One Night She Would Never Forget. Amy Andrews
that Lola had insisted they use for the impromptu tea party. Her grandmother had bought it for Lola a couple of years ago and though it had been inexpensive, it looked fit for a queen.
‘I’m sorry,’ she apologised. ‘It’s all a bit girly.’
Patrick smiled and shook his head. ‘I like a tea party as much as the next man,’ he declared, and the girls laughed hysterically as he stuck out his pinky and sipped his coffee.
‘Your daddy is funny,’ Lola said around a mouthful of cake.
Miranda agreed.
And sexy and manly and one hundred per cent at home in an environment that was suffocating in oestrogen. Which only ramped up his own masculinity. He looked so incredibly male amidst the frippery of a girly afternoon tea with the china and the delicate pink cupcakes, she wanted to drag him to her bedroom, rip his shirt open and rediscover every inch of his maleness.
Play a little doctor and nurse.
They made stilted conversation with their daughters for ten minutes before Lola announced they were going to watch some TV.
And then there were two.
Miranda stood and started gathering dishes. When Patrick placed a stilling hand on her arm she ignored it, continuing her task with manic speed.
‘Miranda,’ he said quietly, refusing to remove his hand, refusing to be ignored. ‘I need to explain.’
Miranda shook her head. ‘No,’ she said as she pushed crumbs from one plate onto another. ‘No, you don’t. Let’s just pretend it never happened and move on, okay? I won’t mention it, you won’t mention it…’ she stacked plates one on top of the other and picked them up, turning to leave ‘… and it’ll be fine.’
Patrick applied a little more pressure on her forearm and he felt the weight of her gaze as it moved to his hand, his gold wedding band a reminder of their predicament. ‘Miranda, we have to work together,’ he said gently. ‘I do need to explain. Sit. Please.’
Miranda would rather have enrolled in a medical trial that involved daily root-canal treatment but deep down she knew he was right. They did have to clear the air, for their professional life if nothing else. Or one of them was going to have to leave.
And she was guessing it would have to be the most expendable.
Which would be her.
She sat.
CHAPTER THREE
PATRICK HAD FORMULATED a spiel in his head on the drive to Miranda’s. But it didn’t seem adequate enough now as she sat stiffly, staring transfixed at the table as if the debris littering the lacy cloth was diamond chips instead of cake crumbs.
Whatever else he said, he knew he had to start with an apology. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t one hundred per cent honest with you at the bar that night.’
Miranda didn’t take her eyes off the table. ‘Well, it’s complicated, right?’
Patrick sighed. ‘It is. It really is.’
Miranda glanced up at the resigned exasperation in his tone. Like he’d known she was going to judge him and there was nothing he could do about it. Except there was.
He could stop sleeping with women other than his wife!
‘And because I was just some … bar pick-up…’ even saying the words made her feel sullied ‘… I wasn’t owed the truth?’
He rubbed his hand along his jaw and Miranda could tell he was choosing his words carefully. ‘Yes,’ he admitted. ‘And no.’
Miranda felt her blood pressure skyrocket. Obviously he wasn’t choosing his words carefully enough. ‘I see,’ she said, looking back at the table again.
Patrick groaned inwardly at the barriers she was building at a rate of knots. So different from the Miranda of six months ago who, although reserved, had been receptive and aware of their vibe.
A vibe that had roared to life again this morning.
Right at this moment she was so shut down he wondered if she’d ever speak to him again. He was trying to be honest but his situation wasn’t typical. ‘It’s not something I talk about much. To anyone. Certainly not…’
Miranda tossed her head and glared at him. ‘Women you pick up in bars?’
‘It wasn’t like that, Miranda.’
‘Of course not,’ she said derisively. ‘So what is it like?’ she demanded, her voice quiet but loaded with don’t-screw-with-me attitude. ‘Is she frigid? A shrew? Sexually unavailable? Or maybe she just can’t love you the way you need?’
Patrick blinked at the rapid-fire choices she’d given him. Her lip had curled at each option, her voice full of derision. If he had to take a guess he’d say Miranda had more than a passing acquaintance with infidelity.
He took a breath. It was understandable that she was angry. He had to accept that.
‘My wife … Kate … Katie … went missing when Ruby was six weeks old. I haven’t seen her since.’
Miranda had prepared herself for the usual platitudes. Even for the not so usual. But nothing had prepared her for this. She frowned as she tried to wrap her head around what he’d said. ‘Missing?’
Patrick nodded. ‘I came home from work one evening to an empty house and a screaming baby.’
Miranda let go of the plates with a clatter and without even thinking about her actions reached out to touch his hand. Her anger and disappointment dissolved. What a truly awful thing to happen. ‘I’m so … sorry. I didn’t realize …’
Patrick shrugged. Her touch felt good and the empathy in her smoky green gaze reached right inside him and squeezed. He’d thought he was over the rawness of that time, a time when his entire life had been turned upside down, but talking to Miranda about it was surprisingly difficult. The worry and the fear and the anger were mixing again in a potent tangible force.
‘It’s fine. Not really bar-conversation material though…’
Miranda nodded. ‘Yes, of course, you’re right.’
The facts may not have changed—she had still slept with a married man. But he was right, it was complicated. And totally understandable not to have confided in her, a stranger, that night in the bar.
Or at any stage really. How did a person work that into a one-night stand—’Oh, by the way, I’m married but it’s okay because she’s been missing for five years’?
Perhaps he wasn’t such a skunk after all.
She became aware that she was still touching him and withdrew her hand. It felt right to proffer some small gesture of comfort but there was a lot more that needed to be said.
‘So … what happened? Is she, Katie … is she…?’
Patrick watched her face as she obviously tried to approach the question with delicacy. ‘Dead?’ he asked.
Miranda baulked at his blunt delivery and the bleakness in his eyes. Was this what made him look so tired all the time? Did he lie awake every night wondering where she was? Worrying? Grieving for his wife?
‘Well … yes.’ It had been the question foremost in her mind but she’d hoped to put it more delicately. Along with the hundreds of other questions that crowded inside her waiting to be asked.
‘No. She’s out there somewhere.’ Patrick raked his fingers through his hair. It was hard to admit—his wife, Ruby’s mother, was choosing to stay away.
That’s probably what hurt most.
Miranda caught a glimpse of the pain and suffering he must have gone