The Undomestic Goddess (25 page)

No. I cant go in there. No way. Absolutely! I just have to... get some cocktail napkins___
I try to back away, but she grabs me. No, you dont! You wanted this job! Now work!

She shoves me hard, and I stagger into the crowded room. I feel like a gladiator being
pushed into the arena. Jans standing at the door, her arms folded. Theres no way out. Im
going to have to do this. I grip the tray more tightly, lower my headand advance slowly
into the crowded room.

I cant walk naturally. My legs feel like boards. `The hairs on the nape of my neck are
standing on end; I can feel the blood pulsating through my ears. I edge past expensive
suits, not daring to look up, not daring to pause in case I attract attention. I cant
believe this is happening. Im dressed up in a green-and-white uniform, serving
mini-eclairs to my former colleagues.

But one thing Ive learned from doing parties with Eamonn is, the waiting staff are
invisible. And sure enough, no one seems to have noticed.

Several hands have plucked eclairs from the tray, without even glancing at me. Everyones
too busy laughing and chatting. The din is tremendous.

I cant seeArnold anywhere. But he has to be here somewhere. Im compelled to look for him,
to raise my head and search him out. But I cant risk it. Instead, I keep on moving
steadily around the room. Familiar faces are everywhere. Snatches of conversation are
making my ears prick up.

Wheres Ketterman? someone is asking as I pass by.

InDublin for the day, replies Oliver Swan. But hell be at the partners farewell dinner
tomorrow night. I breathe out in relief. If Ketterman were here Im sure his laser eyes
would pick me up at once.

Eclairs. Fab!

About eight hands dive into my tray at once and I come to a standstill Its a group of
trainees. Hoovering food, as trainees always do at parties.

Im starting to feel edgy. The longer I stand here without moving, the more exposed I feel.
But I cant get away. Their hands keep plunging in for more.

Are there any more of the strawberry tarts, do you know? a guy with rimless glasses asks
me.

Urn... I dont know, I mutter, staring down.

Shit. Now hes peering at me more closely. Hes bending down to get a good look. And I cant
pull my hair over my face because both hands are holding the tray.

Is that... Samantha Sweeting? He looks agog. Is that Samantha Sweeting? One of the girls
drops her eclair. Another gasps and claps her hand over her mouth.

Urn...yes, I whisper at last, my face boiling. Its me. But please, dont tell anyone. I
want to keep a low profile.

So... this is what you do now? The rimless-glasses guy looks aghast. Youre a waitress ?

The trainees are all staring at me as though Im the Ghost of Failed Lawyers Future.

Its not so bad. I attempt an upbeat smile. You get free canapes!

So you make one mistakeand thats it? gulps the girl who dropped her eclair. Your legal
career is ruined forever?

Er... pretty much. I nod. Can I offer you another?

But no one seems hungry anymore. In fact, they all look rather green about the gills.

I might just...pop back to my desk, stammers the guy with rimless glasses. Just check I
havent got anything outstanding...

Me too, says the girl, thrusting down her glass. Samantha Sweeting is here! I suddenly
hear another of the trainees hissing to a group

of junior associates. Look! Shes a waitress!

No! I gasp. Dont tell anyone else

Its too late. I can see all the people in the group turning to look at me with identical
expressions of embarrassed horror.

For an instant Im so mortified I want to curl up on the spot. These are people I used to
work with. These are people who respected me. And now Im dressed up in stripes, serving
them.

But then, slowly, I begin to feel defiant. Fuck you, I find myself thinking. Why shouldnt
I work as a waitress? Hi, I say, shaking back my hair. Care for a dessert?

More and more people are turning to gasp at me. I can hear the whispering round the room.
The other waitstaff are all clustered together, goggling at me. Heads are swiveling
everywhere now, like iron filings in a magnetic field. There isnt one friendly face among
them.

Jesus Christ! I hear someone murmur. Look at her. Should she be here? exclaims someone else. No, I say, trying to sound composed. Youre right. I shouldnt.

I make to leave, but the melee is all around me now. I cant find a way out. And then my
stomach plunges. Through a gap in the throng, I spot a familiar shock of woolly hair.
Familiar ruddy cheeks. A familiar jovial smile.

ArnoldSaville.

Our eyes meet across the room, and although he keeps smiling, theres a hardness to his
gaze that Ive never seen before. A special anger, just for me.

I feel sick. Almost scared. Not of his angerbut of his duplicity. Hes fooled everyone. To
everyone else in this room, Arnold Saville is on a par with Father Christmas. A way has
parted in the crowd, and hes coming toward me, a glass of champagne in his hand.

