The Undomestic Goddess

by Sophie Kinsella

  He shakes his head, smiling. “I’m doing what I want to do.”

  “But what about the nursery you were going to set up?”

  I see the surprise on his face. “How did you—”

  “Trish told me about it this morning. She said you had business plans and everything. What happened?”

  For a moment he’s silent, his eyes averted from mine. I can’t tell what’s going on inside.

  “It was just an idea,” he says finally.

  “You gave it up for your mum. To run the pubs.”

  “Maybe.” He reaches for a low-growing branch and starts stripping it of leaves. “Everything changed.”

  “But do you really want to run the pubs?” I edge forward on the grass, trying to intercept his gaze. “You said it yourself, you’re not a landlord. You’re a gardener.”

  “It’s not a question of want.” Nathaniel’s voice has a sudden edge of frustration. “It’s a family business. Someone has to run it.”

  “Why you?” I persist. “Why not your brother?”

  “He’s … different. He does his own thing.”

  “You could do your own thing!”

  “I have responsibilities.” His frown grows heavier. “My mum—”

  “She’d want you to do whatever you want to do,” I insist. “I know she would. She’d want you to be happy in your life, not give it up for her.”

  “I am happy. It’s ridiculous to say—”

  “But couldn’t you be happier?”

  There’s silence in the garden. Nathaniel’s shoulders are bent round as if he wants to shut out what I’m saying.

  “Don’t you ever want to ditch your responsibilities?” I throw my arms out wide in sudden abandon. “Just … walk out into the world and see what happens?”

  “Is that what you did?” he demands, wheeling round.

  “I—We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you.”

  “Samantha.…” He rubs his cheek. “I know you don’t want to talk about the past. But I want you to tell me one thing. And be truthful.”

  I feel a deep tremor of alarm. What’s he going to ask me?

  “I’ll … try. What is it?”

  Nathaniel looks me directly in the eye and takes a deep breath.

  “Do you have kids?”

  I’m so dumbfounded, I can’t speak for a moment. He thinks I have kids? A gurgle of relieved laughter rises through me before I can stop it.

  “No, I don’t have kids! What, you think I’ve left five starving little mouths behind?”

  “I don’t know.” He frowns, looking sheepish but defensive. “Why not?”

  “Because … I mean … do I look like I’ve had five kids?” I can’t help a note of indignation, and he starts to laugh too.

  “Maybe not five …”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I’m about to hit him with his shirt when a voice pierces the air.

  “Samantha?”

  It’s Trish. Coming from the house. They’re home?

  “Samantha?” her voice trills again. “Are you outside?”

  Oh, fuck. I’m naked except for a skirt and a bra, and covered in dust and raspberry stains. Nathaniel is much the same, except in jeans.

  “Quick! My clothes!” I hiss, scrabbling to my feet.

  “Where are they?” says Nathaniel, looking around.

  “I don’t know!” I’m trying to control my laughter. “We’re going to get the sack.”

  “Samantha?” I can hear the clunk of the conservatory doors being opened.

  “Shit!” I squeak. “She’s coming!”

  “It’s fine,” says Nathaniel, retrieving his T-shirt from the raspberry cage. He pops it over his head and at once looks pretty together. “I’ll create a diversion. You sneak up the side, behind the shrubs, go in the kitchen door, run upstairs, and get changed. OK?”

  “OK,” I say breathlessly. “And what’s our story?”

  “Our story is …” He pauses as though thinking. “We didn’t shag in the garden or help ourselves to beers from the fridge.”

  “Right.” I can’t help giggling. “Good plan.”

  “Go swiftly, Brown Rabbit.” He kisses me, and I dart across the lawn to the cover of a huge rhododendron bush.

  I sneak up the side of the garden, keeping behind the shrubs, trying not to give myself away. My bare feet are cool on the damp, shaded earth; I step on a sharp pebble and wince in total silence. I feel about ten years old, playing hide-and-seek, the same mixture of terror and delight pounding in my heart.

  When I’m only ten yards from the house I crouch behind a shrub and wait. After a minute or two I see Nathaniel firmly leading the Geigers down the lawn toward the lily pond.

