The Undomestic Goddess (27 page)

Mr. Geiger... I clear my throat. Are you sure... I mean, did they ask for Melissa by... by
name?

They didnt need to! He twinkles at me. Only one lawyer in this house!

Make some coffee, Samantha, instructs Trish sharply. And use the pink cups. Quickly! Wash
them up.

The thing is... I have... I have something to tell you. Not now , Samantha! Wash up those cups! Trish thrusts the rubber gloves at me. I

dont know whats wrong with you today But I dont think theyve come to see Melissa, I say desperately.
Theres something

I... I should have told you.

No one pays any attention. Theyre all focused on Melissa.

How do I look? Melissa smooths her hair back selfconsciously.

Lovely, darling! Trish leans forward. Just a touch more lipstick. Make you look really
glamorous...

Is she ready for the interview? An unfamiliar womans voice comes from the kitchen door and
everyone freezes in excitement.

In here! Eddie pulls open the door to reveal a dark-haired, middle-aged woman in a trouser
suit, whose eyes immediately run appraisingly over the kitchen.

Heres our legal star! Eddie gestures to Melissa with a beam of pride.

Hello. Melissa tosses back her hair, then steps forward with an outstretched hand. Im
Melissa Hurst.

The woman looks at Melissa blankly for a few moments. Not her, she says. Her. And she points at me.

In puzzled silence, everyone turns to stare at me. Melissas eyes have narrowed to deepest
suspicion. I can see the Geigers exchanging glances.

Thats Samantha, says Trish, looking perplexed. The housekeeper.

Youre Samantha Sweeting, I take it? The woman brings out her reporters pad. Can I ask you
a few questions?

You want to interview the housekeeper ? says Melissa, with a sarcastic laugh. The journalist ignores her.

You are Samantha Sweeting, arent you? she persists. I... yes, I admit at last. But I dont want to
do an interview. I dont have any

comment.

Comment ? Trishs eyes dart around uncertainly. Comment on what?

Whats going on, Samantha, love? Eddie looks anxious. Are you in some kind of trouble?

You havent told them? The Daily Mail journalist looks up from her notepad. They have no idea?

Told us what? says Trish, agitated. What?

Shes an illegal immigrant! says Melissa in tones of triumph. I knew it! I knew there was
something

Your housekeeper is a top City lawyer. The woman throws down a copy of the Daily World onto the kitchen table. And shes just turned down a six-figure partnership to work for you.

Its as though someones thrown a grenade into the kitchen. Eddie visibly reels. Trish
totters on her high-heeled clogs and grabs a chair for balance. Melissas face looks like a
popped balloon.

I meant to tell you. I bite my lip awkwardly as I look round the faces. I was... getting
round to it...

Trishs eyes are bulging as she reads the Daily World headline. Her mouth is opening and closing, but no sound is coming out.

Youre a... a lawyer ? she stutters at last. Not just any old lawyer, chimes in the journalist, consulting her
notes. Highest law

degree of her year... youngest ever partner of Carter Spink Youre a partner at Carter
Spink? stutters Melissa. No! I say. I mean... well... kind of... Can I make anyone a cup
of tea? I add

desperately.

No one is interested in tea.

Did you have any idea your housekeeper has an IQ of 158? The journalist is clearly loving
this. Shes a genius.

We knew she was bright! says Eddie, defensive. We spotted that! We were helping her with
her He breaks off, looking foolish. With her English GCSE.

And Im really grateful! I put in hurriedly. Really.

Eddie mops his brow with a tea towel. Trish is still clutching the chair as though she
might keel over any minute.

I dont understand. Eddie suddenly puts the tea towel down and turns to me. How did you
combine being a lawyer with the housekeeping?

Yes! exclaims Trish, coming to life. Exactly. How on earth could you be a City lawyer...
and still have time to train with Michel dela Roux dela Blanc ?

Oh, God. They still dont get it.