Samantha, he says, in pleasant tones. Is this appropriate?

You had me banned from the building, I hear myself bite back. I didnt have much choice.

Oh, God. Wrong answer. Too chippy.

I have to get control of myself, or Im going to lose this confrontation. Im already at
enough of a disadvantage, standing here in waitress gear, being peered at by the entire
room as if Im something the dog dragged in. I need to be calm and steely and inspired. But
seeingArnold in the flesh after all this time has thrown me off balance. As hard as I try
to stay calm, I cant. My face is burning, my chest feels tight. All the traumas of the
last few weeks are suddenly erupting inside me in a whoosh of hatred.

You had me fired. The words burst out before I can stop them. You lied !

Samantha, I know this must have been a very difficult time for you.Arnold has the air of a
headmaster dealing with a wayward pupil. But really... He turns to a man I dont recognize
and rolls his eyes. Former employee, he says in an undertone. Mentally unstable.

What? What ? Im not mentally unstable! I cry. I just want to know the answer to one simple

question. When exactly did you put that memo on my desk?

Arnoldlaughs, seemingly incredulous.

Samantha, Im retiring. Is this really the time? Could someone get rid of her? he adds as
an aside.

Thats why you didnt want me to come back to the office, isnt it? My voice is trembling
with indignation. Because I might start asking tricky questions. Because I might work it
out.

A little frisson travels around the room. But not in a good way. I can hear people
murmuring, For Gods sake, and How did she get in here? If I want to retain any credibility
or dignity at all I have to stop talking right now. But I cant stop.

I didnt make that mistake, did I? I walk toward him. You used me. You wrecked my career, you watched my whole life go into free fall

Really, snapsArnold , turning away. This is getting beyond a joke.

Just answer the question! I yell at his back. When did you put that memo on my desk,Arnold
? Because I dont believe it was ever there before the deadline.

Of course it was there.Arnold turns briefly, bored and dismissive. I came into your office
on May twenty-eighth.

May 28th?

Where did May 28th come from? Why does that feel wrong?

I dont believe you, I say with a helpless anger. I just dont believe you. I think you set
me up. I think

Samantha? Someone pokes me on the shoulder and I wheel round to see Ernest the security
guard. His familiar, gnarled face is awkward. Im going to have to ask you to leave the
premises.

Theyre seriously throwing me out of the offices? After practically living here for seven years of my life? I can feel my last shreds of composure disappearing. Hot
tears of rage and humiliation are pressing against my eyes.

Just leave, Samantha, says Oliver Swan pityingly. Dont embarrass yourself any further.

I stare at him for a few seconds, then transfer my gaze to each of the senior partners in
turn, searching for a shred of empathy. But theres none.

I was a good lawyer, I say, my voice shaking. I did a good job. You all know it. But you
just wiped me out, like I never existed. I swallow down the lump in my throat. Well, your
loss.

The room is totally silent as I put the tray of eclairs down on a nearby table and stalk
out of the room. The moment Im out the door I can hear an animated conversation breaking
out behind me. Im even more of a joke than I was before.

I travel down in the lift with Ernest in total silence. If I opened my mouth, I might
burst into tears.

When I get out of the building I check my mobile. Theres a text from Nat on my phone,
asking how things went. I read it several times, but I cant bring myself to reply. Nor can
I bring myself to go back to the Geigers house. Even though I could probably still catch a
train, I cant face them tonight.

On automatic pilot, I head down to the Underground and onto a tube. I can see my face in
the window opposite, pale and expressionless. And all the way, my mind is buzzing. May 28th. May 28th .

I dont hit on the answer until Im arriving at my building. May 28th. Chelsea Flower Show.
Of course. We were atChelsea all day on May 28th. Arnold, Ketterman, Guy, and I doing some
corporate entertaining.Arnold arrived straight fromParis and afterward he was driven home.
He wasnt even in the office.

He lied. Of course he did. I feel a wave of weary anger rising inside me. But theres
nothing I can do now. No one will ever believe me. Ill live the rest of my life with
everyone convinced it was my mistake.

I get out at my floor, already fumbling for the key, hoping against hope that Mrs. Farley
wont hear me, already planning a long, hot bath. And then, as Im almost at my door, I stop
dead, thinking hard.

Slowly I turn and head back to the lift. Theres one more chance. I have nothing to lose.

I rise up two floors and come out of the lift. Its almost identical to my floorsame
carpet, same wallpaper, same lamps. Just different numbers on the apartment doors. 31 and
32.1 cant remember which one I want, so in the end I plump for 31. It has a softer
doormat. I sink down on the floor, put my bag down, lean against the door, and wait.

