Subterfudge (6 page)

After a quick shower, they dried off then slipped on matching thick, plush bathrobes—luxurious souvenirs they had brought back from a romantic trip to the Turks and Caicos.

Ashley padded back into the kitchen then pulled the food out of the oven. Earlier, when she had gone out to buy a pie to replace the failed one, she had picked up some enchiladas verde at the gourmet shop next door to the bakery. She had put them into her own stoneware and popped them in the oven to keep warm.

She cleaned the table and set their places.

Roger served their plates.

“Thank you, dear,” she said as she sat down at table where he had so delightfully ravished her earlier. She was exhausted. And starving!

She took a bite of her dinner. She must have devoured it too fast, because something went down the wrong way and she choked.

Coughing, she tried to clear her throat. Ashley stood up to get something to drink.

“Are you okay?” Roger asked. “This is delicious. Did you make this?”

She nodded, her back to him. Her eyes burned. She still couldn’t talk yet. The food in her throat made it hard to breathe.

She held a glass in front of the water dispenser on the refrigerator, then drank it down. Gulp, gulp, gulp!

Wait! I nodded that I was okay, not that I made the enchiladas!

When she stopped seeing red, she realised Roger was saying, “…is delicious, you’ve really outdone yourself tonight, my dear. I’m impressed.”

She nodded at him. “Would you like some water?”

“Yeah, that’d be great. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Fine.” Her voice was hoarse.
Why can’t I tell him? I’m such a chicken.

She filled a glass of water for him and brought it back to the table.

“So how was work today?” She wanted to change the subject. To anything but the food.

“Oh, it was fine. Pricewater House is talking mergers and…” He went on about a business deal she only vaguely understood. That was okay with her.

When it came time for dessert, she presented him with a piece of the fluffy chocolate pie. She had been prepared to pass the pie off as her own, but he had unnerved her when he’d given her credit for the entrée as well.

That was an accident. She hadn’t intended on saying she’d cooked the dinner.

But he was so proud of her…and she’d been choking. By the time she’d been able to answer him, well, she couldn’t disappoint him. Not these days. She was afraid if she failed at this cooking task, he might leave her. He had been acting so oddly in the days leading up to his request. Clearly it was important to him that she succeeded in the kitchen.

She frowned, her stomach knotted.
Great, now I feel guilty.

A little voice inside her said,
But not guilty enough to tell him the truth.

Roger beamed at her. He had been so good to her tonight.
I won’t do anything to destroy this beautiful evening.

By the time they were snuggled up together in bed that night, Ashley had practically convinced herself she’d cooked that meal.

Chapter Six

Tap, tap, tap.
The pencil hit her shoe. She wasn’t getting anywhere with work this morning. Ashley stared out of the window. She couldn’t keep her mind off Roger.

He was so good to her, treated her like gold. Last night he had been so focused on her pleasure. A shiver ran through her body.
He must be thrilled with my cooking.

But it’s not technically
my
cooking…
She screwed up her mouth, making a face.

Staring at the blank page on the desk in front of her, she uncrossed her legs and stood up. She stretched her arms above her head and decided to take a break. The project wasn’t due for another week. It could wait.

What would she ‘cook’ tonight?

Every time I try to prepare food myself, it’s a disaster. I screw it up. And I hate to disappoint Roger. But when I buy food and he thinks I made it, he’s so happy! No failure, and he doesn’t have to be disappointed—
plus
, we both get an edible meal. It’s a win-win situation.

Ashley convinced herself she should keep buying food and placing it in their serving dishes. Or in the oven. It was in both of their best interests. It didn’t matter that Roger didn’t know she wasn’t slaving away all day in the kitchen preparing their dinner.

Occasionally, she’d get a gnawing pang in her gut, but she’d squash it down, never allowing it to surface. Roger deserved a decent meal, for Heaven’s sake, not the pitiful ones that she could make herself.

I can get take-out from that little gourmet market…they have lots of delicious dishes Roger and I like—lamb, crab cakes, lasagne, those little gorgonzola tortes. I don’t
have
to tell him I made it myself… If he assumes I did, I just won’t correct him.