Im not really a housekeeper, I say desperately. Im not really a Cordon Bleu cook. Michel
dela Roux dela Blanc doesnt exist. I have no idea what this thing is really called. I pick
up the truffle beater, which is lying on the side. Im a... a fake.

I cant look at either of them. Suddenly I feel terrible. Ill understand if you want me to
leave, I mumble. I took the job under false pretenses.

Leave? Trish looks horrified. We dont want you to leave! Do we, Eddie?

Absolutely not! he says, rallying himself. Youve done a fine job, Samantha. You cant help
it if youre a lawyer.

Im a fake, says the journalist, writing it carefully down on her notepad. Do you feel
guilty about that, Ms. Sweeting?

Stop it! I say. Im not doing an interview!

Ms. Sweeting says shed rather clean loos than be a partner at Carter Spink, says the
journalist, turning to Trish. Could I see the loos in question?

Our loos? Spots of pink appear on Trishs cheeks and she gives me an uncertain glance. Well! We
did have the bathrooms refitted recently; theyre all Royal Doulton.

How many are there? The journalist looks up from her notepad.

Stop this! I clutch my hair. Look, Ill... Ill make a statement to the press. And then I
want you all to leave me and my employers alone.

I hurry out of the kitchen, the Daily Mail woman following behind, and fling open the front door. The crowd of journalists is still
there, behind the gate. Is it my imagination or are there more than before?

Its Sarah, says the guy in black glasses sardonically as I approach them.

Ladies and gentlemen of the press, I begin. I would be grateful if you would leave me
alone. There isnt any story here.

Are you going to stay as a housekeeper? calls a fat guy in jeans.

Yes, I am. I lift my chin. Ive made a personal choice, for personal reasons, and Im very
happy here.

What about feminism? demands a young girl. Women have fought for years to gain an equal
foothold. Now youre telling them they should go back to the kitchen?

Im not telling women anything! I say, taken aback. Im just leading my own life.

But you think theres nothing wrong with women being chained to the kitchen sink? A
gray-haired woman glares at me.

Im not chained! I get paid for what I do, and I choose to My answer is drowned out by a barrage of questions and flashing cameras.

Was Carter Spink a sexist hellhole?

Is this a bargaining ploy?

Do you think women should have careers?

Wed like to offer you a regular column on household hints! says a chirpy blond girl in a
blue mac. We want to call it Samantha Says.

What ? I gape at her. I dont have any household hints! A recipe, then? She beams. Your favorite
dish? Could you pose for us in your pinny? calls out the fat guy, with a lascivious wink.
No! I say in horror. I have nothing else to say! No comment! Go away!

Ignoring the cries and shouts of Samantha! I turn and run with trembling legs back up the
drive to the house.

The world is mad. I burst into the kitchen, to find Trish, Eddie, and Melissa transfixed
in front of the Daily

World . Oh, no, I say, my heart plunging. Dont read it. Honestly. Its just... stupid...

tabloid...

All three of them raise their heads and regard me as though Im some kind of alien.

You charge... five hundred pounds an hour? Trish doesnt seem quite in control of her voice.

They offered you full equity partnership? Melissa looks green. And you said no ? Are you crazy ?

Dont read this stuff! I try to grab the paper. Mrs. Geiger, I just want to carry on as
usual. Im still your housekeeper

Youre one of the countrys top legal talents! Trish jabs the paper hysterically. It says
so, here!

Samantha? Theres a rapping at the door and Nathaniel comes into the kitchen, holding an
armful of newly picked potatoes. Will this be enough for the lunch?

I stare at him dumbly, feeling a clutch at my heart. He has no idea. He knows nothing. Oh,
God.

I should have told him. Why didnt I tell him? Why didnt I tell him ? What are you? says Trish, turning to him wildly. A top rocket scientist? A secret

government agent?

Im sorry? Nathaniel shoots me a quizzical look.

Nathaniel...

I trail off, unable to continue. Nathaniel looks from face to face, a crease of
uncertainty deepening in his brow.

