The Secret Ingredient (9 page)

She nodded. It's not as though she'd been arguing the point with anyone. She finished with her hair and turned around to the sink, flicking on the tap.

‘What's your name?' he asked.

‘Andie.'

‘What sort of a name is that?'

‘I don't know, it's my name.'

‘If you were an eight-year-old boy.'

‘It's short for Andrea.'

‘What's your surname?'

‘Corcoran.'

She thought she heard him swear under his breath.

‘I am a fully qualified chef,' Andie said. ‘Just so you know,' she added timidly.

‘What are you trying to say, that what you've been doing so far is beneath you?'

‘No, I wasn't saying that,' she said, reaching for the paper towel. ‘I just thought you should be aware of my qualifications.'

‘Oh I should, should I?' he returned. ‘Perhaps you don't realise what a trial is all about. I have to be assured that you can do all the basics, that you have the requisite skills.'

‘I'm just saying, these seem to be first-year apprentice tasks.'

‘And yet you're not handling them all that well.'

‘I'm a little rusty, a little slow, that's all.'

He paused, considering her. ‘So you can debone a chicken?'

‘Huh?'

‘A qualified chef should be able to debone a chicken,' he said brusquely. ‘Follow me.'

Andie tossed the paper towel into the bin and scuttled after him.

‘Cosmo,' he called ahead.

Cosmo, she presumed, turned around. ‘Yes, Chef.'

‘Corky here tells me she's a qualified chef,' he said. ‘She can work your section for a while.' He turned and walked away.

Corky? Where did he get off?

‘Hello, Cosmo,' she said. ‘My name's actually Andie.'

He gave her a knowing smile. ‘Okay, Andie. Let's get you set up.'

A few minutes later Andie stood contemplating a whole chicken on the bench in front of her, a deboning knife in one hand, and a lump the size of Tasmania lodged in her throat. Why did she have to go and open her big mouth? They had learned how to debone a chicken at TAFE. She recalled making a bit of a mess of it, but she'd passed her assessment and she'd never had to do it again. Well, she'd cut the flesh from a chicken before, of course, many times, to finish with eight to ten separate fillets. But Cosmo instructed that she had to end with a single, perfectly opened butterfly. Shit, she really should have put some practice in at home. But even if she had, she was doubtful that she would have thought to practise deboning a chicken.
Shit!

Okay, Andie, let logic and common sense prevail. Proceed slowly, with care . . .

But her mother's voice echoed in her head . . .
If you just took your time and used your head, Andrea, you wouldn't make so many mistakes . . . You know the thing I find most disappointing? You never really push yourself, do you? It's all very well to be pretty, Andrea, but it'll only get you so far . . .

Andie blinked back tears as she cut into the chicken flesh, trying to slide the point of the knife as close to the bone as she could manage. She wasn't that bad, she kept telling herself, she was just a little rusty, that's all . . . Dominic Gerou was an arrogant arse. This was too much pressure, she needed to ease herself in . . . a smaller kitchen . . . a nicer head chef. Where was Tang?

‘What in Christ's name are you doing?'

It was Chef again, looming over her.

‘You're supposed to debone it, not massacre it.' He snatched it up, almost waving the mangled carcass in her face. ‘You've ruined it, look! The flesh is all bruised and hacked. We can't use this. Cosmo!' he boomed.

‘Chef!'

‘See if you can salvage anything out of this, some fillets maybe.'

‘Right, Chef.'

‘And you —'

But Andie was already walking away.

‘Miss!' He called after her, but she pushed on, weaving and ducking around the other chefs as fast as she could without breaking into a run.

‘Andie, where are you going?'

That was Tang, but she didn't stop. She didn't look back, she raced out to the storeroom, reefing off the jacket and dropping it on the floor. Her hands were shaking as she grabbed her stuff out of the locker. She ducked back over to the doorway, pausing to glance down the corridor, fully expecting to see the towering, glowering figure of Dominic Gerou bearing down upon her, but there was no one in sight. Andie didn't hesitate a moment longer, she made a dash for the exit, pushing down on the heavy metal rail. The door released, and she was free and clear.

‘So, this is it,' said Ross, standing back as Tasha walked past him into the main room. He was visibly uncomfortable. ‘Okay, you wanted to see the place, now you've seen it, so let's get going.'

Tasha considered him with an indulgent smile. ‘Aren't you even going to offer me a drink?' she asked.

‘What?'

‘She won't be back for hours, Rossie, what are you so afraid of?'