The following week, Ashley served Roger several delectable, gourmet meals she purchased from the local market. She never actually lied and said she made them. He just thought she did, and she never corrected his inaccurate assessment.

Each evening provided such domestic bliss that Ashley almost believed herself to be an accomplished cook who made delightful dinners every night for her beloved Master. Roger bestowed such high praise upon her that she relished her new role as goddess of the kitchen.

After one such lunch, Ashley lounged in the bedroom reading a magazine. It was a Saturday and Roger had been kind enough to do the dishes and give her a break. Ashley was reading about which star wore what on the latest red carpet.

All of a sudden, Roger charged into the room. His face red, he waved white slips of paper in her face.

“What are these?” he yelled at her.

“Roger, calm down. I have no idea.” She sat up straighter in the bed.

“These are receipts from different markets. They’re for food, Ashley. Prepared food. Not ingredients. What have you been up to?” His eyes bulged.

She felt heat rise in her cheeks. “Well…I just…some things were hard to make. That’s all,” she answered, her voice uncharacteristically small.

“Here is a receipt for the chicken cacciatore we just ate.” He was breathing hard, hurt reflected in his eyes. It broke her heart. “You
bought
it?”

Ashley tucked her legs up under her and hugged them. Wiping at the hot tears she felt welling up, she nodded, wishing the ground would swallow her up.

“Why, Ashley? Why would you lie to me?” His face was crestfallen.

She hung her head and wept softly.

“Why?” he repeated angrily.

She didn’t answer.

He shook her. “
Why did you lie to me?
”

Unable to meet his gaze, she shook her head and whispered, “I don’t know.”

He turned and barrelled out of the room.

She heard the door to the apartment bang shut.

* * * *

Moments later, Ashley ran after Roger. She couldn’t let him go like that. She had to make him understand that she had never meant to deceive him. She’d made a terrible mistake, but he had to forgive her. He just had to!

She pushed the elevator button repeatedly, tears streaming down her face. The thought of life without Roger was unbearable.

Finally the elevator opened. She jumped inside and pressed the button for the lobby.

When the doors opened on the ground floor, Ashley bolted, calling, “Roger, Roger!” She searched for him. She jogged onto the street, looking everywhere.

He was long gone.

Dejected, she made her way back into the building where she bumped into her neighbour Lance.

“Oh me, look what the cat dragged in! What happened to you?” he exclaimed, cupping his hand over his mouth.

Ashley collapsed into his arms sobbing.

“Gracious, girl! Why the waterworks?” Lance gave her a sidelong glance as though he were worried other people might see the embarrassing display, but he patted her back.

Ashley stepped back. “It’s Roger.” She boo-hooed. “I’m afraid he’s left me.”

“Left you? Apparently I’ve missed a lot. Let’s get you back upstairs. You’re a mess, girl. Mascara’s running all down your face.” Lance shook his head, shielded her face and hurried her back upstairs.

Once she was back in her apartment, Ashley took some deep breaths and tried to pull herself together. She offered Lance some tea. He accepted and found her some tissues for her leaky eyes.

They sat in the living room, waiting for the water to boil, and Lance threw his arms in the air. “So what gives, sister?” Clearly, he was dying to get the skinny on her emotional breakdown.

“It all started when I tried to learn to cook for Roger.”

He nodded, encouraging her.

“Well, basically, I’m a failure. Everything I tried was a disaster. I either burned it or didn’t cook it enough or it just blew up somehow. Then I got some take-out that he thought that I cooked—but I didn’t. And he was so happy, so proud of me…that I just let him think I made it.”

“
Ashley
!” Lance feigned disapproval.

“I know I shouldn’t have!” She stuck her bottom lip out. “But I was so
bad
at it, and he liked it so much… It was just easier. So I started buying food and passing it off as my own.” She frowned. “Then I got caught,” she said, slumping onto the couch.

Lance jumped back on the sofa in dramatic fashion, clutching his hand over his heart. “Oh Lord! How did he find out?”

She sighed. “He found some receipts. They must have been on top of the trash or something. I should’ve been more careful.”

“What you should have done was come to me for cooking lessons, umhmm, that’s right.” He snapped his fingers and looked at her with disdain, shaking his head.

“You’re probably right.”

