The Undomestic Goddess

by Sophie Kinsella

  Nathaniel doesn’t seem as impressed as he should. He just looks at me steadily. “At what cost?”

  “What do you mean?” I avoid his gaze.

  “I mean that when you turned up here, you were a nervous wreck. You were like some freaked-out rabbit. White as a sheet. Stiff as a board. You looked like you hadn’t ever seen the sun, you looked like you hadn’t ever enjoyed yourself—”

  “You’re exaggerating.”

  “I’m not. Can’t you see how much you’ve changed? You’re not edgy anymore. You’re not a bundle of nerves.” He picks up my arm and lets it fall down. “That arm would have stayed there!”

  “OK … so I’ve relaxed a bit!” I throw up my hands. “I know I’ve changed. I’ve calmed down and I’ve learned to cook and iron and pull pints—and I’ve had a wonderful time. But it’s like a holiday. It can’t last forever!”

  “Why not?” His persistence is unnerving me.

  “Because!” I say, rattled. “If I stay as a housekeeper I’ll be unfulfilled!”

  “Is that what your lawyer friend told you?” There’s a hostile edge to his tone. “That you’ll be more fulfilled working twenty-four hours a day? That they’re only thinking of your own good?”

  “No! I mean, it’s obvious. I can’t clean loos forever!”

  Nathaniel shakes his head in despair.

  “So after all this you’re just going to go back, pick up the reins, and carry on as though nothing happened?”

  “It’ll be different this time! I’ll keep a balance. They really want me to come back, they’ll listen to what I want—”

  “Who are you kidding?” Nathaniel grips my shoulders. “Samantha, they don’t give a shit about you! Can’t you see that? It’ll be the same stress, the same lifestyle—”

  I feel a sudden surge of anger toward him for not understanding; for not supporting me.

  “Well, at least I tried something new!” My words pour out in a torrent. “At least I went out and tried a different life for a bit!”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” His grasp loosens in shock.

  “It means, what have you ever tried, Nathaniel?” I know I sound shrill and aggressive but I can’t help myself. “You’re so narrow-minded! You live in the same village you grew up in, you run the family business, you’re buying a nursery down the road … you’re practically still in the womb. So before you lecture me on the way to live my life, try living one of your own, OK?”

  I break off, panting, to see Nathaniel looking as though I’ve slapped him.

  “I … didn’t mean it,” I mumble.

  I take a few steps away, feeling near to tears. This isn’t the way things were supposed to go. Nathaniel was supposed to support me and give me a hug and tell me I was making the right decision. Instead here we are, standing yards apart, not even looking at each other.

  “I thought about spreading my wings.” Nathaniel suddenly speaks, his voice stiff. “There’s a nursery in Cornwall I’d die to own. Fantastic piece of land, fantastic business—but I didn’t look at it. I preferred not to be six hours away from you.” He shrugs. “I guess you’re right. That was pretty narrow-minded of me.”

  I don’t know how to reply. For a while there’s silence, except for the cooing of pigeons down at the end of the garden. It is the most spectacular evening, I suddenly realize. Evening sun is slanting through the willow tree and the grass smells sweet underneath my feet.

  “Nathaniel … I have to go back.” My voice isn’t quite steady. “I don’t have any choice. But we can still be together. The two of us. We can still make it work. We’ll have holidays … weekends … I’ll come back for Eamonn’s party … You won’t know I’ve gone!”

  He’s silent for a moment, fiddling with the handle of the bucket. When at last he looks up, his expression makes my heart hurt.

  “Yeah,” he says in a quiet voice. “I will.”

  Twenty-five

  The news makes the front page of the Daily Mail. I am a genuine celebrity. samantha chooses law over loos. As I come into the kitchen the next morning, Trish is poring over it, with Eddie reading another copy.

  “Trish’s interview has been printed!” he announces. “Look!”

  “ ‘I always knew Samantha was a cut above the average housekeeper,’ says Trish Geiger, thirty-seven” reads out Trish proudly. “ ‘We often discussed philosophy and ethics together over the Hoover.’ ”

  She looks up and her face changes. “Samantha, are you all right? You look absolutely washed out.”

