwillie's Glen-Bugle advertisement out from under a pile on his small desk and placed it on the trunk that sat between them, smoothing out the wrinkles. Striking it he said, "This is it!"

"Um," Ewan looked on quizzically, "I don't get it."

"Oh don't be so obtuse, lad! This is, well it's going to be, the answer to the estate's money problems." Ewan sat up, a get out of here look changing his face. "Well, I mean eventually, you must understand. It's going to take some hard work, but by gum, I declare it's just another avenue for Glenbogle to explore and a chance for me to show exactly what I'm capable of."

"But this is Kilwillie's company, what's it have to do with you?"

"Well the thing is I was able to pump him for ideas. What does the man know, really? He hasn't worked a day in his life! But he was smart enough to corner the epicurean food market here, in this country. Not in Europe, not in America, but here."

"Right, but I'm still not following, Donald."

"My dear boy, listen. What is the most abundant thing Glenbogle has, hmm?"

"Debt?"

"Oh, be serious for a moment, would you lad? It's fish! The lochs are overflowing with salmon! Heard Golly saying so himself just the other day. The supply is virtually endless for the amount we would need and it's all on Glenbogle land, my family's land—so there's no overhead. If I can smoke my own fish and start up a small grassroots company, show that I can pay my own way here, that I'm inventive and innovative, well then, Archie will have to see the business acumen that I possess. It's a foolproof plan, it is."

"Okay, okay wait, so this is all some ploy to get you to co-run the estate? Sounds like a lot of work just for a title. And what will I gain from it?"

"It's not a ploy, and it's certainly not just a title. My nephew, the Laird, is the title! But he needs help running the estate and he's very touchy about the subject. He's gotten all of that stubborn MacDonald blood from my brother, he simply can't see things any way but his way and that's not necessarily the best way. If I can prove that I can make this happen, well it explains itself then, doesn't it?"

"But Donald, how are you going to smoke the salmon and package it and sell it? You don't have all of Kilwillie's fancy equipment and stuff unless you plan on breakin' into his plant. I won't be a party to any breaking and entering. I've basically got a clean record right now and I plan to keep it that way thank you very much!"

"No, no, no, my dear boy, we'll not resort to thievery and the like, this will all be done on the up and up. I'll think of something. Ha, brilliant! I've got it! This is going to be a small operation—at least at first. We can sell our wares in small batches at the outdoor market in the village. That's perfect, isn't it?"

"I don't know about this Donald."

"Well much of it will depend on you, you know. How good are you at fishing?"

"That won't be a problem 'cuz I've been fishing since I was a wee lad. Learned everything I know fly fishing, Spey casting with a double-handed rod, you name it, all at my Granddad Brodie's knee. So do you have all of the gear?"

"Gear?"

"Aye you know, the lures and poles and such? The basic kit one needs to go fishing Donald!"

"Yes, yes those are mere incidentals. I remember where my dear old father, may God bless his soul, kept his supplies and I daresay Hector, may his soul be blessed as well, wouldn't have moved them. I will have everything ready for you but you'll have to find some books on smoking fish. And I think that should do us."

"Oh aye, well I won't be able to go until after breakfast, Donald and even at that, only for a couple hours."

"Well if you're as good as you say you are, lad, then that shouldn't be a problem, should it?"

Satisfied, Donald grabbed a huge handful of chips and stuffed them into his mouth when another thought occurred to him, "Yoo cn tk cay of 'em, too, righ?"

"Can I take care of them—you mean gut and filet them?" Yes of course, you arse, Ewan wanted to say, but instead he lifted his beer bottle and let it clink against Donald's, "You bet, Partner, you bet."

Lexie & Archie's Bedroom

By the time Lexie had finished washing up Archie was fast asleep. She regretted that they hadn't said good night to one another and before slipping under the covers she blew him a kiss. Though she liked getting into a cold bed and letting her body gradually warm up, she could never fall asleep with cold feet. As she slid her legs under the heavy duvet a gentle heat emanated from the foot of the bed. Thoughtfully, Archie had prepared her a hot water bottle so her feet would be nice and toasty.