“Well, quit acting like Eeyore and let’s get with the program. What did you try to cook? Did you try the crockpot like I said?”

“Yes, and the noodles were hard.”

“Okay, well that can be fixed by either adding water, some stirring or cooking longer. Sometimes with a slow cooker you have to play with it a little. I can help you with that.”

She wiped her eyes and brightened. “Really?”

He nodded. “What else?”

“I tried to make a French Silk Pie. That was a mess!”

“A
what
?”

“French Silk Pie.”

“Girl, you’ve got to be crazy. You don’t try something like that when you don’t know how to cook. Why don’t you just try to make a soufflé?” He laughed as if that was the most ridiculous thing in the world.

She furrowed her brow, puzzled. “A soufflé?”

“Yes, goose! They’re almost impossible to make.”

“Oh.”

He rolled his eyes heavenward. “I have
got
to take you under my wing, child.”

“Would you?” She sniffled.

“Yes. Clearly you need all the help you can get. And I hate to see my favourite neighbour running around looking like the Rocky Horror Picture Show. Do you have any eye makeup remover? Maybe you can go do something about that.” Waving his fingers in front of his face, he indicated she had black streaks on her cheeks.

“Okay.” She smiled for the first time since her fight with Roger.

The tea kettle sang out from the kitchen.

“I’ll get it,” Lance offered. “You go take care of that.” He shooed her off to her bathroom.

* * * *

A couple of hours later, Ashley heard the creak of the front door.

“Am I in the right place?” Roger asked as he rounded the corner and walked into the chocolate cloud that hovered through the kitchen.

There, Ashley and Lance hovered over the stovetop. Ashley stirred a pot of dark brown liquid. The air was thick with a blanket of chocolate that coated one’s nostrils with a sugary sweetness.

“Yes,” she said. “We’re making fudge. Lance is teaching me.” The corners of her mouth turned up tentatively.

“Okay, well, I don’t want to interrupt…” Roger started to leave. She couldn’t read his expression.
How mad
was
he? At least he’s come back. That’s a good sign. Isn’t it?
Inside, her heart did a cartwheel.

“No, no. I was just leaving. We’re about done here,” Lance said, looking ill at ease.

“Are you sure?” Roger asked.

“Yes. Ashley, all you have to do is stir it for another two minutes, pour it into this glass pan then refrigerate it for several hours. Call me tomorrow and tell me how it turns out, or bring me a piece. It’s easy. See?”

Ashley wasn’t sure she
did
see, but she smiled and nodded robotically, nervous about being alone with Roger. She was in so much trouble, and she was too upset to deal with the blocks or any of his punishments right now.

Lance grabbed his coat.

“We’ll walk you out,” Ashley said, nervous about the prospect of facing Roger by herself. She and Roger followed him into the living room and said goodbye to Lance.

Then Ashley and Roger were alone. Tension hung in the air between them as tight and unforgiving as an old wire bedspring.

“I—” They both spoke at the same time, then stopped.

That eased the awkwardness. Ashley sighed with relief.

“I’m sorry,” Ashley blurted out. “I was wrong. I should never have taken credit for cooking something I didn’t make. I’m just so terrible at it, Roger, and I hated to disappoint you. But I was wrong.”

“I need total honesty from you, Ashley. For a relationship to work, two people have to know that they can trust each other completely. And when you lie to me, I don’t know what to think. I have to admit that I was disappointed that you didn’t feel you could be honest with me.”

She made herself as small as she could. “I know. I feel awful. I’m so sorry, Sir.”

“I’m sorry too, Ashley.”

Huh?
Ashley couldn’t believe her ears. What was
he
sorry for?

“I’m sorry that I made you feel like you had to fake things for me. If you don’t like to cook—that’s okay.” His face was gentle, kind.

“It is?” She was confused. “I thought it was real important to you that I become a chef or something…” Her mouth curled into a question.

“Well, it was. At first. I don’t know. I was confused myself. Let me try to explain. I’ve been thinking more about our domestic life lately. And it seemed like a good idea to start eating at home more. Since you’re my sub—that’s the role you and I have agreed upon for you—it seemed the right thing for you to do. That you’d do the cooking. But if you don’t like it, dear—
I
can do it.”