Ross worked for a global finance company as a management consultant. Andie had never really understood what it was that he actually did; it seemed very abstract when he tried to explain it. She just knew that he went to a lot of meetings, and was always hopping on a plane to somewhere or other for more meetings: team meetings, client meetings, management meetings, breakfast, lunch and dinner meetings. Would their relationship work if they were both off travelling all the time?
‘But look, I don’t mind taking a back seat for a while,’ he insisted. ‘I could be a kept man for a change, might be nice,’ he added with a glint in his eye. ‘Of course, you would have to bring in the kind of money I do, darling. I wouldn’t want to cause any problems with Joanna, we’d have to maintain child support at the same rate.’
Andie couldn’t hope to match anywhere near what Ross earned, certainly not making coffee. He did have a point. Coffee wasn’t that important, and Andie eventually got over her obsession. And soon after that, she got over working in cafés.
She was back to where she started, with no career and nothing to fill in her days. So she tagged along with Ross on his business trips. Andie would shop in Melbourne, relax by the pool in Queensland or Western Australia, more shopping in Hong Kong and Singapore, sightseeing when they were further afield. But filling her days with shopping and facials and massages was, frankly, mindnumbing.
The only thing that did get Andie excited when they were abroad was the food. She would scour travel guides for out-of-the-way restaurants, meet local chefs and discover the regional specialties and delicacies, and then try to reproduce them when she got home. But she was always stymied in her efforts by the dearth of imported ingredients back then.
Then one day Ross came home all fired up about something. He’d had a lunch meeting in Double Bay and had noticed a ‘For Sale’ sign on the shop next door when he arrived at the restaurant. He proceeded to ask the maître d’ about it, for conversation’s sake more than anything, he told Andie. Turned out the maître d’ was beside himself that the gourmet deli was up for sale. The deli actually supplied many of the restaurants in the immediate area; only for small orders, one-off specialty items, that kind of thing. The location was ideal, the hours regular, and there was already a loyal and built-in clientele.
‘It’s the perfect fit for your skill set, Andie,’ Ross announced.
‘What?’ she said, confused.
‘Isn’t it obvious?’ he said. ‘You’re a chef, it’s a gourmet deli. It’s ideal.’
‘But Ross, my training didn’t prepare me for running a shop, just because it sells food.’
‘You also did two whole years of a business degree, don’t forget.’
‘How could I forget, I hated it.’
‘Oh,’ he chided, ‘that was only because it wasn’t your choice.’
‘No, Ross —’
‘Just hear me out,’ he interrupted her. ‘I was thinking what a great avenue this would be for you to source ingredients from overseas. You’re always saying you can’t get what you need here.’
Andie was listening.
‘I’m only suggesting that we go and take a look,’ he said, drawing her into his arms. ‘What’s the harm in that?’
She shrugged. ‘I suppose . . .’
When she stepped inside the shop door a little bell rang, and Andie started to fall in love from that moment. It was a bigger space than she had pictured in her mind. The curved glass display counter stretched the length of the shop, as expected, but there was a lot of floor space that wasn’t being fully utilised. Shelving units and racks cluttered the area, stocked with the kind of ingredients that used to be considered exotic – tins of broad beans and sauerkraut, jars of artichokes and packets of couscous – but which were all readily available from supermarkets now, at probably a fraction of the price. What they really needed to stock were ingredients you couldn’t get anywhere else, at least not around here, like truffle oil, tamarind paste, pomegranate molasses . . . Andie wandered through the shop, her head filling with ideas. The counter was enormous, there was plenty of room for a coffee machine. She knew this area was probably already overcaffeinated, but being able to pick up a takeaway coffee with your deli order might just work. And if she cleared out some of these shelves, there would be plenty of room for a couple of small tables, should anyone want to take a load off. The back of the shop was, again, much bigger than she expected. A storeroom, small laundry and toilet all came off a large space with kitchen facilities and an office area. It wasn’t a commercial kitchen, but it was well-equipped, and it presented Andie with possibilities . . .
Then it hit her – this would be entirely her own, she could do what she wanted, carve out something for herself. She had always been vaguely uncomfortable about being a kept woman, it went against the grain of everything her mother had tried to impress upon her. She had a little money saved, so she could finance part of the purchase herself, and Ross was happy to make up the difference. Andie agreed, as long as it was only a loan. The shop was so successful that she paid him back, with interest, after a few years. Ross said it was one of the better investments he had ever made.
The Corner Gourmet was a thriving, happy little place to work, and Andie had plenty of challenges to keep her interested in the first few years. She was clearly prone to obsessions – cheese became her first at the deli, then bread, organic produce, truffles, foie gras . . . She held tasting nights that were a huge success, and gave her the chance to connect with other foodies from the local area. They began swapping recipes and ideas, and gradually Andie focused on sourcing rare and unusual ingredients from importers, as well as stocking sweets and delicacies from all across Sydney and beyond. Macarons had been the latest fad, again courtesy of MasterChef, but their star was already beginning to wane.