Whats going on? he says at last. Is something up?

I have never made such a hash of anything as I make of telling Nathaniel. I stammer, I
stutter, I repeat myself and go round in circles.

Nathaniel listens in silence. Hes leaning against an old stone pillar in front of the
secluded bench where Im sitting. His face is in profile, shadowed in the afternoon sun,
and I cant tell what hes thinking.

At last I come to a finish and he slowly lifts his head. If I was hoping for a smile, I
dont get it. Ive never seen him look so shell-shocked.

Youre a lawyer, he says at last. All the light seems to have gone out of his eyes.

Yes.

I cant believe youre a lawyer. Theres a hostility to his tone that Ive never heard before.

Nathaniel. I swallow hard. I know you had a bad experience with lawyers. Im really sorry
about your dad. But... Im not like that. You know Im not

How do I? he retorts with sudden aggression. How do I know who you are anymore? You lied
to me.

I didnt lie! I just... didnt tell you everything.

I thought you were in an abusive relationship. He bows his head, clenching his hands
behind his neck. I thought thats why you didnt want to talk about your past. And you let
me believe it. When you went up toLondon , I was worried about you. Jesus.

Im sorry. I wince with guilt. Im so sorry. I just... didnt want you to know the truth.

Why not? What, you didnt trust me?

No! I say in dismay. Of course I trust you! If it had been anything else... Nathaniel, you
have to understand. When we first met, how could I tell you? Everyone knows you hate
lawyers. You even have a sign in your pub!

That signs a joke . He makes an impatient gesture. Its not. Not completely! Come on, Nathaniel. If Id told
you I was a City lawyer when

we first met, would you have treated me in the same way? Nathaniel doesnt reply. Hes taken
a few steps away and turned to face the house, as if

he cant even bear to look at me anymore.

Its all ruined between us. Just as I feared. I can feel the tears rising but somehow keep
my chin steady.

Nathaniel, I didnt tell you the truth about myself because it was incredibly painful, I
say quietly. And because everything was so wonderful between us, I didnt want to ruin it.
And because... I thought you might look at me differently.

Nathaniel slowly turns to face me, his face still closed and unforgiving.

Like youre looking at me now. A tear runs down my cheek and I brush it away. This is what
I was afraid of.

The silence seems to last forever. Then Nathaniel exhales heavily, as though coming to a
conclusion.

Come here. He holds out his arms. Come here.

He wraps them around me and I lean against his chest, almost overcome with relief.

Im the same person, you know, I mumble. Even if I used to be a lawyerIm still me. Samantha.

Samantha Sweeting, corporate lawyer. He surveys me for a few moments. Nope. I cant see it.

Me either! That part of my life is over. Nathaniel... Im so sorry. I never meant any of
this to happen. A bay leaf falls into his hair from the tree behind and I pick it out,
automatically rubbing it to release the sweet scent.

So what happens now? says Nathaniel.

Nothing. The media interest will die down. Theyll get bored. I rest my head on his
shoulder. Im happy in my job. Im happy in this village. Im happy with you. I just want
everything to stay the same.

Im wrong. The media interest doesnt die down. I wake up the next morning to find twice as
many reporters as yesterday camped outside, plus two TV vans. My mobile is so jammed with
messages from journalists who have got hold of the number, Ive given up

listening to them. As I enter the kitchen, Melissa and Eddie are sitting at the table,
which is covered in newspapers.

Youre in every single paper, Melissa informs me. Uncle Eddie went down to the shop for
them. Look. She shows me a double-page spread in the Sun . Theres a picture of me superimposed on the background of a loo, and someones drawn a
toilet brush in one of my hands, ID RATHER CLEAN LOOS! is in huge letters next to my face.

Oh, my God. I sink into a chair and stare at the picture. Why ?

Its August, says Eddie, flicking through the Telegraph . Nothing else in the news. Says here youre a casualty of todays work-obsessed society. He
turns the paper around to show me a small item topped with the headline CARTER SPINK
HIGHFLYER CHOOSES DRUDGERY AFTER RUMORS OF SCANDAL.

