The Undomestic Goddess (9 page)

Er... in the freezer?

I looked in the freezer earlier. The amount of food crammed into it would probably feed an
entire small African country for a week.

Of course! Trish clicks her tongue. And you thawed it in the microwave! Arent you clever!

Ill put a selection on a plate for you, I suggest. And bring it out to the conservatory.

Marvelous. Nathaniel! Trish raps on the kitchen window. Come in and have a sandwich!

I stop dead. No. Not him again.

We dont want to waste them, after all. She arches her eyebrows. If I did have a criticism,
Samantha, it would be that you were a little profligate Not that were poor , she adds suddenly. It isnt that .

Er... no, madam.

I dont like to talk about money, Samantha. Trish lowers her voice a little. Its very
vulgar. However

Mrs. Geiger?

Nathaniel has appeared in the kitchen doorway again, holding a muddy garden spade.

Have one of Samanthas delicious sandwiches! exclaims Trish, gesturing around the kitchen.
Just look! Isnt she clever?

Theres total silence as Nathaniel surveys the endless mounds of sandwiches. I cant bring
myself to meet his eye. I feel I could be losing my grip on sanity here. Im standing in a
kitchen in the middle of nowhere. In a blue nylon uniform. Masquerading as a housekeeper
who can magically make sandwiches out of thin air.

Extraordinary, he says at last.

I finally risk looking up. Hes gazing at me, his brow deeply furrowed as if he really cant
make me out.

That didnt take you long, he says, a slight question in his voice.

Im... pretty quick when I want to be, I say blandly.

Samanthas wonderful! says Trish, biting greedily into a sandwich. And such a tidy worker!
Look at this immaculate kitchen! She shoves another sandwich in her mouth and practically
swoons. This Thai chicken is divine!

Surreptitiously I pick up one from the pile and take a bite into it, feeling suddenly
ravenous.

Bloody hell, thats good. Though I say it myself.

By half past two the kitchen is empty. Trish and Eddie devoured over half the sandwiches
and have now gone out.

Nathaniel is back in the garden. Im pacing up and down, fiddling with a spoon.

Arnoldwill call soon. The meeting must have broken up by now.

I look out the window at a small brown bird pecking at the ground, then turn away and sink
into a chair, staring down at the table, running my thumbnail obsessively round the fine
grain of the polished wood.

I made one mistake. One. People are allowed to make one mistake in life. Its in the rules.

Or... maybe its not. I just dont know.

Suddenly I feel my mobile vibrate. I grab the phone out of my uniform pocket with a
trembling hand.

The caller ID tells me its Guy.

Hi, Guy? I try to speak confidentlybut my voice sounds tiny and scared to my own ears.

Samantha? Is that you ? Guys voice rushes through the phone in an urgent torrent. Where the hell are you? Why arent you here? Didnt you get my e-mails?

I havent got my Blackberry, I say, taken aback. Why didnt you call?

I tried early today, but your phone seemed out of order. Then I was in meetings, but Ive
been sending you e-mails all morning... Samantha, where on earth are you? You should

be here at the office! Not hiding out, for Christs sake!

Hiding out? What does he mean?

But... butArnold said dont come in! He said it would be best! He told me to stay away and
he would do what he could

Do you have any idea how this looks ? Guy cuts across me. First you freak out, then you disappear. People are saying youre
unhinged, youve had a breakdown... Theres a rumor youve skipped the country...

As the truth hits me, I feel a hot, choking panic. I cant believe how wrong Ive played
this. I cant believe how stupid Ive been. What am I doing still sitting in this kitchen,
miles fromLondon ?

Tell them Im coming straight in, I stammer. Tell Ketterman Ill be there at once... Im
getting on a train...

It might be too late. Guy sounds heavy and reluctant. Samantha... all sorts of stories are
going round.

Stories? My heart is thudding so hard I can barely say the word. What... what stories?

I cant take all this in. I feel like my car has suddenly lurched off the road and I cant
stop it.

Apparently people have said youre... unreliable, Guy says at last. That this isnt the
first time. That youve made errors before.

Errors ? I leap to my feet, my voice as sharp as though Ive been scalded. Whos saying that? Ive
never made any errors! What are they talking about?