By the time Ketterman appears out of the lift doors Im drained. Ive been sitting here for
three solid hours without anything to eat or drink. I feel wan and exhausted. But at the
sight of him I scramble to my feet, clutching the wall as I feel a wash of fatigue.

For a moment Ketterman looks shocked. Then he resumes his usual stony expression.

Samantha. What are you doing here?

As I stand there I wonder if hes heard about me going to the offices. He must have. Hell
have heard the whole gory tale. Not that hes giving anything away.

What are you doing here? he repeats. Hes holding an enormous metal briefcase in one hand
and his face is shadowed under the artificial lights. I take a step forward.

I know Im the last person you want to see. I rub my aching neck. Believe me, I dont want
to be here either. Out of all the people in the world I could turn to for help... you
would be the last. You are the last.

I break off for a moment. Ketterman hasnt even flickered.

So the fact that Im here, coming to you... should prove it to you. I look at him
desperately. Im serious. I have something to tell you, and you have to listen. You have to.

I can hear a car braking in the street outside and someone laughing raucously. Kettermans
face is still rigid. I cant tell what hes thinking. Then, at last, he reaches in his
pocket for a key. He walks past me, unlocks the door to flat 32and finally turns.

Come in.

I wake up to the view of a cracked, grubby ceiling. My eye runs along to a huge cobweb in
the corner of the room, then down the wall to a rickety bookshelf stuffed with books,
tapes, letters, old Christmas decorations, and the odd bit of discarded underwear.

How did I live in this mess for seven years?

How did I not notice it?

I push back the bedcover, get out of bed, and look around blearily. The carpet feels
gritty under my feet and I wince. It needs a goodHoover . I guess the cleaner stopped
coming after the money stopped appearing.

There are clothes lying all over the floor, and I search around until I find a dressing
gown. I wrap it around myself and head out to the kitchen. Id forgotten how bare and cold
and spartan it was in here. Theres nothing in the fridge, of course. But I find a
chamomile tea bag and fill the kettle, and perch on a bar stool, looking out at the brick
wall opposite.

Its already nine-fifteen. Ketterman will be at the office. Hell be taking whatever action
hes going to take. In spite of everything, I feel weirdly calm. Matters are out of my
hands now; theres nothing further I can do.

He listened to me. He actually listened, and asked questions, and even made me a cup of
tea. I was there for over an hour. He didnt tell me what he thought or what he was going
to do. He didnt even say whether he believed me or not. But the fact that he took me
seriously made all the difference.

The kettles coming to the boil when the doorbell rings. I pull my dressing gown around me
and pad out to the hall. Through the spy-hole I can see Mrs. Farley peering back at me,
her arms laden with packages.

Of course. Who else?

I open the door. Hello, Mrs. Farley.

Samantha, I thought it was you! she exclaims. After all this time! I had no idea... I didnt know what to
think...

Ive been away. I muster a neighborly smile. Im sorry I didnt let you know I was going
away. But I didnt really have any warning myself.

I see. Mrs. Farleys eyes are darting all around, at my blond hair, at my face, and past me
into the flat, as though searching for clues.

Thanks for taking in my parcels. I hold out my hands. Shall I...

Oh! Of course. She hands over a couple of Jiffy bags and a cardboard box, still obviously
avid with curiosity. I suppose these high-powered jobs do send you girls abroad with no notice

I havent been abroad. I put the boxes down. Thanks again.

Oh, its no trouble! I know what its like when youve had a... a difficult family time? she
hazards.

I havent had a difficult family time, I say politely.

Of course not! She clears her throat. Well, anyway. Youre back now. From... whatever youve
been doing.

Mrs. Farley. I try to keep a straight face. Would you like to know where Ive been?

Mrs. Farley recoils.

Dear me! No! Its absolutely none of my business! Really, I wouldnt dream of... I must be getting on... She starts backing away.

Thanks again! I call as she disappears back into her flat.

Im just closing the door as the phone rings. I pick up the receiver, suddenly wondering
how many people must have rung this number over the last few weeks. The machine is crammed
with messages, but after listening to the first three, all from Mum and each more furious
than the last, I gave up.

Hello?

Samantha, comes a businesslike voice. John Ketterman here.

Oh. Suddenly my calmness is replaced by a serious case of nerves. Hi.

Id like to ask that you keep yourself available today. It may be necessary for you to
speak to some people.

People?

Theres a slight pause, then Ketterman says, Investigators.