It says here youre a Judas to career women everywhere. Melissa is reading the Herald . This columnist Mindy Morrell is really angry with you.

Angry? I echo, bewildered. Why would anyone be angry with me?

But in the Daily World youre a savior of traditional values. Melissa reaches for the paper and opens it. Samantha Sweeting believes women should return to the hearthside for the sake of their
own health and that of society .

What? I never said that! I grab the paper and scan the text in disbelief. Why are they all
so obsessed ?

Silly season, says Eddie, reaching for the Express . Is it true you single-handedly uncovered Mafia connections at your law firm?

No! I look up. Who said that?

Cant remember where I saw it now, he says, riffling through the pages. Theres a picture of
your mother in this one. Nice-looking lady.

My mother ? I stare in dismay. High-flying daughter of a high-flying mother , Eddie reads aloud. Was the pressure to

succeed too much ?

Oh, God. Mum is going to kill me.

This one has a poll, look. Eddie has opened another paper. Samantha Sweeting: Heroine or Fool? Phone or text your vote . Then they give a number to call. He reaches for the phone and frowns. Which shall I vote
for?

Fool, says Melissa, grabbing the phone. Ill do it.

Samantha! Youre up!

I raise my head to see Trish coming into the kitchen, holding a bundle of newspapers under
her arm. As she looks at me she has the same shell-shocked expression of awe that she had
yesterday, as though Im a priceless work of art that has suddenly pitched up in her
kitchen. Ive just been reading about you!

Good morning, Mrs. Geiger. I put down the Daily World and hastily get to my feet. Um, what can I get you for breakfast? Some coffee to begin
with?

Dont you make the coffee, Samantha! she replies, looking flustered. Eddie, you can make the coffee!

Im not making the coffee! objects Eddie.

Then... Melissa! says Trish. Make us all some nice coffee. Samantha, you sit down for
once! Youre our guest! She gives an unnatural laugh.

Im not your guest! I protest. Im your housekeeper!

I can see Eddie and Trish exchanging doubtful looks. What do they think? That Im going to
leave?

Nothings different! I insist. Im still your housekeeper! I just want to carry on my job as
usual.

Are you crazy? demands Melissa. Have you seen how much Carter Spink wants to pay you?

You wouldnt understand, I retort. Mr. and Mrs. Geiger... youll understand. Ive learned a lot living here. Ive changed as a person. And Ive found a
fulfilling way of life. Yes, I could make a lot more money being a lawyer inLondon . Yes,
I could have some high-powered, pressurized career. But its not what I want. I spread my
arms around the kitchen. This is what I want to do. This is where I want to be.

Im half expecting Trish and Eddie to look moved by my little speech. Instead, they both
peer at me in total incomprehension, then glance at each other again.

I think you should consider the offer, says Eddie. It says in the paper theyre desperate
to woo you back.

We wont be at all offended if you leave, adds Trish, nodding emphatically. Well completely understand.

Is that all they can say? Arent they glad I want to stay? Dont they want me as their housekeeper?

I dont want to leave! I say, almost crossly. I want to stay here and enjoy a fulfilling
life at a different pace.

Right, says Eddie after a pause, then surreptitiously pulls a What? face at Trish.

The telephone rings and Trish picks it up.

Hello? She listens for a moment. Yes, of course , Mavis. And Trudy. See you later! She puts the receiver down. Two more guests for the charity lunch!

Right. I glance at my watch. Id better get going on the starters.

As Im getting out my pastry the phone rings again and Trish sighs. If this is more late
guests... Hello? As she listens, her expression changes and she puts her hand over the
receiver.

Samantha, she hisses. Its an ad company. Are you willing to appear in a TV commercial for
Toilet Duck? Youd wear a barristers wig and gown, and youd have to say

No! I say, recoiling. Of course not!

