The Undomestic Goddess (24 page)

The city isnt the way I remember it. I cant believe how dirty it is. How rushed it is. As I arrived at Paddington Station this afternoon I felt almost bewildered by the
commuter crowds moving like a swarm of ants over the concourse. I could smell the fumes. I
saw the litter. Things I never even noticed before. Did I just filter them out? Was I so
used to them, they faded into the background?

But at the same time, the minute my feet hit the ground I felt the buzz. By the time I

reached the Underground station Id already picked up my pace: matching the stride of
everyone else; feeding my travel card into the machine at exactly the right angle;
whipping it out with not a second to spare.

And now Im in the Starbucks around the corner from Carter Spink, sitting at the counter in
the window, watching City-suited businesspeople walking past, talking and gesticulating
and making phone calls. The adrenaline is catching. My hearts already beating more
quicklyand I havent even got inside the building yet.

I glance at my watch yet again. Nearly time. The last thing I want to do is arrive early.
The less time I spend in there, the better.

As I drain my latte, my phone bleeps, but I ignore it. Itll be yet another message from
Trish. She was livid when I told her I had to go away for a couple of days; in fact, she
tried to stop me. So I told her I had a foot complaint that needed urgent attention from
my specialist inLondon .

In hindsight this was a huge mistake, as she wanted to know every single gory detail. She
even demanded I take off my shoe and show her. I had to spend ten minutes improvising
about bone misalignment while she peered at my foot and said, It looks perfectly normal to
me, in tones of great suspicion.

She looked at me with mistrust for the rest of the day. Then she left a copy of Marie- Claire casually open at the Pregnant? Need Confidential Advice ? Advertisements. Honestly. I have to knock that one on the head or itll be all over the
village and Iris will be knitting booties.

I told Nathaniel in private that I had a situation to sort out with my old relationship. I
could tell he wanted to know more details, that he was finding it hard being shut out, but
he didnt press me. I think he saw how strained I was already.

I look at my watch again. Time to go. I head for the Ladies, face the mirror, and check my
appearance. Unfamiliar blond hair: check. Tinted glasses: check. Magenta lipstick: check.
I look nothing like my former self.

Apart from the face, of course. If you looked really closely.

But the point is, no ones going to look closely at me. This is what Im counting on, anyway.

Hi, I practice in a low, guttural voice. Pleased to meet you. I sound like a drag queen.
But never mind. At least I dont sound like a lawyer.

Keeping my head down, I leave Starbucks and walk along the street, until I round the
corner and see the distinctive granite steps and glass doors of Carter Spink. I feel
unreal being back here. The last time I saw those doors I was pushing my way out of them,

gibbering with panic, convinced Id wrecked my own career, convinced my life was over.

Fury starts boiling up again and I close my eyes briefly, trying to keep my emotions in
line. I dont have any proof yet. I have to stay focused on what Im doing. Come on. I can
do this.

I know my plan is slightly insane; I know my chances arent great. Its unlikelyArnold has
left proof of his misdemeanors just lying about. But I couldnt just give up, tamely stay
inLower Ebury , and let him get away with it. My anger is like a huge driving force inside
me. I had to come here and at least try to find out what I can.

And if they wont let me in the building as a lawyer... then Ill just have to go in as
something else.

I cross the road and resolutely head up the steps. I can almost see myself that day, a
ghostlike figure, running down them in a state of bewildered shock. It all seems like a
lifetime ago now. I dont just look like a different person, I feel like a different person. I feel like Ive been rebuilt.

With a deep breath, I pull my mac around me and push open the glass doors. As I step into
the foyer I feel a sudden giddy wave of disbelief. Am I actually doing this? Am I actually
trying to blag my way, incognito, into the Carter Spink offices?

My legs are wobbling and my hands feel damp, but Im walking steadily forward over the
shiny marble floor, my eyes fixed downward. I head toward the new receptionist, Melanie,
who started only a couple of weeks before I left.

Hi, I say in my drag-queen voice.

Can I help you? Melanie smiles at me. Theres not a glimmer of recognition in her face. I
cant believe this is so easy.

