The Undomestic Goddess (6 page)

Oh, youve heard about that, says Charles Conway. News travels fast.

The room seems to shrink.

Heard... what? My voice is higher than Id like. I havent heard anything.

Oh! I assumed thats why you were calling. Yes, they called in the receivers today. That
last-ditch attempt to save themselves obviously didnt work...

I feel light-headed. Black spots are dancing in front of my eyes. Glazerbrooks is going
bust. Theyll never draw up the new documentation now. Not in a million years.

I wont be able to register the charge. I cant put it right. Ive lost Third Union Bank £50
million.

I feel like Im hallucinating. I want to gibber in panic. I want to thrust down the phone
and run.

Its a good thing you phoned, as it happens, Charles Conway is saying. I can hear him
tapping at a keyboard in the background, totally unconcerned. You might want to
double-check that loan security.

For a few moments I cant speak.

Yes, I say at last, my voice hoarse. Thank you. I put down the receiver, shaking all over.

Ive fucked up. I have fucked up so big, I cant even...

Barely knowing what Im doing, I push back my chair. I have to get out.

I walk through reception on autopilot. Out onto the sunny lunchtime street, one foot in
front of the other, just another office worker among the midday crowds.

Except Im different. Ive just lost my client £50 million.

Fifty million. The amount is like a drumbeat in my head.

I dont understand how it happened. I dont understand. My mind keeps turning it over. Over
and over, obsessively. How could I have not seen... how could I have overlooked... It must
have been put on my desk, then covered up with something else. A file, a pile of
contracts, a cup of coffee.

One mistake. The only mistake Ive ever made. I want to wake up and this will all be a bad
dream, it happened to someone else, its a story Im listening to in the pub, agog, thanking
my lucky stars it wasnt me... But it is me.

My career is over. The last person at Carter Spink who made a mistake like this was Ted
Stephens, who lost a client

£10 million in 1983. He was fired on the spot. And Ive lost five times that.

My chest feels tight; I feel like Im being smothered. I think I could be having a panic
attack. I sit down on a bench set against some railings and wait to feel better.

OK, Im not feeling better. Im feeling worse.

Suddenly I jump in terror as my mobile phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and look
at the caller ID. Its Guy.

I cant talk to him. I cant talk to anybody. Not right now.

A moment later, the phone tells me a message has been left. I lift the phone to my ear and
press 1 to listen.

Samantha! Guy sounds cheery. Where are you? Were all waiting with the champagne to make
the big partnership announcement!

Partnership. I want to burst into tears. But... I cant. This mistake is too big for tears.
I

thrust my phone in my pocket and get to my feet again. I begin to walk faster and faster,
weaving through the pedestrians. My head is pounding and I have no idea where Im going.

I walk for what seems like hours, my head in a daze, my feet moving blindly. The sun is
beating down, and the pavements are dusty, and after a while my head starts to throb. At
some point my mobile starts to vibrate again, but I ignore it.

At last, when my legs are starting to ache, I slow down and come to a halt. My mouth is
dry; Im totally dehydrated. I need some water. I look up, trying to get my bearings.
Somehow I seem to have reached Paddington Station, of all places.

Numbly, I turn my steps toward the entrance and walk inside. The place is noisy and
crowded with travelers. The fluorescent lights and air-conditioning and the blaring
announcements make me flinch. As Im making my way to a kiosk selling bottled water, my
mobile vibrates again. I pull it out and look at the display. I have fifteen missed calls
and another message from Guy. He left it about twenty minutes ago.

I hesitate, my heart beating with nerves, then press 1 to listen to it.

Jesus Christ, Samantha, what happened ?

He doesnt sound cheery anymore, he sounds totally stressed. I feel prickles of dread all
over my body.

We know, hes saying. OK? We know about Third Union Bank. Charles Conway called up. Then
Ketterman found the paperwork on your desk. You have to come back to the office. Now. Call
me back.

He rings off but I dont move. Im paralyzed with fright.

They know. They all know.

The black spots are dancing in front of my eyes again. Nausea is rising up inside me. The
entire staff of Carter Spink knows I messed up. People will be calling each other. E-
mailing the news in horrified glee. Did you hear ... ?

As Im standing there, something catches the corner of my eye. A familiar face is just
visible through the crowd. I turn my head and squint at the man, trying to place him then
feel a fresh jolt of horror.

Its Greg Parker, one of the senior partners. Hes been in the States, I remember. Hell have
just got in on the Heathrow Express. Now hes striding along the concourse in his expensive
suit, holding his mobile phone. His brows are knitted together and he looks concerned.

So where is she? His voice travels across the concourse.