  “I think we could have a case of powdery mildew,” he’s saying. “I thought you should see it for yourselves.”

  I wait until they’re well past, then sprint to the conservatory, in through the house, and up the stairs. When I’m in my room and the door is safely closed, I collapse on the bed, wanting to laugh at my own relief, at the hilarity, at the silliness of it all. Then I get up and look out the window. I can just see them all down by the pond. Nathaniel is pointing at something with a stick.

  I hurry into the bathroom, turn on the shower full blast, and stand under it for thirty seconds. I pull on clean underwear, a pair of fresh jeans, and a demure long-sleeved top. I even add fresh lipstick. Then, slipping on a pair of espadrilles, I head downstairs and out into the garden.

  Nathaniel and the Geigers are by now making their way back up to the house. Trish’s heels are sinking into the lawn and both she and Eddie look hot and irritated.

  “Hi,” I say casually as they approach.

  “There you are,” says Nathaniel. “I haven’t seen you all afternoon.”

  “I was studying recipes,” I say innocently, and turn to Trish with a polite smile. “Did you enjoy the party, Mrs. Geiger?”

  Too late I see Nathaniel making deathlike, finger-across-the-throat gestures behind their backs.

  “Thank you for asking, Samantha.” Trish snaps her purse shut and dabs her nose with a tissue. “I’d rather not talk about the party, thank you.”

  Eddie makes an incensed spluttering sound. “You won’t bloody give up, will you? All I said was—”

  “It was the way you said it!” shrieks Trish. “Sometimes I think your sole purpose in life is to embarrass me!”

  Eddie stalks off toward the house, his Panama hat lopsided on his head.

  Uh-oh. I raise my eyebrows at Nathaniel, who grins back over Trish’s head.

  “Would you like a nice cup of tea, Mrs. Geiger?” I say soothingly. “Or … a Bloody Mary?”

  “Thank you, Samantha,” she replies, lifting her chin in a dignified manner. “A Bloody Mary would be very nice.”

  As we walk up to the conservatory,Trish seems to calm down a little. She even mixes her own Bloody Mary instead of bossing me around as I do it, and makes one each for me and Nathaniel too.

  “Now,” she says, after we’ve each taken a sip and sat down among the frondy plants. “There was something I needed to tell you, Samantha. We’re having a visitor.”

  “Oh, right,” I say, trying not to smile. Nathaniel is sitting next to me and is edging off my espadrille with his foot under the coffee table.

  “My niece is coming to stay tomorrow for a few weeks. She’s coming to get some peace and quiet in the country. She has some work to do, and it’s very important she isn’t disturbed, so Mr. Geiger and I offered her a place here. I’d like you to get the spare room ready for her.”

  “Very good.” I nod dutifully.

  “She’ll need a bed made up and a desk—I believe she’s bringing a laptop computer with her.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Geiger.”

  “She’s a very bright girl, Melissa.” Trish lights up a cigarette with a Tiffany lighter. “Extremely high-powered. One of these City girls.”

  “Oh, right,” I say, trying to stay composed as Natha
niel finally manages to push my espadrille off. “What does she do?”

  “She’s a lawyer,” says Trish—and I look up, speechless. A lawyer?

  A lawyer is coming to stay in this house?

  Nathaniel is tickling the sole of my foot, but I can only respond with a weak smile. This could be bad.

  What if I know this lawyer?

  As Trish mixes herself another Bloody Mary, I’m racking my brains frantically. Melissa. It could be Melissa Davis from Freshwater. It could be Melissa Christie from Clark Forrester. It could be Melissa Taylor who worked on the DeltaCo merger. We spent hours in the same room together. She’d recognize me straightaway.

  “So … is she a niece on your side, Mrs. Geiger?” I ask casually as Trish sits down. “Is she called Geiger too?”

  “No, she’s called Hurst.”

  Melissa Hurst. Doesn’t ring any bells.

  “And where does she work?” Please let it be abroad.…

  “Oh, she’s at some high-powered place in London.” Trish gestures vaguely with her glass.