In fact, I feel a tad insulted. Was I so nondescript before? Im here for the party? I mumble, my head down. Im waitressing. Bertrams

Caterers, I add for good measure.

Oh, yes. Thats all happening up on the fourteenth floor. She taps on her computer. Whats
your name?

Its... Trish, I say. Trish Geiger. Melanie peers at the computer screen, frowning and
tapping her pen on her teeth.

Youre not on my list, she says at last. Well, I should be there. I keep my head well down.
There must be a mistake.

Let me call up... Melanie taps on her phone and has a brief conversation with someone
called Jan, then looks up.

Shell be down to see you. She gestures to the leather sofas with a smile. Please take a
seat.

I head toward the seating areathen veer in a sharp U-turn as I see David Spellman from
Corporate sitting on one of the sofas with a client. Not that he seems to have recognized
me. I walk toward a rack of glossy leaflets on Carter Spinks philosophy and bury my head
in one on Dispute Resolution.

Ive never actually read any of these leaflets before. God, they really are a load of
meaningless crap.

Trish?

Er... yes? I swivel round to see a woman in a tuxedo with a raddled face. Shes holding
some typed sheets and regarding me with a frown.

Jan Martin, head of waiting staff. Youre not on my list. Have you worked for us before?

Im new, I say, keeping my voice low. But Ive worked for Ebury Catering. Down in
Gloucestershire.

Dont know it. She consults her paper again and flips to the second page, her brow creased
in impatience. Love, youre not on the list. I dont know what youre doing here.

I spoke to a guy, I say without flickering. He said you could do with extra. A guy? She
looks perplexed. Who? Tony? I dont remember his name. But he said to come here. He couldnt
have said

This is Carter Spink, isnt it? I look around. 95 Cheap-side? A big retirement party? Yes.
I see the beginnings of doubt on the womans face. Well, I was told to come here. I allow
just the faintest belligerence into my voice.

I can see the calculation going on in this womans head: if she turns me away I might cause
a scene, shes got other pressing stuff to think about, whats one extra waitress...

All right! she says at last, with an irritated noise. But youll have to change. Whats your
name again?

Trish Geiger. Thats right. She scribbles it down. Well youd better come up, Trish.

I feel almost elated as I travel up in the service elevator with Jan, a plastic label
reading Trish Geiger attached to my lapel. Now all I need is to keep my head down, bide my time, and, when the
moment is right, get onto the eleventh floor.

We come out in the kitchens attached to the executive function rooms, and I look around in
surprise. I had no idea there was all this back here. Its like going backstage at a
theater. Chefs are working busily at the cooking stations, and waiting staff are milling
around in distinctive green and white striped uniforms.

The outfits are in there. Jan points to a huge wicker basket full of folded uniforms.
Youll need to get changed.

OK. I rummage around for an outfit in my size and take it off to the Ladies to change. I
touch up my magenta lipstick and pull my hair further round my face, then look at my watch.

Its five-forty now. The partys at six. By about ten past, the eleventh floor should be
clearing.Arnold is a very popular partner; no ones going to miss his farewell speech if
they can help it. Plus, at Carter Spink parties, the speeches always happen early on, so
people can get back to work if they need to.

And while everyones listening Ill slip down toArnold s office. It should work. It has to work. As I stare at my own bizarre reflection, I feel a grim resolve hardening inside
me. Hes not going to get away with everyone thinking hes a cheery, harmless old teddy
bear. Hes not going to get away with it.

At ten to six we all gather in one of the kitchens and receive our orders. Hot canapes...
cold canapes... I barely listen to any of it. Its not like Im intending to do any actual
waiting. After Jans lecture is over, I follow the herd of waiting staff out of the
kitchen. Im given a tray of champagne glasses to carry, which I put down as soon as I can,
then head back to the kitchen and grab an open bottle of champagne and a napkin. As soon
as Im sure no ones looking, I escape to the Ladies.

OK. This is the difficult bit. I lock myself in a cubicle and wait for fifteen minutes in

utter silence. I dont clatter anything and I dont sneeze and I dont giggle when I hear a
girl rehearsing her breakup speech to someone called Mike. Its the longest fifteen minutes
of my life.