Panic hits me like a lightning bolt. I have to get out of his line of vision. I have to
hide. Now. I edge behind a vast woman in a beige mac and try to cower down so Im hidden.
But she keeps wandering about, and I keep having to shuffle along with her.

Did you want something? She suddenly turns.

No! I say, flustered. Im... er...

Well, leave me alone! She scowls and stalks off toward

Costa Coffee. Im totally exposed in the middle of the concourse. Greg Parker is about
fifty yards away, still talking on his mobile phone.

If I move, hell see me. If I stay still... hell see me.

Suddenly the electronic Departures display board renews itself with fresh train
information. A crowd of waiting travelers grab their bags and newspapers and head toward
platform 9.

Without thinking twice, I join the throng, hidden in their midst as we sweep through the
open barriers and onto the train. It pulls out of the station and I sink into a seat,
opposite a family all wearing London Zoo T-shirts.They smile at me and somehow I manage to
smile back.

Refreshments? A wizened man pushing a trolley appears in the carriage and beams at me. Hot
and cold sandwiches, teas and coffees, soft drinks, alcoholic beverages?

The last, please. I try not to sound too desperate. A double. Of... anything.

No one comes to check my ticket. No one bothers me. The train seems to be some sort of
express. Suburbs turn into fields, and the train is still rattling along. Ive drunk three
small bottles of gin, mixed with orange juice, tomato juice, and a chocolate yogurt drink. The chunk of icy
fright in my stomach has thawed and I feel weirdly distanced from everything around me.

I have made the biggest mistake of my career. I will have lost my job. I will never be a
partner.

One stupid mistake.

The London Zoo family have opened packets of crisps and offered me one and invited me to
join in their game of Travel Scrabble. The mother even asked me if I was traveling for
business or fun?

I couldnt bring myself to answer.

My heart rate has gradually subsided, but I have a bad, throbbing headache. Im sitting
with a hand over one eye, trying to block out the light.

Ladies and gentlemen. The conductor is crackling over the loudspeaker. Unfortunately...
rail works... alternative transport...

I cant follow what hes saying. I dont even know where Im headed. Ill just wait for the
next stop, get out of the train, and take it from there.

Thats not how you spell raisin , London Zoo mother is saying to one of the children, when the train suddenly starts to
slow down. I look up to see that were pulling into a station.Lower Ebury . People are
gathering up their bags and getting off.

Like an automaton I get up too. I follow the London Zoo family off the train and out of a
tiny, twee country station. Theres a pub called The Bell across the road, which bends
round in both directions, and I can glimpse fields in the distance. Theres a coach
waiting, and all the passengers from the train are boarding.

London Zoo mother has turned round and is gesturing at me. You need to come this way, she
says helpfully. If you want the bus toGloucester ?

The thought of getting on a coach makes me want to heave. I dont want the bus to anywhere.
I just want an aspirin. My head feels like its about to split open.

Er... no, thanks. Im fine here. Before she can say anything else, I start walking down the
road.

I have no idea where I am. None.

Inside my pocket, my phone suddenly vibrates. Its Guy. Again. This must be the thirtieth
time hes rung. And every time hes left a message telling me to call him back, asking if
Ive got his e-mails.

I havent got any of his e-mails. I was so freaked out, I left my Blackberry on my desk. My
phone is all I have. It vibrates again and I stare at it for a few moments. I cant ignore
him forever. My stomach clenched with nerves, I lift it to my ear and press TALK.

Hi. My voice is scratchy. Its... its me. Samantha? His incredulous voice blasts down the
line. Is that you ? Where are you? I dont know. I had to get away. I... I went into shock... Samantha, I dont know if
you got my messages. But... He hesitates. Everyone

knows.

I know. I lean against an old crumbling wall and squeeze my eyes shut.

How did it happen ? He sounds as shocked as I feel. How the hell did you make a simple error like that? I
mean, Christ, Samantha

I dont know, I say numbly.

You never make mistakes!

Well, I do now! I feel tears rising and fiercely blink them down. Whats... whats happened?

Its not good. He exhales. Kettermans been having damage limitation talks with Glazerbrooks
lawyers and talking to the bankand the insurers, of course.

The insurers. The firms professional indemnity insurance. Im suddenly gripped by an almost
exhilarating hope. If the insurers pay up without making a fuss, maybe things wont be as
bad as I thought...

But even as I feel my spirits lift I know Im like some traveler seeing the mirage through
the haze. Insurers never cough up the whole amount. Sometimes they dont cough up anything.
Sometimes they pay up but raise their premiums to unfeasible levels.

What did the insurers say? Will they

They havent said anything yet.