You should never turn down television, says Eddie reprovingly. Could be a big opportunity.

No, it couldnt! I dont want to be in any commercials! I can see Eddie opening his mouth to
argue. I dont want to do any interviews, I add quickly. I dont want to be a role model. I
just want everything to go back to normal.

But by lunchtime everything is even more surreal than before.

Ive had three more requests to appear on TV and one to do a tasteful photo shoot for the Sun in a French maids uniform. Trish has given an exclusive interview to the Mail . Callers to a radio phone-in that Melissa insisted on listening to have described me as
an antifeminist moron, a Martha Stewart wannabe, and a parasite on the taxpayers who paid
for my education. I was so furious I almost phoned up myself.

But instead I switched the radio off and took three deep breaths. Im not going to let
myself get hassled. I have other things to think about. Fourteen guests have arrived for
the charity lunch and are milling around on the lawn. I have wild-mushroom tartlets to
bake, asparagus sauce to finish, and salmon fillets to roast.

I desperately wish Nathaniel were here to keep me calm. But hes gone off to Buckingham to
pick up some koi carp for the pond, which Trish has suddenly decided she must have.
Apparently they cost hundreds of pounds and all the celebrities have them. Its ridiculous.
No one ever even looks in the pond.

The doorbell rings just as Im opening the oven, and I sigh. Not another guest. Weve had
four late acceptances this morning, which has totally thrown my schedule. Let alone the
journalist from the Mirror who dressed up in a pink floral suit and tried to tell Eddie she was new to the village.

I put the tray of tarts in the oven, gather up the remaining scraps of pastry, and start
to wipe down my rolling pin.

Samantha? Trish taps at the door. We have another guest!

Another one? I turn round, wiping flour off my cheek. But Ive just put the starters in the oven

Its a friend of yours. He says he needs to speak to you urgently. About business? Trish
raises her eyebrow at me significantlythen steps aside.

Its Guy. Standing in Trishs kitchen. In his immaculateJermyn Street suit and starched
cuffs.

Im utterly flabbergasted. Judging by his expression, hes pretty gobsmacked too.

Oh, my God, he says slowly, his eyes running over my uniform, my rolling pin, my floury
hands. You really are a housekeeper.

Yes. I lift my chin. I really am.

Samantha... says Trish from the door. Not that I want to interrupt, but... starters in ten minutes?

Of course, Mrs. Geiger. I automatically bob a curtsy as Trish leaves, and Guys eyes nearly
fall out of his head.

You curtsy ? The curtsying was a bit of a mistake, I admit, catching his appalled expression. Guy,

what are you doing here? Im here to persuade you to come back. Of course he is. I should have guessed.

Im not coming back. Excuse me. I reach for the broom and dustpan and start sweeping the
flour and pastry scraps off the floor. Mind your feet!

Oh. Right. Guy awkwardly moves out of the way.

I dump the pastry bits in the bin, then get my asparagus sauce out of the fridge, pour it
into a pan, and set it on a gentle heat. Guy is watching me in bemusement.

Samantha, he says as I turn round. We need to talk.

Im busy. The kitchen timer goes off with a shrill ring and I open the bottom oven to take
out my rosemary-garlic rolls. I feel a surge of pride as I see them, all golden brown and
wafting a delicious, herby scent. I cant resist taking a nibble out of one, then offering
it to Guy.

You made these? He looks astounded. I didnt know you could cook.

I couldnt. I learned. I reach into the fridge again for some unsalted butter and break a
knob into the foaming asparagus sauce. Then I glance at Guy, whos standing by the utensil
rack. Could you pass me a whisk?

Guy looks helplessly at the utensils.

Er... which one is the

Dont worry, I say, clicking my tongue. Ill get it.

I have a job offer for you, says Guy as I grab the whisk and start beating in the butter.
I think you should look at it.

Im not interested. I dont even raise my head.

You havent even seen it yet. He reaches into his inside pocket and produces a white
letter. Here. Take a look.