At last I cautiously unbolt the door, make my way out, and peer round the corner. From
where Im standing I can see the entrance to the big function room. A crowd has already
gathered and I can hear laughter and lots of loud talking. People are still coming down
the corridor in a steady stream. I recognize the girls from PR... a couple of trainees...
Oliver Swan, a senior partner. They all head into the party, taking a glass as they do so.

The corridors clear. Go.

With trembling legs I walk straight past the entrance to the function room, toward the
lifts and the door to the stairwell. Within thirty seconds Im safely through the door and
walking as quietly as I can down the stairs. No one ever uses the stairs at Carter Spink,
but still.

I reach the eleventh floor and peer out of the glass panel in the door. I cant see anyone.
But that doesnt mean theres no one there. There could be a whole crowd of them, just out
of my line of vision.

Well, thats a risk Ill have to take. I take a few deep breaths, trying to psych myself up.
No one will ever recognize me in my green-and-white waitress gear. And I even have a story
if anyone challenges me: Im on this floor to place this bottle of champagne in Mr.
Savilles room as a surprise.

Come on. I cant waste any more time.

Slowly I push the door open, step out onto the blue carpeted corridor, and exhale in
relief. Its empty. The whole floor is pretty much dead. Everyone must have gone up to the
party. I can hear someone on the phone a few yards away but as I start nervously walking
towardArnold s office, all the surrounding workstations are empty. All my senses are on
red alert.

The crucial thing is to use my time efficiently. Ill start with the computer and take it
from there. Or maybe I should start with the filing cabinet. Have a quick look while the
computer is warming up. Or Ill search his desk drawers. His Blackberry could be in there.
I hadnt thought of that.

Suddenly I can hear voices behind me, coming out of the lifts. In panic, I pick up my
pace. I reachArnold s office, wrench the door open, slam it behind me, and duck down
underneath the glass panel. I can hear the voices getting closer. David Elldridge and
Keith Thompson and someone I dont recognize. They pass by the door, and I dont move a
muscle. Then theyre receding into the distance. Thank God.

I let out my breath, slowly rise to my feet, and peep through the glass. I cant see anyone.

Im safe. Only then do I turn around and survey the office. Its empty . Its been cleared out.

Bewildered, I take a few steps into the room. The desk is empty. The shelves are empty.
There are faint squares on the walls where framed photos have been taken down. Theres
nothing in this office apart from one piece of industrial tape on the floor and some
drawing pins still stuck into the pin board.

I cant believe it. After all this effort. After making it this far. Theres nothing to
bloody search ?

There must be boxes, I think in sudden inspiration. Yes. Its all been put into boxes to be
moved, and theyll all be stacked outside. I hurry out of the office and look around
wildly. But I cant see any boxes. No crates. Nothing. Im too late. Im too fucking late. I
feel like punching something with frustration.

Excuse me? I freeze. Shit. Shit . Yes? I turn round, pulling my hair over my face and gazing firmly downward. What on
earth are you doing here? Its a trainee. Bill... whats his name? He used to do occasional
bits of work for me. Its all right. He hasnt recognized me.

I was delivering a bottle of champagne, sir, I mumble in my best drag-queen voice, nodding
to the bottle where I left it on the floor. Surprise for the gentleman. I was just
wondering where to put it.

Id just leave it on the desk, says Bill curtly. And you shouldnt be in here.

I was just going back. Sir. I dump the bottle on the desk, bow my head, and scuttle out.
Bloody hell. That was close.

I head to the stairwell and hurry up the stairs, flustered. Its time to exit this
building, before anyone else sees me.

The partys still in full swing as I creep out of the stairwell door and hurry toward the

room where I left my clothes. I wont bother to change. I can always mail the waitress gear
back

Trish? Jans voice hits the back of my head. Is that you? Fuck. Reluctantly I turn round to
face her. She looks hopping mad. Where the hell have

you been ?

Um... serving?

No, you havent. I havent seen you in there once! she snaps. Youre not working for me
again, I can tell you. Now, take these and pull your weight. She thrusts a plate of tiny
little eclairs into my arms and pushes me roughly toward the doors of the party.