  “I didn’t sleep that well,” I admit, and flip on the kettle.

  I spent the night at Nathaniel’s. We cooked mushroom omelets together and watched the end of an old war movie and had slow, tender sex. We didn’t talk any more about my going. But at three o’clock, when I looked over at him, he was awake too, staring up at the ceiling.

  “You need energy!” says Trish, perturbed. “It’s your big day! You need to look your best!”

  “I will.” I try to smile. “I just need a cup of coffee.”

  It’s going to be a huge day. The Carter Spink PR department swung into action as soon as I made my decision and has turned my return into a full media event. There’s going to be a big press conference at lunchtime in front of the Geigers’ house, where I’ll say how delighted I am to be going back to Carter Spink. Several of the partners are going to shake my hand for the photographers and I’ll give a few short interviews. And then we’re all going back to London on the train.

  “So,” says Eddie as I spoon coffee into the pot. “All packed up?”

  “Pretty much. And Mrs. Geiger … here.” I hand Trish the blue uniform, which I’ve been carrying, folded, under my arm. “It’s clean and pressed. Ready for your next housekeeper.”

  As Trish takes the uniform she looks suddenly stricken. “Of course,” she says, her voice jumpy. “Thank you, Samantha.” She clasps a napkin to her eyes.

  “There, there,” says Eddie, patting her on the back. He looks rather moist around the eyes himself. Oh, God, now I feel like crying myself.

  “I’m really grateful for everything,” I gulp. “And I’m sorry for leaving you in the lurch.”

  “We know you’ve made the right decision. It’s not that.” Trish dabs her eyes.

  “We’re very proud of you,” chips in Eddie gruffly as the doorbell rings.

  I head into the hall, and open the door. The entire PR team from Carter Spink is standing on the doorstep, all in identical trouser suits.

  “Samantha.” Hilary Grant, head of PR, runs her eyes over me. “Ready?”

  By twelve o’clock I’m wearing a black suit, black tights, black high heels, and the crispest white shirt I’ve ever seen. I’ve been professionally made up and my hair has been scraped back into a bun.

  Hilary brought the clothes and the hairdresser and makeup artist. Now we’re in the drawing room while she preps me on what to say to the press. For the thousand millionth time.

  “What’s the most important thing to remember?” she’s demanding. “Above anything?”

  “Not to mention loos,” I say wearily. “I promise, I won’t.”

  “And if they ask about recipes?” She wheels round from where she’s been striding up and down.

  “I answer, ‘I’m a lawyer. My only recipe is the recipe for success.’ ” Somehow I manage to utter the words straight-faced.

  I’d forgotten how seriously the PR department takes all of this. But I suppose it’s their job. And I suppose this whole business has been a bit of a nightmare for them. Hilary has been outwardly pleasant ever since she got here—but I get the feeling there’s a little wax doll of me on her desk, impaled by drawing pins.

  “We just want to make sure you don’t say anything else … unfortunate.” She gives me a slightly savage smile.

  “I won’t! I’ll stick to the script.”

  “And then the News Today team will follow you back to London.” She consults her BlackBerry. “We’ve given them acces
s for the rest of the day. You’re OK about that?”

  “Well … yes. I suppose.”

  I cannot believe how big this whole thing has become. A news discussion program actually wants to do a fly-on-the-wall TV documentary section about my return to Carter Spink. Is there nothing else happening in the world?

  “Don’t look at the camera.” Hilary is still briskly issuing instructions. “You should be good-humored and positive. You can talk about the career opportunities Carter Spink has given you and how much you’re looking forward to getting back. Don’t mention your salary—”

  “Any chance of a coffee round here?” Guy’s voice interrupts us and he comes in, wearing a pair of expensive shades. He takes them off and grins at me. “Maybe you could rustle up some scones?”

  “Ha ha,” I say politely.

  “Hilary, there’s some trouble outside.” Guy turns to her. “Some TV guy kicking up a fuss.”

  “Damn.” Hilary looks at me. “Can I leave you for a moment, Samantha?”

  “Absolutely!” I try not to sound too eager. “I’ll be fine!”

