The Secret Ingredient (20 page)

‘So,' she said as she followed him into the kitchen, ‘what did you want to talk about, Ross?'

‘Steady on, aren't you at least going to offer me a drink?'

‘Sure. What will it be – tea, coffee, water?'

He pulled a face as he headed for the liquor cabinet. ‘I meant a real drink,' he said over his shoulder.

‘Seems to me like you might have had enough.'

‘Joanna —'

‘If you want to drive home, is all I'm saying.'

‘I can look after myself,' he said, reaching for the Scotch bottle.

She was getting an uneasy feeling about this. Joanna had picked up her glass to refill it, but she decided to leave it for now. One of them ought to stay sober.

‘What's up, Ross?' she prompted him again. ‘What did you want to talk about?'

‘Andie and I are . . . we're on a break, did you know?' he said, pouring the Scotch into a glass.

‘I'll get you some ice.' Joanna slotted a glass under the ice maker and watched the ice tumble into it. Things must be getting more serious if he'd decided to tell her. Maybe Andie had found her own place.

Ross came over to the bench and parked himself on a stool. Joanna slid the glass of ice towards him, and he dropped a couple of cubes into his Scotch.

‘What happened?' she asked.

He looked up at her. ‘I think you might know already.'

Shit. Joanna felt the heat rise into her cheeks. She had such a bad poker face.

Ross took a swig from his glass. ‘You've been talking to Andie.'

‘Well, that's between me and Andie,' she said coolly.

‘Joanna, I don't care that you've talked to her,' he said. ‘Mind you, I give up trying to understand women. You two were archenemies in the past.'

That was overstating it just a tad.

‘But that's beside the point,' he went on. ‘Andie said some things that you told her I said, and I don't remember saying them at all.'

‘Such as?'

‘Ahh . . .' He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead, as though he was straining to remember. ‘Something about . . . when you and I split up, I put the blame on her.'

Joanna was waiting. ‘Yes?'

He looked up at her then. ‘I didn't blame Andie, our marriage was already over.'

‘That's debatable, Ross, but we won't go there now. You certainly did, however, try to put some of the blame on to Andie.'

He frowned. ‘And you told her that? I don't understand this, how did it even come up?'

Joanna hesitated. ‘You don't know the context, Ross,' she said.

‘Well, why don't you fill me in?' He threw back the rest of his Scotch and made a return trip to the liquor cabinet.

She sighed. She hated lying, but she felt an obligation to protect Andie, even though Andie had clearly not felt the same towards her. But she shouldn't judge, she didn't know what kind of spot Andie had been put in.

‘Andie was meeting Brooke here, Brooke was late, she and I got to talking, she was upset . . .' She watched Ross as he joined her again at the kitchen bench, his glass refilled, double. ‘Getting the picture yet?'

‘I suppose,' he shrugged. ‘But I still don't get women.'

Joanna decided to turn the conversation around.

‘What are you doing, Ross?'

He looked at her. ‘Sitting here having a drink with you. Hey, why aren't you drinking?'

‘Ross,' she chided, ‘you're throwing away another marriage. How many do you plan on going through?' She paused to let that sink in. ‘What are you doing, Ross?' she repeated.

‘You want to know the truth?' he said quietly. ‘I don't even know any more. I feel like everything's going to crap around me.'

‘How old is she?' Joanna asked. ‘And please don't tell me she's not older than Lauren.'

He just gave her a baleful look.

‘Ross,' she sighed, shaking her head.

‘It was just a stupid fling, I swear. I was frustrated about Andie and the whole baby thing, I didn't know how far she was going to push it. I saw myself at sixty taking a kid to kindergarten, it was freaking me out a little, to be honest.' He took a breath. ‘Then this girl starts flirting with me at work, and —'

‘— she's young and pretty,' Joanna finished for him. ‘It's hard not to be flattered at your age, right?'

Ross was just staring at her.

‘But you never led her on. Next thing you know, she won't leave you alone, she's needy, maybe even a little
unhinged
. . .'

‘How do you know all that?'

‘Don't be a complete boofhead, Ross. You said the same things about Andie to me, a decade ago.'

His eyes widened. ‘Is that what you told Andie?'

‘Don't worry, I kept the worst of it to myself.'

‘Thanks.'

‘You needn't think I did it to protect you, buddy. It only would have hurt Andie, and it would have just made me sound like a bitch anyway.'

He was shaking his head. ‘I don't know why I would have said that. Andie wasn't unhinged, she's nothing like Tasha.'

‘That's the new girl?'

He nodded. ‘She's giving me all these ultimatums, making demands. Andie never made any demands. She's still not making any,' he added wistfully.

‘What about her wanting a baby?' Joanna reminded him.