And lately Andie had felt her own interest waning; there weren’t any new challenges, only variations on the same theme. There was a huge difference between supplying and creating; and Andie missed creating. The kitchen wasn’t equipped to handle much more than takeaway salads, sometimes soup in the winter. She got caught up for a time making sauces, pesto, relishes, that kind of thing, but while they were a hit, she couldn’t stock them in viable quantities or on a regular basis. Andie was becoming frustrated by the limitations, being so close, close enough to almost taste the dishes her customers would tell her about, or that the chefs along the strip were adding to their menus. She’d try things in her own kitchen, but half the time Ross had already eaten out, or he’d come home late and the food would be spoiled. So then Andie stopped cooking much at all.
She was beginning to feel like she was just an accessory to Ross’s life. She didn’t tell him that, it would only get him worked up, and he’d start trying to solve the problem. It wasn’t his responsibility. She had to find her own way . . .
Then something strange began to happen. Slowly, intermittently, and quite unexpectedly, Andie began to hear her biological clock ticking away quietly in the background. She ignored it at first, she refused to be that cliché; she did not need to have a baby to be complete. She just needed goals, direction . . . But the ticking became louder, compelling her, creating an urge she had never felt before; it was almost primal. All of a sudden Andie was seeing babies everywhere – and they really did seem to be everywhere: at the gym, in every café and restaurant, parks and shops and beaches. Whenever a pram nosed its way through the door of the deli, Andie found herself drawn to it, barely noticing the mother struggling to manoeuvre it while she cooed and made faces, doing that weird voice thing that adults reverted to when they talked to babies, the emphasis all distorted. ‘Aren’t you a beautiful girl, oh yes you are!’
Andie had always believed she could talk to Ross about anything, and she certainly wasn’t worried about broaching the subject of babies with him. He was dismissive at first, but then he became angry when she persisted. This was not part of the deal, he said. ‘I’ve already had my family, I’m done.’
‘But I ha
ven’t had mine.’
‘Well, you made that choice back when you married me, you can’t renege now.’
‘So there’s no room for changing my mind?’ Andie had declared. ‘People do change their minds you know, Ross. People change, they grow up. They want different things.’
‘So you’re saying you want something different to this marriage?’
The resolve in his tone had shocked Andie at first. What exactly was he suggesting? When the shock subsided, she found a dozen reasons to explain away his attitude. He just needed time, he loved her, he had always wanted her to have whatever made her happy . . . hadn’t he?
Potts Point
Andie had enjoyed a good run back across the bridge, going against most of the peak-hour traffic. She’d called in to her favourite butcher to pick up the lamb shanks she had ordered earlier – they were Ross’s favourite, and he had promised to be home at a reasonable hour this evening so they could have a quiet night, just the two of them. He had even had his secretary put it in his schedule so that nothing would get in the way. They hadn’t had much time together lately, and they hadn’t had sex for quite a while . . . Andie worked out it must have been weeks. Ross always seemed so tired, and it was beginning to niggle. She’d never thought very much about the consequences of marrying a man who was older; Ross had always been so vital, his sex drive rapacious. But Andie didn’t really know what happened to men in their fifties. Maybe their libidos did slow down, though popular wisdom would have it otherwise.
As she walked into the apartment, she tossed the keys on the hall table and kicked off her shoes, glancing at the clock on the wall. She had to get dinner on straightaway, lamb shanks needed to cook slowly. She dusted them with flour before setting them to fry gently in a heavy pan, while she chopped onion and celery and carrot. She added the vegetables to the pan along with crushed garlic and her own homemade stock that she always kept on hand, plus a little wine and some fresh herbs. Andie sealed the pot and set the heat low, glancing at the clock again. They wouldn’t need to be touched for at least an hour, she’d do the mash later. She wondered how much longer Ross was likely to be. Whatever, it was wine o’clock and there wasn’t any point in waiting for him, he wasn’t drinking anyhow.
She poured herself a glass of wine and walked over to the window. Their apartment was part of an old warehouse complex that had been gutted and reconfigured into a lofty, open-plan space. Ross had fallen in love with it immediately. He had been so desperate to get away from four-bed two-bath, lawn-mowing, gutter-cleaning, suffocating suburbia, as he described it.
Andie, on the other hand, had taken a while to get used to living in Potts Point, which was Kings Cross by any other name. But she did appreciate the convenience, though she craved peace and quiet occasionally. They used to get away for weekends whenever they could, down the coast, to the mountains or the Southern Highlands. They always ate out, trying new places, or returning to old favourites. They had even talked about moving away from Sydney when Ross retired, Andie opening her own place . . . But they hadn’t had a weekend away in ages.
Andie sipped her wine, gazing out the window across rows of terraces towards the city skyline. Lately her life felt like she was just passing the time. She knew it was affecting Ross too. She probably wasn’t much fun to be around, no wonder he’d joined the gym. They were in a strange, unsettled, uncomfortable place, and Andie didn’t like it. She wanted it back the way it was.
But she also wanted a baby.