I dont know. I wasnt in the meeting. Samantha... think back carefully. Have you made any
other mistakes?

Think back carefully?

Im stunned. He doesnt believe me?

Ive never made any mistakes, I say, trying and failing to keep my voice level. None.
Never! Im a good lawyer. Im a good lawyer. To my dismay I realize tears are pouring down my cheeks. Im steady! You know that, Guy.

In the tense little silence that follows, the unsaid is there between us. Like a
conviction. I lost a client £50 million.

Guy, I dont know how I didnt see the Glazerbrooks documentation. My words tumble out
faster and faster. I dont know how it happened. It doesnt make any sense. I know my desk
is messy, but I have my systems, for Gods sake. I dont miss things like that. I just dont

Samantha, calm down

How can I calm down? I almost yell. This is my life. My life . I dont have anything else! I wipe the tears away from my cheeks. Im not losing this. Im
coming in. Now.

I cut the phone dead and get to my feet, bubbling with panic. I should have gone back. I
should have gone back straightaway, not wasted time here. I dont know what times the
trains will be, but I dont care. I have to get out of here.

I grab a piece of paper and a pencil and scrawl,

Dear Mrs. Geiger, I am afraid I must resign as your housekeeper. While I have enjoyed my
time

Come on. I havent got time to write any more, I have to leave now. I put the paper down on
the table and head for the door. Then I stop. I cant leave the letter unfinished in the
middle of a sentence.

While I have enjoyed my time with you, I feel I would like afresh challenge. Many thanks
for your kindness.

Yours sincerely, Samantha Sweeting

I put the pen down and push my chair back with a scrape. As I reach the door my mobile
vibrates again.

Guy, I instantly think. I reach for itand am already flipping it open when I see the
caller ID. Its not Guy.

Its Ketterman.

Something cold grips my spine. As I stare at his name I feel real fear in a way I never
have before. Childish, nightmarish fear. Every instinct in my body is telling me not to
answer.

But my phones already open. Its too late. Slowly I lift it up to my ear. Hello. Samantha.
John Ketterman here. Right. My voice is scratchy with nerves. Hello.

Theres a long pause. I know this is my moment to speak, but my throat feels wadded by
cotton wool. No words seem adequate. Everyone knows how much Ketterman despises apologies
and excuses and explanations.

Samantha, Im ringing to tell you that your contract with Carter Spink has been terminated.

I feel all the blood drain from my face.

A letter is on its way to you giving the reasons. His tone is distant and formal. Gross
negligence compounded by your subsequent unprofessional behavior. Your P45 will be sent to
you. Your pass has been disabled. I dont expect to see you at the Carter Spink offices
again.

Hes going too fast. This is all happening too fast.

Please dont... I blurt out. Please give me another chance. I made one mistake. One.

Lawyers at Carter Spink dont make mistakes, Samantha. Nor do they run away from their
mistakes.

I know it was wrong to run away. Im shaking all over. But it was such a shock... I wasnt
thinking straight...

Youve disgraced the reputation of the firm and yourself. Kettermans voice sharpens as
though he, too, might be finding this difficult. You have lost fifty million pounds of a
clients money through your own negligence. And subsequently absconded with no explanation.
Samantha, you cannot have expected any other outcome, surely.

Theres a long silence. My forehead is pressed hard against the heel of my hand. I try to
focus on just breathing. In and out. In and out.

No, I whisper at last.

Its over. My entire career is really over.

Ketterman starts on a pre-prepared speech about meeting with the human-resources
department, but I dont listen.

Everything Ive worked for since I was twelve years old. Gone. Everything ruined. In
twenty-four hours.

At last I realize Ketterman has disappeared from the line. I get to my feet and stagger
over to the shiny fridge. My eyes are huge, burning holes. For a long time I just stand
there, staring at my own face until the features blur.

Ive been fired. The phrase echoes round my mind. Ive been fired . I could collect the dole. I imagine myself with the men from The Full Monty . Standing in the unemployment queue, moving my hips back and forth to Hot Stuff.

Suddenly I hear the sound of a key in the front door. I cant be found in this condition. I
cant face any probing, any sympathy. Otherwise Im afraid I might just collapse into sobs
and never stop.