Oh, my God. Oh, my God . I feel like punching the air or bursting into tears. But somehow I keep my composure.

So have you found something out?

I cant say anything at the moment. Ketterman sounds as distant and formal as ever. I just
need to know that youll be available.

Of course. Where will I have to go?

Wed like you to come here, to the Carter Spink offices, he says, without any trace of
irony.

I look at the phone, almost wanting to laugh. Would that be the same Carter Spink offices I was thrown out of yesterday ? I feel like saying. The same Carter Spink offices Ive been banned from ?

Ill call you, adds Ketterman. Keep your mobile with you. It could be a few hours.

OK. I will. I take a deep breath. And please, just tell me. You dont have to go into
specifics, but... was my theory right?

Theres a crackling silence down the phone. I cant breathe.

Not in every detail, says Ketterman at last, and I feel a painful thrill of triumph. That
means I was right with some details, at least.

The phone goes dead. I put the receiver down and look at my reflection in the hall mirror,
my eyes bright.

I was right. And they know it.

Theyll offer me my job back, it suddenly hits me. Theyll offer me partnership. At the
thought Im seized with excitementand at the same time, a kind of fear.

Ill cross that bridge when I come to it.

I walk into the kitchen, keyed up, unable to stand still. What the hell am I going to do
for the next few hours? I pour hot water onto my chamomile tea bag and stir it round with
a spoon. And then I have an idea.

It takes only twenty minutes to pop out and get what I need. Butter, eggs, flour, vanilla,
icing sugar. Baking tins. Mixers. A set of scales. Everything, in fact. I cannot believe how badly equipped my kitchen is. How did I ever do any cooking in here?

Well. I didnt.

I dont have an apron so I improvise with an old shirt. I dont have a mixing bowl and I
forgot to buy oneso I use the plastic basin given to me as part of an aromatherapy kit.
Two hours of whisking and baking later, Ive produced a cake. Three tiers of vanilla
sponge, sandwiched with buttercream, iced with lemon glace, and decorated with sugar
flowers.

I take it in with a glow of satisfaction. This is my fifth cake ever, and the first time
Ive done more than two tiers. I take off my old shirt, check that my mobile is in my
pocket, pick up the cake, and head out of the flat.

As Mrs. Farley answers the doorbell, she looks startled to see me.

Hi! I say. Ive brought you something. To say thank you for looking after my post.

Oh! She looks at the cake in astonishment. Samantha! That must have been expensive!

I didnt buy it, I say proudly. I made it. Mrs. Farley looks staggered. You... made it? Uh-huh. I beam. Shall I bring it in and make you some coffee?

Mrs. Farley looks too thunderstruck to answer, so I head past her into the flat. To my
shame I realize I havent been in here before. In three years of knowing her, I never once
set foot over the threshold. The place is immaculately kept, full of little side tables
and antiques and a bowl of rose petals on the coffee table.

You sit down, I say. Ill find what I need in the kitchen. Still looking dazed, Mrs. Farley
sinks into an upholstered wing chair.

Please, she says faintly. Dont break anything.

Im not going to break anything! Would you like frothy milk? And do you have any nutmeg?

Ten minutes later I emerge from the kitchen, bearing two coffees and the cake.

Here. I cut Mrs. Farley a slice. See what you think. Mrs. Farley takes the plate. You made
this, she says at last. Yes!

Mrs. Farley takes the slice to her mouth. Then she pauses, an anxious expression on her
face.

Its safel I say, and take a bite of my own slice. See? I know how to cook! Honestly! Mrs. Farley
takes a tiny bite. As shes chewing, her eyes meet mine in astonishment. Its... delicious!
So light ! You really made this?

I whisked the egg whites separately, I explain. It keeps cakes really light. I can give
you the recipe if you like. Have some coffee. I hand her a cup. I used your electric
beater for the milk, if thats OK. It works fine, if you get it to just the right
temperature.

Mrs. Farley is gazing at me as though Im talking gobbledygook.

Samantha, she says at last. Where have you been these last weeks?

Ive been... away somewhere. My eye falls on a duster and can of Pledge, sitting on a side
table. She must have been in the middle of cleaning when I rang. I wouldnt use those
dusters if I were you, I add politely. I can recommend some better ones.

Mrs. Farley puts down her cup and leans forward in her chair. Her brow is wrinkled in
concern.

Samantha, you havent joined some sort of religion?

No! I cant help laughing at her face. Ive just been... doing something different. More
coffee?

I head into the kitchen and froth up some more milk. When I return to the sitting room,
Mrs. Farley is on her second slice of cake.

This is very good, she says between bites. Thank you.