Right. I wipe my sweaty face, screwing up my courage to ask the next question. And what
about... me?

Guy is silent.

Theres my answer. I open my eyes to see two small boys on bikes staring at me.

Its over, isnt it? My careers over.

I... I dont know that. Listen, Samantha, youre freaked out. Its natural. But you cant
hide. You have to come back

I cant. Kettermans face looms in my mind. And what willArnold think of me now? I cant face
everyone.

Samantha, be rational!

I need some time!

Saman I flip my phone shut.

I feel a bit faint. I must get some water. But I cant face going into a noisy pub, and I
cant see any shops.

I totter along the road until I reach a pair of tall carved pillars decorated with lions.
Heres a house. Ill ring the bell and ask for some aspirin and a glass of water. And ask if
theres a hotel nearby.

I push open the elaborate wrought-iron gate and crunch over the gravel toward the heavy
oak front door. Its a rather grand old house made out of honey-colored stone, set well
back from the road, with steep gables and tall chimneys and two Porsches on the drive. I
raise a hand and tug the bellpull.

Theres silence. The whole house seems dead. Im about to give up and trudge back down the
drivewhen all of a sudden the door swings open.

Before me stands a woman with blond lacquered hair to her shoulders and long, dangly
earrings. She has lots of makeup, long silk trousers in a weird shade of peach, a
cigarette in one hand and a cocktail in the other.

Hello. She drags on her cigarette and looks at me a bit suspiciously.Are you from the
agency?

I have no idea what this womans talking about. My heads hurting so much, I can barely look
at her, let alone take in what shes saying.

Are you all right? She peers at me. You look terrible!

Ive got a rather bad headache, I manage. Could I possibly have a glass of water?

Of course! Come in! She waves her cigarette in my face and beckons me into a huge,
impressive hall with a vaulted ceiling. Theres a circular oak table in the middle, bearing
a vase of huge lilies, and a medieval-style bench at the side. Youll want to see the
house, anyway. Eddie ? Her voice rises to a shriek. Eddie, another ones here! Im Trish Geiger, she adds to me.
You may call me Mrs. Geiger. This way...

She leads me down a short passage into a luxurious maple kitchen and tries a few

drawers, apparently at random, before crying Aha! and pulling out a plastic box. She opens
it to reveal about fifty assorted bottles of pain-relief tablets, vitamins, and bottles of
something called Hollywood Skin Glow Supplement, and starts rootling about with her
lacquered fingernails.

Ive got aspirin... paracetamol... ibuprofen... very mild Valium... She holds up a livid red pill. This ones fromAmerica , she says brightly.
Illegal in this country.

Urn... lovely.

She hands me three green tablets and after a few attempts locates a cupboard full of
glasses. Here we are. Migraine relief. Theyll zap any headache. Eddie ! She runs me some iced water from the fridge. Drink that up.

Thanks, I say, swallowing the tablets down with a wince. Im so grateful. My heads just so
painful. I can barely think straight.

Your English is very good. She gives me a close, appraising look. Very good indeed!

Oh, I say, thrown. Right. Well, Im English. Thats... you know, probably why.

Youre English ? Trish Geiger seems galvanized by this news. Well! Come and sit down. Thosell kick in, in
a minute. If they dont well get you some more.

She sweeps me out of the kitchen and back through the hall. This is the drawing room, she
says, pausing by a door. She gestures around the large, grand room, dropping ash on the
carpet. Its decorated with what look like antiques, several big velvet sofas, and lots of
lamps and ornaments everywhere. As youll see, theres quite a lot of hoovering...
dusting... silver to be kept clean... She looks at me expectantly.

Right. I nod. I have no idea why this woman is telling me about her housework, but she
seems to be waiting for a reply.

Thats a beautiful table, I offer at last, gesturing at a shiny mahogany side table. It
needs polishing. Her eyes narrow. Regularly. I do notice these things. Of course. I nod,
bemused.

Well go in here... Shes leading me through another huge, grand room into an airy glassed
conservatory furnished with opulent teak sun-loungers, frondy plants, and a well- stocked
drinks tray.

Eddie! Come in here! She bangs on the glass and I look up to see a dark-haired man in
golfing slacks walking over the large, well-manicured lawn. Hes tanned and affluent-
looking, probably in his late forties.

Trish is probably in her late forties too, I think, glimpsing her crows feet as she turns
away from the window.

Lovely garden, I say.

Oh. Her eyes sweep over it without much interest. Yes, our gardener is very good. Has all
sorts of ideas. Now, sit down! She makes a flapping motion with her hands and, feeling a
little awkward, I sit down on a lounger. Trish sinks into a basket chair opposite and
drains her cocktail.