  As she leaves I breathe a sigh of relief.

  “So.” Guy raises his eyebrows. “How are you? Excited?”

  “Of course!” I smile.

  Actually I feel a little surreal, wearing a black suit again, surrounded by Carter Spink PR people. I haven’t seen Trish or Eddie for hours. Hilary Grant has totally commandeered the house.

  “You made the right decision, you know,” says Guy.

  “I know.” I brush a fleck of lint off my skirt.

  “You look sensational. You’re going to blow them away.” He perches on a sofa arm opposite me and sighs. “Jesus, I missed you, Samantha. It hasn’t been the same.”

  Does he have any sense of irony? Or did they fix that at Harvard too?

  “So now you’re my best friend again.” I can’t help a slight edge. “Funny, that.”

  Guy blinks at me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Come on, Guy.” I almost want to laugh. “You didn’t want to know me when I was in trouble. Now suddenly we’re chums again?”

  “That’s unfair,” retorts Guy hotly. “I did everything I could for you, Samantha. I fought for you in that meeting. It was Arnold who refused to have you back. At the time we had no idea why—”

  “You wouldn’t let me in your house, though, would you? Friendship wouldn’t quite extend that far.”

  Guy looks genuinely thrown. He pushes his hair back with both hands.

  “I felt terrible about that,” he says. “It wasn’t me. It was Charlotte. I was furious with her—”

  “Of course you were.”

  “I was!”

  “Yeah, right,” I say sarcastically. “So I suppose you had a huge row about it and broke up.”

  “Yes,” says Guy.

  The wind is totally taken out of my sails.

  “Yes?”

  “We’ve split up.” He shrugs. “Didn’t you know?”

  “No! I had no idea! I’m … sorry. I really didn’t—” I break off in confusion. “It wasn’t … it wasn’t really over me?”

  Guy doesn’t answer. His brown eyes are becoming more intense.

  “Samantha,” he says, not moving his gaze from mine. “I’ve always felt …” He thrusts his hands in his pockets. “I’ve always felt we somehow … missed our chance.”

  No. This can’t be happening.

  We missed our chance?

  Now he says this?

  “I’ve always really admired you. I always felt there was a spark between us.” He hesitates. “I wondered whether you felt … the same.”

  This is unreal. How many millions of times have I imagined Guy saying these words to me? But now that he’s actually doing it … it’s too late. It’s all wrong.

  “Samantha?”

  Suddenly I realize I’m staring at him like a zombie.

  “Oh. Right.” I try to pull myself together. “Well … yes. Maybe I used to feel like that too.” I fiddle with my skirt. “But the thing is … I’ve met someone. Since I’ve been here.”

  “The gardener,” says Guy without missing a beat.

  “Yes!” I look up in surprise. “How did you—”

  “Some of the journalists were talking about it outside.”

  “Oh. Well, it’s true. His name’s Nathaniel.” I feel myself blush.

  Guy frowns. “But that’s just a holiday romance.”

  “It’s not a holiday romance!” I say, taken aback. “It’s a relationship. We’re serious about each other.”

  “Is he moving to London?”

  “Well … no. He hates London.”

  Guy looks incredulous for a moment, then throws back his head and roars with laughter.

  “Samantha, you really are living in fantasyland.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” I say, incensed. “We’ll make it work somehow. If we both want it enough—”

  “I’m not sure you’ve quite got the situation yet.” Guy shakes his head. “Samantha, you’re leaving this place. You’re coming back to London, back to reality, back to work. Believe me, you’re never going to keep up some holiday fling.”

  “It was not a holiday fling!” I yell furiously, as the door opens. Hilary looks from Guy to me with alert, suspicious eyes.

  “Everything all right?”

  “Fine,” I say, turning away from Guy. “I’m fine.”

  “Good!” She taps her watch. “Because it’s nearly time!”

  The entire world seems to have descended on the Geigers’ house. As I venture out the front door with Hilary and two PR managers, there are what looks like hundreds of people in the drive. A row of TV cameras is trained on me, photographers and journalists are in a crowd behind, and Carter Spink PR assistants are milling around, keeping everyone in line and handing out coffee from a refreshments stand that seems to have sprung up from nowhere. At the gate I can see a group of regulars from the pub peering in curiously, and I shoot them a mortified grin.