Maybe there had been an agreement, but Andie had given up her dreams again and again for the good of their relationship, wasn’t it time for some compromise on his part?
She heard a noise in the outer hall and turned around to see Ross letting himself in through the door. He was still in his exercise clothes, juggling his gym bag and his briefcase as he fumbled to extract the key from the lock.
‘Hi darling,’ he said without looking up, in that expansive, commanding voice of his that still sent a shiver up her spine. ‘Sorry I’m late. Something smells good.’
Andie took a deep breath as she approached him. She had to make an effort, reconnect . . .
‘Hello you,’ she smiled, drawing her arms around his neck, but he pulled back.
‘Andie, believe me, you don’t want to get any closer until I’ve had a shower.’
She reached up and brushed her lips against his. ‘I could join you.’
Now he physically shrank from her, taking a step back. ‘I’m all sweaty from the gym, I just want to get clean.’
‘But I don’t mind getting dirty.’
He looked slightly vexed at that. ‘Please, Andie, can you just give me one frigging minute to myself?’
She stepped back immediately. ‘Of course.’ What the hell?
‘Won’t be long,’ he called, striding away from her across the living room to the bedroom.
Andie walked back to the kitchen bench, picked up her glass and drained it. What was that about? The phone rang and she reached over to pick it up from its dock.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi, Andie, it’s Joanna.’
‘Oh, hi.’ She still felt nervous talking to Joanna, like she was talking to the principal at school. A reasonable, quite pleasant type of principal, but the person in authority nonetheless. Andie always felt young and inexperienced, and somewhat awkward, like she’d been caught out where she shouldn’t be. Fooling around with her husband, to be precise.
‘I’m returning your call,’ Joanna prompted her. ‘From earlier today?’
‘Oh, yes, of course.’ Andie cleared her throat. ‘I was ringing to let you know . . . Well, the thing is, I don’t think I can make it to the christening on Sunday.’
‘And Ross?’
‘Oh, no, of course he’ll be there,’ Andie said quickly. ‘He wouldn’t miss it for the world.’
‘I should hope not.’
She took a breath. ‘It’s just . . . well, I don’t know if it’s my place . . . you know, it’s a family thing.’
The truth was, Lauren had never warmed to Andie the way the other two had. Andie was good mates with Brooke and Matty now, that’s all she had ever tried to be. But Lauren had never dropped her guard. She was older when the split happened, she was close to her mother and, as the eldest, extremely protective of her. Andie envied their relationship and she respected it, she would never have done anything to undermine it.
There was a measured pause before Joanna responded. ‘Well, whatever you think’s best.’
Good, that was good. It’s not as though Andie expected Joanna to talk her out of it. Why would she? ‘So, anyway, I wanted to send a platter —’
‘We’re having it catered.’
‘Still, I’d like to contribute.’
‘Andie, it’s being catered,’ Joanna repeated calmly. ‘I assume you’ve organised the gift? Ross certainly wouldn’t have thought to.’
‘No . . . I mean yes, of course, there’s a gift.’
‘Then, there you are, you’ve contributed. Lauren will appreciate it.’
Andie suddenly had the urge to ask Joanna what she would make of Ross’s behaviour – had he had periods when he’d withdrawn from her? Joined the gym out of the blue, given up drinking? Did any of that happen before he left . . .
Hell, where did that come from?
‘Was there something else, Andie?’ Joanna was asking.
‘No, no, that’s it. I’ll let you go,’ she said quickly. ‘Thanks.’
Ross wandered out into the living room as she hung up. He was rubbing his head with a towel, making his hair stick out in all directions. It made him look boyish, even at his age. Blond hair didn’t show the grey much so he really didn’t look like he was over fifty. He was still a handsome man, his eyes as blue as the first time they looked into hers when he asked her for her name.
‘Feel better now?’ Andie asked him tentatively.
He smiled, walking towards her. ‘Much better, thank you,’ he sighed loudly as he drew her in
to his arms. ‘So, where were we?’ he murmured as his lips came down on hers and he kissed her soundly.
And just like that, it was over. This was happening too often lately, small flare-ups that went nowhere, truncated discussions – especially anything to do with a baby – and just general avoidance of conflict, and each other. It wasn’t only him, Andie knew she was guilty of it as well.
‘How was your day?’ he asked after a while, drawing back to look at her. ‘Did you see your dad?’
‘Hm.’
‘How is he?’
Andie sighed. ‘The same. I think he’s just lonely. I’m wondering if I should go over more often, maybe have dinner with him one night a week.’
‘You should, you know,’ he said. ‘That’s a good idea, actually.’
‘You wouldn’t mind?’
‘Of course not.’ He released her and walked around the kitchen bench. ‘I have to work back so often lately, you might as well go and keep your old man company.’ He opened the fridge door and peered in. ‘Was that the phone I heard before?’
‘Oh, yes, it was Joanna.’
He looked back at her, frowning. ‘What did she want?’
‘It was about the christening,’ said Andie.
He picked up the bottle she’d already opened. ‘Do you want a top-up?’
The Secret Ingredient Page 4