‘But she never demanded . . .' He raked his hands through his hair and groaned. ‘God, it's all such a fucking mess.'

‘And who do you think made the mess? Ross, you have to start taking some responsibility for your actions.'

He met her gaze. ‘I'm trying, but I don't think Andie's ever going to forgive me. She can't seem to get past it.'

‘Well, can you blame her? I never had the misfortune of catching you two in the act, but I imagine it'd be a pretty tough mental picture to erase,' she said. ‘And it was in your apartment, in your bed . . . her bed! Honestly, Ross, what were you thinking?'

‘I didn't plan it . . . it was Tasha . . . she ambushed me.'

Joanna just stared at him, her eyebrows raised in disbelief. Her little fantasy about growing old with Ross was just that, a fantasy. He had to grow up before he could grow old, and Joanna had a suspicion that was never going to happen.

‘Oh God,' he groaned, raking his hair again. ‘How am I ever going to fix this?'

‘You can start by going home and sleeping it off.'

‘Don't make me go, Josie,' he pleaded.

Uh-oh, he hadn't called her that in a very long time.

‘I told you I had plans tonight,' she reminded him.

‘Well, that's okay, I can stay here while you're out, can't I? It's not like I'm going to break anything.' He sighed. ‘I don't want to go home to that bloody apartment on my own, Josie. Can't I stay on the sofa bed?'

Joanna picked up the phone. ‘I'm calling you a cab now, Ross,' she said. ‘And you are going to go home, drink lots of water, and go to bed. Things will look better in the morning, I promise you.'

Andie felt hungover, and she'd only had about three sips of wine last night, she'd poured the rest down the drain after Ross had stormed out. But she'd had a fitful night's sleep, worrying about the way he took off, bottle of wine in hand. What was he thinking? If anything happened to him . . . Andie knew it wasn't her fault, but she'd still find it difficult not to blame herself.

Maybe she had been too hard, too unyielding. She had suggested before this that a reconciliation was possible, that she just needed time and space. Now she didn't know what she wanted. Maybe she wasn't being fair. If Ross wanted to work on the marriage, shouldn't she be prepared to meet him halfway? And wouldn't that involve seeing each other, dating, maybe even having sex . . . But then again, without a proper break, how was she ever going to get the perspective to work out what she really wanted?

No wonder she couldn't sleep. She kept thinking she should call Ross on his mobile, but then she worried he'd take the call while he was driving, which would only make things worse. In the end, she didn't call, but every time she closed her eyes she had horrifying visions of Ross lying dead on a road somewhere.

Or else she dreamed of having sex with him in the kitchen . . . on the bench . . . on the table . . . up against the wall . . . She kept waking up in a lather of sweat, her heart pounding.

At daybreak she gave up trying to get any more sleep, but it was too early to call Ross to make sure he had made it home all right. So Andie paced through another couple of fretful hours, gulping down coffee, until she thought it was reasonable to phone, even if he wasn't up yet.

Hearing the ringtone after she'd dialled his number gave her some immediate relief – at least his phone wasn't smashed to pieces inside his wrecked car. But Andie wasn't prepared for what happened next.

‘Hello?' said a woman's voice.

Andie couldn't find hers for a moment. Then all that came out was a stuttering, garbled string of syllables approximating: ‘Oh, is that . . . I was after . . . I'm not sure . . .'

‘This is Ross Corcoran's phone. He's in the shower right now, can I give him a message?'

Andie hung up, shaking. Who was that? It could have been a nurse, he was in the hospital . . . No, that was unlikely. Andie would have been contacted by now, wouldn't she? She was his next of kin. Maybe he had been picked up for drink-driving, and he was in some kind of lock-up facility? So who was answering his phone? They confiscated personal items and stored them separately, or at least that's what they did on TV; whatever, Andie doubted some police officer stood there fielding incoming calls.

While the detainee was in the shower.

She had conveniently overlooked that little nugget of information. She was just stalling, kidding herself, denying the inevitable. As her heart sank deep down into her gut, Andie knew that was Tasha who'd answered. And Tasha most certainly would have known it was Andie. Her picture appeared on the screen when she called Ross's phone, along with her name. Tasha had answered fully aware of what she was doing, which was to make it indisputably clear where Ross had spent the night.

Andie was angry now, furious, she felt it rippling through every fibre of her body. How could he do this to her, after everything he said last night? He'd lied, barefaced, again and again. He was a compulsive liar. And Andie had swallowed it all. She was angry with him, but she was also angry with herself. She had desperately not wanted to be like Tasha, needy and unhinged, but how desperate and needy she must have been all these years, like a loyal puppy, only needing to be patted and she would accept whatever she was told, however she was treated.