  OK, so I don’t know her. But if she’s at any of the big law firms she’s bound to have heard about me. She’s bound to know about the Carter Spink lawyer who lost fifty million and ran away. She’ll know every humiliating detail of my disgrace.

  I’m feeling cold all over at the thought of it. All it takes is for her to recognize my name, to put two and two together … and the whole story will come out. I’ll be as humiliated here as I was in London. Everyone will know what happened at Carter Spink. Everyone will know my lies. I glance at Nathaniel and feel a spike of dread.

  I can’t let things be spoiled. Not now.

  Eighteen

  The crucial thing is that this lawyer doesn’t recognize me. So the following afternoon, after I’ve prepared the spare room, I hurry to my own room and pin my hair up on top of my head, allowing large tendrils to escape artistically and conceal my face. Then I find myself adding a pair of old tinted glasses I discovered in the dressing table drawer, which look like they date from the 1980s. As disguises go, this isn’t exactly the most subtle job in the world—but at least I look nothing like my old self.

  As I come downstairs, Nathaniel is heading out of the kitchen, looking pissed off. He looks up at me and stops dead in surprise.

  “Samantha … what have you done?”

  “Oh, my hair?” I touch it casually. “I just wanted it in a different style.”

  “Are those your sunglasses?”

  “I’ve got a bit of a headache. So … what’s up?” I add, hastily changing the subject.

  “Trish.” He scowls. “She’s been lecturing me on noise. I can’t mow the lawn between the hours of ten and two. I can’t use the trimmer without giving warning. Could I please tiptoe on the gravel. Tiptoe.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of this blasted visitor. We all have to dance around her. A bloody lawyer.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Her work’s important? My work’s important!”

  “She’s coming!” Trish’s voice suddenly shrills from the kitchen and she comes hurrying out. “Are we all ready?” She flings open the front door and I hear the sound of a car door opening in the drive.

  This is it. I pull a few more strands of hair over my face and clench my fists by my sides. If I recognize this woman I’ll just keep my eyes down, mumble my words, and play my part. I’m a housekeeper. I have never been anything but a housekeeper.

  “Now, you should get lots of peace here, Melissa,” I can hear Trish saying. “I’ve instructed the staff to look after you with extra special care.…”

  I exchange looks with Nathaniel, who rolls his eyes.

  “Here we are! Let me hold the door open …”

  I hold my breath. A moment later Trish enters the house, followed by a girl in jeans and a tight white top, dragging a suitcase.

  This is the top, high-powered lawyer?

  She has long dark hair and a pert, pretty face, and can’t be much out of her teens.

  “Melissa, this is our wonderful housekeeper, Samantha—” Trish breaks off in surprise. “Samantha … what on earth are you wearing? You look like Elton John!”

  “Hello,” I say awkwardly, removing the sunglasses. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

  “It’s fab to be here.” Melissa has a boarding-school drawl. “London was, like, sooo getting me down.”

  “Mrs. Geiger said you’re a lawyer at some … big place in London?”

  “Yah.” She gives me a smug smile. “I’m at Chelsea Law School.”

  What?

  She’s not even a qualified lawyer. She’s a law student. She’s a baby. I cautiously raise my head and meet her eyes—but there’s not a blink of recognition. Oh, for God’s sake. I have nothing to worry about from this girl. I almost want to laugh.

  “And who’s this?” Melissa bats her mascaraed eyelashes alluringly at Nathaniel, whose scowl deepens.

  “This is Nathaniel, our gardener,” says Trish. “But don’t worry, he’s under strict instructions not to disturb you. I’ve told him, you need absolute quiet for your work.”

  “It’s true. I’ve got loads of revision to do.” Melissa gives a world-weary sigh and pushes a hand through her hair. “You wouldn’t believe the workload, Auntie Trish. I’ve been soooo stressed.”

  “I don’t know how you do it!” Trish puts an arm around her shoulders and squeezes tight. “Now, what would you like to do first? We’re all at your disposal.”

  “Could you unpack all my things?” Melissa turns to me. “They’ll be creased, so they’ll all need ironing.”

  She’s not going to do her own unpacking? I’m to be this girl’s personal maid?