‘I'm not afraid, Tash. I just think we could be at your place right now . . .'

She raised an eyebrow.

‘Fine, I'll get you a drink,' he surrendered, walking over to the kitchen.

Tasha was the one who'd insisted on coming here. She had so little insight into Ross's real life, she had been desperate to see if it lived up to her imagination. She wandered around, surveying the room. She liked the space. Converted warehouses were becoming passé, but a good decorator could bring it up to date. Some of the furnishings were a little conservative for her taste; that brown chesterfield would definitely have to go.

‘Vodka tonic for the lady,' Ross announced, coming up behind her.

She turned around as he handed her a glass.

‘You're not having one?' she asked.

He shook his head. ‘I'm driving, remember, to your place, as soon as you finish that.'

She took a sip. ‘Honestly, what
is
the rush? You haven't even shown me the bedroom yet.'

‘No, I haven't.' He cleared his throat. ‘But I will show you the view.'

She pouted as she let him lead her over to the window. It was an okay view of the city, but Tasha wasn't sold. Potts Point was full of old fags, artists and crazy people. The eastern suburbs were sexier. An apartment in Bondi or Tamarama, overlooking the beach, now that she could get used to. The very idea made her hot.

She turned to Ross, pressing her body into him and looping her arms up around his neck. She felt his hands slide down to cup her butt as she drew his head close and kissed him hard on the mouth.

‘Let's get out of here,' he murmured against her lips.

‘Okay,' she breathed. ‘Let me just use the bathroom first.'

Ross had called out once already, she was taking so long. Next time he would come looking. Which was the plan.

Tasha fluffed out her hair and adjusted herself. Her tits looked great in this corset, they were almost tumbling out of it. The whole ensemble was a knockout. Ross hadn't seen it yet, she was about to blow his mind.

‘Tash, what are you doing?'

She heard his footsteps approaching. She leaned back on her elbows and uncrossed her legs. She was perched on the corner of the bed – their bed – facing the doorway, her stiletto-clad feet planted on the floor.

Ross stepped into the room. ‘Tash . . .'

Andie pulled into the garage of their building and her heart sank when she saw Ross's car. She had been desperately hoping he wouldn't be home yet. He'd muttered something about catching up on some work, seeing as she'd be late anyway. She had thought about going somewhere else first, biding her time. But where? Jess had scored another shift at Dalgety's tonight, and Andie didn't want to bother Donna and Toby, it was probably Max's bedtime. In truth she just didn't want to embarrass herself any further. She wanted to crawl into bed and go to sleep before Ross got home. Or pretend to be asleep so she didn't have to deal with it tonight. She was mortified. She kept reliving the moment, all the possible alternative endings there could have been to this evening aside from just walking out. Not even walking, nothing so dignified or adult. No, she had run off like a little girl, a frightened, stupid little girl, hopelessly out of her depth.

Why couldn't she have just toughed it out? Dominic Gerou was not the first arrogant chef she'd ever worked for, though he was arguably the worst. But she didn't have to whine ‘I'm a qualified chef' like a total twit. No wonder he put her to her word. She should have just shut up and taken it on the chin. Things would have got better, gradually, if she had decided to go back. Which was always her choice, after all. She could have taken the mature approach, left a polite message with whoever was appropriate – the owner probably, Ross's contact – thanking him for his trouble, but advising she was not going to continue. After all, it was only a trial, she was checking the place out as much as being checked out.

Ross was not going to be happy about this, and Andie couldn't blame him, she wasn't happy about it either. But after all the effort he'd made to set it up . . .

And now she had no choice but to face him. But maybe he wasn't home – he didn't always take his car to work, if he had an early meeting out of the office he often took a cab. She cast her mind back to this morning; he'd left before her, and he hadn't said anything about calling a cab . . . Andie sighed inwardly. She was only delaying the inevitable with wishful thinking. She was just going to have to walk in there and see the look on his face as it dawned on him that she was home a lot earlier than she should have been.

She quietly unlocked the door to their apartment, and tiptoed in. She didn't know why, it's not as though Ross would be asleep at this time of the night, it was barely eight. She supposed she was subconsciously trying not to be noticed. If only.

The place was in darkness, the only illumination coming from streetlights outside. She could virtually see the entire apartment from the entrance; it was all one space, except for the bedroom and bathroom. There was a dim light coming from under the bedroom door; Ross might be in the bathroom, or he might be lying on the bed working on his laptop.

She walked across the living area. ‘Ross?' she said tentatively.