Distractedly, I reach for a cloth and start sweeping it in meaningless circles over the
table. Then I glimpse my note to Trish, still lying there. I crumple it up and throw it in
the bin. Later. Ill do it later. I feel as though I can barely function right now, let
alone give a convincing resignation speech.

There you are! Trish comes tripping into the kitchen on her high-heeled clogs, holding
three bursting shopping bags. Samantha! She stops at the sight of me. Are you all right?
Is your headache back?

Im... fine. Thanks.

You look dreadful ! Goodness me! Have some more pills!

Really...

Now, sit down... and Ill make you a cup of tea!

She plonks the bags down and switches on the kettle, then rootles around for the green
painkillers.

These are the ones you like, arent they?

Id rather just have an aspirin, I say quickly. If thats OK?

Are you quite sure? She runs me a glass of water and gives me a couple of aspirin. Now.
You just sit there. Relax. Dont even think of doing anything else! Until its time to make the supper, she adds as an afterthought.

Youre... very kind, I manage.

As I say the words I have the dim realization that I mean them. Trishs kindness may be a
bit warped, but its real.

Here we are...Trish puts a cup of tea down and scrutinizes me. Are you home sick? She sounds triumphant, as though she may have cracked the mystery. Our girl from
thePhilippines did get rather blue from time to time... but I used to say to her, cheer
up, Manuela! Trish pauses thoughtfully. Then I found out her name was Paula. Extraordinary.

Im not homesick, I say, gulping my tea.

My mind is beating like a butterflys wings. What am I going to do?

Go home .

But the thought of returning to that flat, with Ketterman living two floors above, makes
me sick. I cant face him. I cant do it.

Phone Guy. Hell have me to stay. He and Charlotte have that huge house in Islington with
all those spare rooms. Ive stayed the night before. Then Ill... sell my flat. Find a job.

What job?

This will cheer you up. Trishs voice breaks my thoughts. She pats the shopping bags with
suppressed glee. After your stunning performance at lunch... Ive been shopping. And Ive got a surprise for you! This will make
your day!

A surprise? I look up, bewildered, as Trish starts producing packets from the bag.

Foie gras... chickpeas... shoulder of lamb... She hefts a joint of meat onto the table and
looks at me expectantly. Then she clicks her tongue at my bewildered expression. Its ingredients ! Your dinner-party menu! Well eat at eight, if thats OK?

Itll be all right.

If I say it often enough to myself, it must be true.

Ive opened my phone several times to call Guy. But each time, humiliation has stopped me.
Even though hes my friend, even though hes the person closest to me in the company. Im the
one whos fired. Im the one in disgrace. And hes not.

At last I sit up and rub my cheeks, trying to get my spirits back. Come on. This is Guy . Hell want to hear from me. Hell want to help. I flip open my phone and dial his direct
line. A moment later I hear footsteps clopping along the wooden floor of the hall.

Trish.

I shut the phone, pocket it, and reach for a clump of broccoli.

How are you getting on? Trishs voice greets me. Making progress?

As she enters the kitchen she looks a little surprised to see me still sitting in the
exact same spot she left me. Everything all right?

Im just... assessing the ingredients, I improvise. Getting the feel of them.

Just then a thin red-haired woman appears round the door, next to Trish. Shes wearing
diamante sunglasses on her head and regards me with an avid interest.

Im Petula, she announces. How do you do. Petulas just eaten some of your sandwiches, puts
in Trish. She thought they

were marvelous . And Ive heard about the foie gras with an apricot glaze! Petula raises her eyebrows.

Very impressive!

Samantha can cook anything! boasts Trish, pink with pride.She trained with Michel dela
Roux dela Blanc !The master himself!

So how exactly will you be glazing the foie gras, Samantha? asks Petula with interest.

The kitchen is silent. Both women are waiting, agog.

Well. I clear my throat several times. I expect Ill use the... usual method. The word glaze , obviously, comes from the transparent nature of the... er... finish... and complements
the... gras. Foie, I amend. De gras. The... blend of the flavors.

I am making absolutely no sense here, but neither Trish nor Petula seems to have noticed.
In fact they both seem totally impressed.

Where on earth did you find her? says Petula to Trish in what she clearly imagines to be a
discreet undertone. My girl is hopeless . Cant cook and doesnt understand a word I say.