Well... you know. I shrug, a little awkward. Thanks for looking out for me all that time.

Mrs. Farley finishes her cake, puts her plate down, and regards me for a few moments,

her head cocked to one side like a bird.

Dear, she says finally. I dont know where youve been. Or what youre doing. But whatever it
is, youre transformed.

I know my hairs different I begin, but Mrs. Farley shakes her head.

I used to see you, rushing in and out, arriving home late at night, always looking so weary . So troubled. And I used to think you looked like... like the empty shell of a person.
Like a dried-up leaf. A husk.

A dried-up leaf? I think in indignation. A husk ?

But now youve blossomed! You look fitter, you look healthier... you look happy. She puts
her cup down and leans forward. Whatever youve been doing, dear, you look wonderful.

Oh. Well... thanks, I say bashfully. I suppose I do feel different. I suppose Im more
relaxed these days. I take a sip of coffee and lean back in my chair, mulling it over. I
enjoy life a bit more than I used to. I notice more than I used to

You havent noticed your phones ringing, Mrs. Farley interrupts mildly, nodding at my
pocket.

Oh! I say in surprise, and grab my phone. I should get this. Excuse me. I flip it open and
immediately hear Kettermans voice in my ear. Samantha.

I spend three hours at the Carter Spink offices, talking in turn to a man from the Law
Society, two of the senior partners, and a guy from Third Union Bank. By the time we
finish I feel drained from repeating the same things over and over to the same carefully
blank faces. The office lights are making my head ache. Id forgotten how airless and dry
the atmosphere is here.

I still havent worked out exactly whats going on. Lawyers are so bloody discreet. I know
someones been to seeArnold at his home and thats about it. But even if no ones going to
admit it, I know I was right. Ive been vindicated.

After the last interview, a plate of sandwiches is brought to the small conference room Im
in, together with a bottle of mineral water and a muffin. I get to my feet, stretch out my
arms, and wander over to the window. I feel like a prisoner in here. Theres a tapping at
the door and Ketterman comes into the room.

Have we finished yet? I say.

We may need to speak to you again. He gestures to the sandwiches. Have something to eat.

I cannot stay in this room a moment longer. I have to stretch my legs, at least.

Ill just go and freshen up first, I say, and hurry out of the room before he can object.

As I enter the Ladies, all the women in there stop talking immediately. I disappear into a
cubicle and hear the sound of excited whisperings and murmurings outside. As I come out
again, not one person has left the room. I can feel all the eyes on me, like sunlamps.

So are you back now, Samantha? says an associate called Lucy.

Is it true you were a waitress? chimes in a secretary from Litigation.

Not exactly. I turn away to the sink, feeling self-conscious.

You look so different , says another girl.

Your arms! says Lucy as I wash my hands. Theyre so brown. And toned . Have you been to a spa?

Er... no. I pull down some paper towel. But thanks. So, hows life been here?

Good. Lucy nods a few times. Really busy. Clocked up sixty-six billable hours last week.
Two all-nighters.

I had three, puts in another girl. I can see the pride in her face. And the dark gray
shadows under her eyes. Is that what I used to look like? All pale and strained and tense?

Great! I say politely, drying my hands. Well, Id better get back now. See you.

I exit the Ladies and am walking back to the conference room, lost in my own thoughts,
when I hear a voice.

Oh, my God, Samantha ? Guy ? I look up in shock to see him hurrying down the corridor toward me, his smile

even more dazzling than ever. I wasnt expecting to see Guy here. In fact, I feel a bit
thrown by the sight of him. Wow. He grips my shoulders tightly and scans my face. You look
fantastic.

I thought you were inHong Kong .

Got back this morning. Ive just been briefed on the situation. Bloody hell, Samantha, its
incredible. He lowers his voice. Only you could work all that out. Arnold , of all people. I was shell-shocked . Everyone is. Those who know, he adds, lowering his voice still further. Obviously its
not out yet.

I dont even know what the situation is, I reply, with a touch of resentment. No ones
telling me anything.

Well, they will. Guy reaches into his pocket, gets out his Blackberry, and squints at it.
You are flavor of the month right now. I knew it all along. He looks up. I knew you could
never make a mistake.

What? How can he say that?

No, you didnt, I reply at last, finding my words. No, you didnt. If you remember, you said
Id made errors. You said I was unreliable.

I can feel all the old hurt and humiliation starting to rise again and look away.

I said other people had said you made errors. Guy pauses in tapping at his Blackberry and looks up,
frowning. Shit, Samantha. I did stand up for you. I was on your side. Ask anyone!