Can you make a good Bloody Mary? she asks abruptly. I stare at her, bewildered. No matter.
She drags on her cigarette. I can teach you. Teach me... ?

Hows your head? she demands before Im able to finish. Better? Ah, heres Eddie!

Greetings! The door opens and Mr. Geiger comes into the conservatory. He doesnt look quite
as impressive close up as he did striding over the lawn. His blue eyes are a little
bloodshot, and he has the beginnings of a beer belly.

Eddie Geiger, he says, holding out his hand jovially. Master of the house.

Eddie, this is... Trish looks at me in surprise. Whats your name?

Samantha, I explain. Im so sorry to bother you, but I had the most terrible headache...

I gave Samantha some of those wonderful migraine tablets! puts in Trish.

Good choice! Eddie unscrews a Scotch bottle and pours himself a drink.

Im very grateful, really. I manage a half smile. Youve been very kind, letting me trespass
on your evening.

Her English is good, isnt it? Eddie raises his eyebrows at Trish.

Shes English! says Trish triumphantly, as though shes pulled a rabbit out of a hat.
Understands everything I say!

I am really not getting something here. Do I look foreign?

Shall we do the tour of the house? Eddie turns to Trish. Really, its not necessary, I
begin. Im sure its absolutely beautiful Of course its necessary! Trish stubs out her
cigarette. Come on... bring your glass!

This woman cannot have a life. All she seems interested in is housework. As we trail round
the first floor, viewing one splendid room after another, she keeps pointing out things
that need special dusting and polishing, and how careful you have to be with the soft
furnishings. Im sure silk drapes do need special treatmentbut why tell me?

Now upstairs! She sweeps out of the dining room.

Oh, God. Theres more?

You come fromLondon , Samantha? says Eddie Geiger as we head up the stairs. A huge oil
painting of Trish in a long blue evening dress with astonishingly sparkly eyes and teeth
gazes down at us, and I can see the real Trish waiting for a reaction.

Yes, I do. Thats a... lovely painting, I add. So vivid!

We were rather pleased with it. Trish looks complacent.

And you have a full-time job there? Im sure Eddies only asking to be politebut for a few
moments I cant bring myself to answer. Do I have a job?

I did, I say at last. To be honest... I dont know what my situation is at the moment.

What sort of hours did you work? Trish seems suddenly interested in the conversation.

All hours. I shrug. Im used to working all day and into the night. Through the night,
sometimes.

The Geigers look absolutely stunned at this revelation. People just have no idea what the
life of a lawyer is like.

You used to work through the night ? Trish seems stupefied. On your own? Me and the other staff. Whoever was needed. So you
come from... a big setup? One of the biggest inLondon .

Trish and Eddie are darting glances at each other. They really are the oddest people.

Well, were far more relaxed, youll be glad to hear! Trish pushes open a door. This is the master
bedroom... the second bedroom...

As we walk down the corridor she opens and closes doors and shows me four-poster beds and
swishy curtains and matching upholstered ottomans, until my head swims. I dont know if its
too much floral wallpaper or whatever was in those migraine pillsbut Im feeling more
lightheaded by the minute.

The green bedroom... As you will know, we dont have children or pets... Are you a smoker?
Trish suddenly demands.

Urn... no. Thanks.

Not that we mind either way.

We descend a small flight of stairs and I grab on to the wall to keep myself steady.

Are you all right? Eddie catches my arm.

I think those tablets were a bit strong... I mumble.

They can be. Trish gives me a considering look. You havent drunk any alcohol today, have you?

Er... well, yes...

Aaah. She pulls a face. Well, maybe you should have alittle rest before you leave. What a
good thing weve come tothe staff accommodation! She opens the last door with a flourish.

All the rooms in this house are huge. This one is about the size of my flat, with pale
walls and stone mullioned windows overlooking the garden. It has the plainest bed Ive seen
yet inthis house, vast and square and made up with crisp white bed linen.

I fight a sudden, almost overwhelming urge to lie down on it and sink into oblivion. Lovely, I say politely. Its... a gorgeous room. Good! Eddie smacks
his hands together. Well, Samantha . Id say youve got the job! I look at him dumbly.

Job?

Eddie! snaps Trish. You cant just offer her the job ! We havent finished the interview!

Interview?

We havent even given her a full job description! Trish is still laying into Eddie. We
havent been through any of the details!

Well, go through the details, then! retorts Eddie. Trish shoots him a look of fury and
clears her throat.

So, Samantha, she says in formal tones. Your role as full- time housekeeper will comprise

Im sorry?