She'd given everything to him, she had abdicated all choice – maybe that wasn't all his fault, Andie had been all too willing. They weren't a partnership, Ross was the CEO making all the decisions, getting everything his own way. She couldn't have a career, she couldn't have a baby . . .

Andie blinked, looking around, like she was coming out of a trance. Right, she had to get on with it, clean out this house, sell it and move on. She would find a place to live, her own place, and she would work out what she wanted to do with her life, because it was, in the end, her life.

She stared down at the phone in her hand. And as for you, Ross Corcoran, if I don't see you for as long as I live, it won't be long enough.

Ross sauntered out of the bathroom with a towel around his hips, his skin still damp, his hair ruffled. He had a good body still, maybe he wasn't quite as buffed as some guys her age, but he'd kept himself in pretty decent shape. Tasha stretched out on the bed, her arms above her head, the sheet artfully arranged across her body for maximum effect.

‘You're awake?' said Ross, coming to sit on the bed and planting a hand either side of her as he leaned in closer.

‘Hm,' she murmured lazily. ‘The phone woke me. Both your ex-wives have called already.'

He frowned. ‘I only have one ex-wife.'

Tasha raised an eyebrow at him.

‘Officially,' he relented. ‘You didn't answer it?'

‘I did.'

‘Why did you do that, Tash?' he said, sitting upright.

‘Because it was ringing.'

‘Well, what did you say?'

‘Not much,' she shrugged. ‘Joanna was cool, she just wanted to remind you that your car's at her place.'

He nodded.

‘So what is your car doing at her place, Ross?' Tasha asked.

‘What?'

‘Why is your car at your ex-wife's house?'

‘Oh . . . um, it was Matty, he asked me if he could borrow it last week.'

‘Hm.' She supposed that sounded reasonable. ‘So why isn't he dropping it back to you?'

‘I don't know,' Ross dismissed. ‘I'll have to give him a call, organise something. You said both ex-wives?'

Tasha rolled onto her side, propping her head in her hand. ‘Yeah, your latest . . . she was not so cool. Bit of a freak, actually.'

Ross frowned. ‘What do you mean?'

‘I don't know, she ummed and aahed and couldn't even put a sentence together. Then she just hung up.'

He turned away from her to sit on the edge of the bed. ‘I think it's best if you don't answer my phone in future, Tash,' he said after a while, his back to her.

‘Uh-uh.' She shook her head slowly and rose up onto her knees, allowing the sheet to drop away altogether. She pressed her naked body into his bare back. ‘We have a deal, Ross.'

He had showed up last night out of the blue, no phone call, no warning, she hadn't heard from him since the day he walked out on her over two weeks ago. She was getting ready to go out when she heard the knock. When she saw it was Ross, she left the security chain in place and stared at him through the chink in the door. She had no intention of making it easy for him. He begged her to let him in, said he had to talk to her, that he missed her. It was like he'd been drinking too much, which was strange for Ross. He liked a drink well enough, but Tasha had certainly never seen him drunk. He was obviously really broken up, and she softened. She told him he could have ten minutes.

That was more than ten hours ago. He completely broke down after she let him in, he was a mess. He told her he thought he was doing the right thing, trying to make up with his wife, but the whole time he hadn't been able to stop thinking about her. He said he'd come to realise through all this that he loved her more than anything, and he knew he could never be happy again without her. He only feared he'd lost his chance forever to be with her.

Tasha was moved – she wasn't made of stone, after all. But she was wary too; what was to stop him caving next time Ms Andie clicked her fingers? So there were going to have to be some conditions. Ross told her to list them, that he'd do anything. She knew he was a good man, and that he could never turn his back on his ex altogether, Tasha was not completely heartless. But she was not going to put up with him running around after his ex; her father was dead and buried, enough already. And Tasha refused to be hidden away like a guilty secret any longer. If Ross wanted to be with her, then she had to be his girlfriend, out in the open. She was not going to be his mistress any more.

Ross had agreed to everything, eagerly, without question, he just wanted her back. They spent half the night having the best make-up sex ever. Tasha was sure of one thing, he couldn't have been getting any with the former missus; he was like a man dying of thirst in the desert who had come across an oasis.

‘Remember, Rossie,' she said now, her lips close to his ear. ‘No more secrets, no more lies. No more hiding anything from me. You promised.' She brought her arms around him from behind, stroking his chest with her fingertips. She could feel his breathing becoming laboured under her touch.

‘Now, what do you want to do?' she said in a low voice. ‘Worry about some silly phone call, or . . .' Her hand slid down his torso. ‘. . . I have a much better idea.' She slipped her hand under the towel. She really had him now, in every sense. She might have taken him back, but he'd had to beg. And now she owned him.