  “It’ll be a few more minutes,” says Hilary, listening to her mobile. “We’re just waiting for the Daily Telegraph.”

  I can see David Elldridge and Greg Parker standing by the cappuccino machine, both typing on their BlackBerrys. The PR department wanted as many partners as possible, but none of the others could make it. Frankly, they were lucky to get this many. As I’m watching, to my disbelief I see Melissa approaching them, dressed up smartly in a beige suit and holding … is that a CV?

  “Hi!” I hear her begin. “I’m a very good friend of Samantha Sweeting, and she recommended I apply to Carter Spink.”

  I can’t help smiling. The girl has some nerve.

  “Samantha.” I look up to see Nathaniel coming across the gravel, his blue eyes tense. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m … fine.” I feel his hand clasping mine and intertwine my fingers between his as tightly as I can. “You know. It’s all a bit crazy.”

  Guy’s wrong. It’s going to work. It’s going to last. Of course it is.

  I can feel his thumb rubbing mine, just like he did that first evening we had together. Like some private language; like his skin is talking to mine.

  “Are you going to introduce me, Samantha?” Guy comes sauntering over.

  “This is Guy,” I say reluctantly. “I work with him at Carter Spink. Guy—Nathaniel.”

  “Delighted to meet you!” Guy holds out his hand and Nathaniel is forced to let go of mine to shake it. “Thanks for looking after our Samantha so well.”

  Does he have to sound so patronizing? And what’s this “our” Samantha?

  “It was my pleasure.” Nathaniel glowers back.

  “So … you look after the garden.” Guy looks around the drive. “Very nice. Well done!”

  I can see Nathaniel’s fist forming at his side.

  Please don’t punch him, I pray urgently. Don’t punch him—

  To my relief I notice Iris coming through the gate, peering around a
t all the journalists with interest.

  “Look!” I say quickly to Nathaniel. “Your mum.”

  I greet Iris with a wave. She’s wearing cropped cotton trousers and espadrilles, her plaits wound round her head. As she reaches me she just looks for a few moments: at my bun, my black suit, my high-heeled shoes.

  “Goodness,” she says at last.

  “I know.” I laugh awkwardly. “A bit different.”

  “So, Samantha.” Her eyes rest softly on mine. “You found your way.”

  “Yes.” I take a deep breath. “Yes, I did. This is the right way for me, Iris. I’m a lawyer. I always was. It’s a great opportunity. I’d be … I’d be crazy not to take it up.”

  Iris nods, her expression guarded.

  “Nathaniel told me all about it. I’m sure you’ve made the right decision.” She pauses. “Well … good-bye, chicken. And good luck. We’ll miss you.”

  As I lean forward to hug her I suddenly feel tears pricking my eyes. “Iris … I don’t know how to thank you,” I whisper. “For everything you did.”

  “You did it all yourself.” She squeezes me tight. “I’m very proud of you.”

  “And it’s not really good-bye.” I wipe my eyes with a tissue, praying my makeup hasn’t run. “I’ll be back before you know it. I’m going to visit as many weekends as I can.…”

  “Here, let me.” She takes my tissue from me and dabs my eyes.

  “Thanks.” I smile but I’m still shaky. “This makeup has got to last all day.”

  “Samantha?” Hilary calls me from the refreshment stand, where she’s talking to David Elldridge and Greg Parker. “Can you come over here?”

  “I’ll be right there!” I call back.

  “Samantha, before you go …” Iris takes hold of both my hands, her face filled with concern. “Sweetie … I’m sure you’re doing what’s best for you. But just remember, you only get your youth once.” She looks at my hand, smooth against hers. “You only get these precious years once.”

  “I’ll remember.” I bite my lip. “I promise.”

  “Good.” She pats my hand. “Off you go.”

  As I walk over to the refreshment stand, Nathaniel’s hand is tightly in mine. We’re going to have to say good-bye in a couple of hours.