No reply.

She stepped closer, she could hear movement on the bed, then a voice . . . more of a grunt. He was here. She sighed. He had probably nodded off over his laptop, stirring at the sound of her voice. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

It took Andie a minute – would it have been a full minute? – to comprehend the sight that confronted her as she stepped into their bedroom. It was the woman who grabbed her immediate attention, not surprisingly. She was straddled on the bed, stark-naked, bouncing up and down, her dark mop of hair flying all over the place, boobs jiggling in the breeze. It wasn't until Andie heard Ross's voice that she realised he was the thing she was straddling.

He said ‘Andie', then he said ‘Fuck'. Well, she thought that's what he said, he kind of gasped the words. He might have been having a heart attack for all she knew, because she had already turned and fled from the room. It occurred to her, as she bolted back across the apartment to the front door, that this was the second time she had run away today, tonight, in the space of an hour probably. It was bizarre.

‘Andie!' she heard again as she slammed the door behind her. His voice was louder and clearer that time, the woman must have dismounted so that he could breathe. Andie headed straight for the stairwell, she had to keep moving, not give him the chance to catch up. She had an advantage; Ross was at least partly naked, so he'd have to do something about that before he could follow her. Andie didn't want to be standing waiting for the lift when he did. She ran down the stairs, her legs trembling . . . God, don't trip, she told herself. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she made it safely to the garage and over to her car. She jumped in and started the engine, pressing the remote for the garage door at the same time. It was trundling upward as she approached; she nosed the car closer till it was up and out of the way, before accelerating out of there so fast her tyres screeched. Her phone started to ring but she ignored it.

Andie steered through the maze of cramped, claustrophobic streets, tears almost blinding her eyes. She wanted to get right away from here, she wanted to drive as fast as she was legally allowed. She finally made it out of the rabbit warren and onto New South Head Road. She could only do seventy, but she felt free. She didn't know where she was going, she didn't know where
to
go, she only knew she couldn't go back to that apartment. Ever.

She needed time to process . . . what exactly? The image loomed back into her mind's eye. The woman seemed young . . . she might have been a prostitute for all Andie knew. Did that make it okay? Certainly not. Was it a one-off thing? Conveniently taking place on the very first night Andie was at work? Doubtful. So was it an affair? Was it serious? How long had it been going on? Why did he bring her into their home? Why was he having sex with her
on
their bed
? Andie's phone suddenly started to ring again, startling her. ‘Bastard!' she yelled at it, before reaching over to turn it off.

She had slowed down, she didn't have much choice as the road narrowed, dipped down to the water's edge for a while, and then meandered back up into suburbia. Andie wasn't shaking any more, and she wasn't crying. She felt drained, and achingly tired, but she kept driving. Until she realised she would soon come to a dead end at the HMAS Navy base at the south head of the harbour, and she would have to double back.

Instead, she turned onto Old South Head Road feeling alone and bereft. She had nowhere to go; Jess was at work, and she couldn't show up at Donna and Toby's like this, Toby was likely to go storming off to find Ross and throttle him. She couldn't even go to her dad, she didn't want to upset him. Andie suddenly missed Brendan, like a sharp pain to the heart. Of course he'd have been as bad as Toby, they'd have probably formed a posse to go and punch Ross's lights out. But she also knew Brendan would have felt it as deeply as she was feeling it, that's how it was between them. He would have understood her pain and comforted her, and protected her, and made it all bearable somehow. But Brendan was gone, long gone, and Andie had never felt his loss so greatly.

She just needed someone to pour it all out to without judgement, or opinion, so she could sort it out in her head. Because for some reason, more than anything, she felt ashamed. She hadn't done anything wrong . . . had she? Still, it was shame she felt. Shame and embarrassment. And betrayal. At least that was valid.

Betrayal. That was it.

Andie didn't know why the idea even crossed her mind, but as soon as it did, she seemed to go on automatic pilot all the way to Bellevue Hill. As she pulled into the street, it occurred to her that this was crazy. But something compelled her to keep driving, right up to the house, the house where she would find the only other person who could possibly understand what she was feeling right now.

Andie cut the engine. She picked up her bag and stepped out of the car. The air was cooler now, and she was only wearing the T-shirt she'd had on under her chef's jacket. Christ, that had happened tonight as well. It paled into insignificance now. Andie looked up at the house. Crazy or not, she was going in.

The door opened a minute or so after she rang the bell. Joanna peered out. ‘Andie? What are you doing here? What's happened?'