Im not interested! I repeat in exasperation. Dont you understand? I dont want to be a
lawyer.

You want to be a housekeeper instead. His tone is so dismissive, I feel stung.

Yes! I thrust my whisk down. I do! Im happy here. Im relaxed. You have no idea. Its a
different life!

Yup, I got that, says Guy, glancing at my broom. Samantha, you have to see sense! He takes
a phone out of his inside pocket and starts dialing. Theres someone you really

should speak to. Ive been in contact with your mother over the situation.

You what ? I stare at him in horror. How dare you!

Samantha, I only want the best for you. So does she. Hi, Jane, he says into the phone. Im
with her now. Ill pass you over.

I cannot believe this. For an instant I feel like throwing the phone out the window. But
no. I can deal with this.

Hi, Mum, I say, taking the phone from Guy. Long time.

Samantha. Her voice is as icy as it was the last time we spoke. But somehow this time it
doesnt make me feel tense or anxious. She cant tell me what to do. She has no idea about
my life anymore. What exactly do you think youre doing? Working as some kind of domestic ?

Thats right. Im a housekeeper. And I suppose you want me to go back to being a lawyer?
Well, Im happy here and Im not going to. I taste the asparagus sauce and add some salt.

You may think its funny to be flippant, she says curtly. This is your life, Samantha. Your
career. I think you fail to understand

You dont understand! None of you do! I glare at Guy, then turn the hob down to a simmer and
lean against the counter. Mum, Ive learned a different way to live. I do my days work, and
I finishand thats it. Im free . I dont need to take paperwork home. I dont need to have my Blackberry switched on
twenty-four/seven. I can go to the pub, I can make weekend plans, I can go and sit in the
garden for half an hour with my feet up and it doesnt matter . I dont have that constant pressure anymore. Im not stressed out. And it suits me. I
reach for a glass, fill it with water, and take a drink. Im sorry, but Ive changed. Ive
made friends. Ive got to know the community here. Its like... The Waltons .

The Waltons ? She sounds startled. Are there children there? No! I say in frustration. You dont
understand! They just... care . Like, a couple of

weeks ago they threw me the most amazing birthday party.

Theres silence. I wonder if Ive touched a sensitive spot. Maybe shell feel guilty... maybe
shell understand...

How very bizarre, she says crisply. Your birthday was almost two months ago.

I know it was. I sigh. Look, Mum, Ive made up my mind. The cooker suddenly pings, and I
reach for an oven glove. Ive got to go.

Samantha, this conversation is not over! she snaps furiously. We have not finished.

We have, OK? We have ! I switch off the phone and dump it on the table. Thanks a lot, Guy, I say shortly. Any
other nice little surprises for me?

Samantha... He spreads his hands apologetically. I was just trying to get through to you

I dont need getting through to. I turn away. And now I have to work. This is my job.

I open the bottom oven, take out my trays of tartlets, and start transferring them onto
small warmed plates.

Ill help, says Guy after a moment.

You cant help . I roll my eyes.

Of course I can. To my astonishment he takes off his jacket, rolls up his sleeves, and
puts on an apron adorned with cherries. What do I do?

I cant help but laugh. He looks so incongruous.

Fine. I hand him a tray. You can take in the starters with me.

As we enter the white-canopied room, the babble of chatter breaks off and fifteen dyed,
lacquered heads turn. Trishs guests are seated around the table, sipping champagne, each
wearing a suit of a different pastel color. Its like walking into a Dulux paint chart.

And this is Samantha! says Trish, whose cheeks are a bright shade of pink. You all know
Samantha, our housekeeperand also top lawyer!

To my embarrassment a spattering of applause breaks out.

We saw you in the papers! says a woman in cream.

I need to talk to you. A woman in blue leans forward with an intense expression. About my divorce settlement .

Ill pretend I didnt hear that. This is Guy, whos helping me out today, I say, beginning to
serve the mushroom tarts. Hes also a partner at Carter Spink, adds Trish proudly.