  “I might take my books out in the garden,” she adds airily. “Maybe the gardener could set up a table for me in the shade?”

  Trish is watching in total admiration as Melissa rummages in a backpack full of textbooks.

  “Look at all those books, Samantha!” she exclaims as Melissa retrieves Beginner’s Guide to Litigation. “Look at all those long words!”

  “Er … wow,” I say politely.

  “Why don’t you make us all some coffee first?” Trish turns to me. “We’ll take it on the terrace. Bring some biscuits out too.”

  “Of course, Mrs. Geiger,” I say, bobbing an automatic curtsy.

  “Could you make mine half caffeinated, half decaf?” Melissa adds over her shoulder. “I, like, don’t want to get too wired.”

  No, I bloody couldn’t, you pretentious little cow.

  “Of course.” I smile through gritted teeth. “My pleasure.”

  As I carry the coffee out to the terrace ten minutes later, Trish and Melissa are ensconced in chairs under a parasol along with Eddie.

  “You’ve met Melissa, have you?” he says as I set down the tray on a wrought-iron table. “Our little star? Our legal eagle?”

  “Yes, I have. Your coffee,” I add, handing the cup to Melissa. “Just as you asked for it.”

  “Melissa’s under a great deal of pressure,” says Eddie. “It’s up to us to make things easy for her.”

  “You can’t imagine what the strain’s like,” says Melissa seriously. “I’ve been working into the evenings and everything. My social life’s, like, gone out the window.” She takes a sip of coffee, then turns to me. “By the way, I meant to say …” She frowns. “What’s your name again?”

  “Samantha.”

  “Yes, Samantha. Be really careful with my red beaded top, OK?” She takes another gulp of coffee.

  “I’ll do my best,” I reply. “Will that be all, Mrs. Geiger?”

  “Wait!” Eddie puts his cup down. “I’ve got something for you. I haven’t forgotten our little conversation the other day!” He reaches under his chair and produces a brown paper bag. I can see a couple of shiny books poking out of the top. “Now, you’re not going to get out of this one, Samantha. This can be our little project!”

  Oh, no. Please do not let this be what I think it is.


  “Mr. Geiger,” I begin quickly. “It’s really nice of you, but—”

  “I won’t hear another word!” he interrupts with a raised hand. “You’ll thank me one day!”

  “What are you talking about?” Melissa wrinkles her nose in curiosity.

  “Samantha’s going to take some qualifications!” With a flourish Eddie pulls two workbooks from the bag. Both are brightly colored, with big jazzy letters and illustrations. I can see the words Math and English and Adult Learning.

  I’m totally speechless.

  “I’m sure Melissa will be delighted to help with anything tricky,” chips in Trish. “Won’t you, love?”

  “Of course,” says Melissa with a patronizing smile. “Well done you, Samantha! It’s never too late.” She pushes her full cup of coffee toward me. “Make me another coffee, will you? This one’s too weak.”

  By the middle of the following day I have had just about enough of Melissa. I’ve made her about fifty cups of coffee, half of which she hasn’t bothered to drink. I’ve brought her chilled water. I’ve rustled up sandwiches. I’ve washed all the dirty laundry, which it turned out her suitcase contained. I’ve ironed her a white shirt to wear in the evening. Every time I try to start on one of my regular jobs I hear Melissa’s high-pitched voice summoning me.

  Meanwhile, Trish is tiptoeing around as though we have Cherie Blair herself in the garden, working on some vital human-rights case. As I dust the living room, she’s watching Melissa, sitting at a table set up on the lawn.

  “She’s working so hard. Such an intelligent girl, Melissa.”

  “Mmm,” I grunt, noncommittally.

  “You know, it’s not easy to get into law school, Samantha. Especially the best one! Melissa had to beat hundreds of people just to get the place!”

  “Fantastic.” I flick my cloth roughly over the TV. “That’s great. So … how long is she staying?” I try to ask the question casually.

  “It depends,” replies Trish. “Her exams are in a few weeks, and I’ve said she’s welcome to stay as long as she likes!”

  A few weeks? It’s only been one day, and already she’s driving me mad.