Trish clicks her tongue in exasperation. Your role as full-time housekeeper, she says,
more slowly, will comprise all cleaning, laundry, and cooking. You will wear a uniform and
maintain a courteous and respectful...

My role as

These people think Im applying to be their housekeeper ?

Im too dumbfounded to speak.

... full board and lodging, Trish is saying, and four weeks holiday a year.

Whats the salary? says Eddie with interest. Are we paying her more than the last girl?

I think Trish might murder him, there and then.

Im so sorry, Samantha! Before I can even open my mouth shes dragged Eddie out of the room
and banged the door, whereupon a furious, muted argument breaks out.

I look around the room, trying to gather my wits.

They think Im a housekeeper. A housekeeper! This is ridiculous. I have to put them right.
I have to explain the misunderstanding.

Another wave of wooziness engulfs me and I sit down on the bed. Then, before I can stop
myself, I lie back on the cool white cover and close my eyes. Its like sinking into a
cloud. Its been a long day. A long, exhausting, painful nightmare of a day. I just want it
to be over.

Samantha, Im sorry about that. I open my eyes and struggle up to see Trish coming back in,
followed by a pink-faced Eddie. Before we continue, did you have any

questions about the post?

I stare back at her, my head swirling. This is the moment where I have to explain theres
been a big mistake. That Im not a housekeeper, Im a lawyer.

But... nothing comes out of my mouth. I could stay here one night, flashes through my
brain. Just one night. I could sort out the

misunderstanding tomorrow . Um... would it be possible to start tonight? I hear myself saying. I dont see why not
begins Eddie.

Lets not jump ahead of ourselves, Trish interrupts pointedly. We have had quite a few promising applicants for this post, Samantha. Several quite dazzling. One girl even
had a diploma in French Cordon Bleu cookery!

Something inside me stiffens, like an automatic reflex. Is she suggesting Is she implying
that I might not get this job?

I regard Trish silently. Somewhere, down inside my bruised state of shock, I can feel a
tiny flicker of the old Samantha returning. I can beat some French Cordon Bleu cookery
girl.

I have never failed an interview in my life.

Im not about to start now.

So. Trish consults her list. Youre experienced in all forms of laundry?

Naturally. I nod.

And are you Cordon Bleu trained? Its clear from her expression that nothing less will pass
the test.

I trained under Michel dela Roux dela Blanc.Ipause. His name obviously speaks for itself.

Absolutely! says Trish, glancing uncertainly at Eddie.

Were sitting in the conservatory again, ten minutes later, and Im sipping a cup of coffee,
which Eddie made for me. Trish is firing a series of questions at me that sound

like they come from a how-to-hire-your-housekeeper pamphlet. And Im answering every single
one with total confidence.

Deep down in my brain I can hear a little voice calling out, What are you doing? Samantha, what the hell are you DOING ?

But Im not listening. I dont want to listen. Somehow Ive managed to block out real life,
the mistake, my ruined career, the whole nightmare of a dayeverything else in the world
except this interview.

Could you give us a sample menu? Trish lights another cigarette. For a dinner party, say?

Food... impressive food...

Suddenly I remember Maxims last night. The souvenir birthday menu.

Ill just consult my... notes. I unzip my bag and surreptitiously scan the Maxims menu. For
a formal dinner, I would serve... er... seared foie gras with an apricot glaze... lamb
with minted hummus... followed by orange-chocolate souffle with two homemade sorbets.

Take that , Cordon Bleu girl.

Well! Trish looks astounded. I must say, thats... very impressive.

Marvelous! Eddie looks like hes salivating. Seared foie gras! You couldnt knock some up
for us now?

Trish shoots him an annoyed look. Im assuming you have a reference, Samantha? A reference?
We will need a reference... Trish begins to frown. My reference is Lady Freya Edgerly, I say, in
sudden inspiration.

Lady Edgerly? Trishs eyebrows rise and a pink flush starts slowly creeping up her neck.

I have been associated with Lord and Lady Edgerly for many years, I reply gravely. I know
Lady Edgerly will vouch for me.

Trish and Eddie are both staring at me, agog. You cooked for them, did you? inquires
Eddie. Breakfasts and so forth?

Naturally. Lord Edgerly was very fond of my signature dish, eggs Benedict. I take a sip of
water.

I can see Trish pulling what she clearly imagines are cryptic faces at Eddie, who is
surreptitiously nodding back. They might as well have Lets Have Her ! tattooed on their foreheads.

One final thing. Trish takes a deep drag on her cigarette. You will be answering the phone
when Mr. Geiger and myself are out. Our image in society is very important. Please, would
you demonstrate how you will do it? She nods at a phone on a nearby table.

They cannot be serious. Except... I think they are.