She just applied out of the blue! Trish murmurs back, still flushed with pleasure. Cordon
Bleu! English! We couldnt believe it!

They both eye me as though Im some rare animal with horns sprouting out of my head. I cant
bear this anymore.

Shall I make you some tea and bring it through to the conservatory? I ask. Anything to get
them out of the kitchen.

No, were popping out to have our nails done, says Trish. Ill see you later, Samantha.

Theres an expectant pause. Suddenly I realize Trish is waiting for my curtsy. I start to
prickle all over in embarrassment. Why did I curtsy? Why did I curtsy?

Very good, Mrs. Geiger. I bow my head and make an awkward bob. When I look up, Petulas
eyes are like saucers.

As the two women leave, I can hear Petula hissing, She curtsies ? She curtsies to you? Its a simple mark of respect, I hear Trish replying airily. But very effective. You

know, Petula, you should really try it with your girl...

Oh, God. What have I started?

I wait until the sound of tapping heels has completely disappeared. Then, moving into the
larder to be on the safe side, I flip open my phone and redial Guys number. After three
rings he answers.

Samantha. He sounds guarded. Hi. Have you... Its OK, Guy. Ive spoken to Ketterman. I know.
Oh, Christ, Samantha. Im so sorry this has happened. So sorry... I cannot stand his pity. If he says anything else Ill burst into tears. Its fine,
I say, cutting him off. Really. Lets not talk about it. Lets just... look

forward. I have to get my life on track.

Jesus, youre focused! Theres a note of admiration in his voice. You dont let anything faze
you, do you?

I push my hair back off my face. I just have to... get on with things. Somehow I keep my
voice even and steady. I need to get back toLondon . But I cant go home. Ketterman bought
a flat in my building. He lives there.

Ouch. Yes, I heard about that. Theres a wince in his voice. Thats unfortunate.

I just cant face him, Guy. I feel the threat of tears again and force myself to hold them
back. So... I was wondering. Could I come and stay with you for a while? Just for a few
days?

Theres silence. I wasnt expecting silence. Samantha... Id love to help, says Guy at last.
But Ill have to check withCharlotte . Of course, I say, a little taken aback. Just stay on
the line for a sec. Ill call her.

The next moment Ive been put on hold. I sit waiting, listening to the tinny harpsichord
music, trying not to feel discomfited. It was unreasonable to expect him to say yes
straightaway. Of course he has to clear it with his girlfriend.

At last Guy comes onto the line again. Samantha, Im not sure its possible.

I feel slammed. Right. I try to sound natural, as though this is no big deal. Well...
never mind. It doesnt matter...

Charlottes very busy right now... were having some work done to the bedrooms... its just
not a good time...

He sounds halting, as if he wants to get off the line. And suddenly I realize. This isnt
aboutCharlotte . This is all about him. He doesnt want to be near me. Its as though my
disgrace is contagious, as though his career might get blighted too.

Yesterday I was his best friend. Yesterday, when I was about to become a partner, he was
hanging around my desk, full of smiles and quips. And today he doesnt want to be
associated with me at all.

I know I should stay quiet, keep my dignity, but I just cant contain myself. You dont want
to be associated with me, do you? I burst out.

Samantha! His voice is defensive. Dont be ridiculous.

Im still the same person . I thought you were my friend

I am your friend! But you cant expect me to... I haveCharlotte to consider... we dont have that much space... Look, call me in a couple of days, maybe we can meet up for a drink

Really, dont worry. I try to control my voice. Im sorry to have bothered you.

Wait! he exclaims. Dont go! What are you going to do?

Oh, Guy. I manage a little laugh.

I switch off my phone. Everythings changed. Or maybe he hasnt changed. Maybe this was what
Guy was always like and I just never realized it.

I stare down at the tiny display of my phone, watching the seconds of each minute tick by.
Wondering what to do next. When it suddenly vibrates in my hand, I nearly jump out of my
skin. Tennyson , my display reads.

Mum.

I feel a clutch of dread. She can only be ringing for one thing. Shes heard the news. I
guess I should have known this was coming. I could go and stay with her, it occurs to me.
How weird. I didnt even think of that before. I open up the phone and steel myself.

Hi, Mum.

Samantha. Her voice pierces my ear with no preamble. Exactly how long were you going to
wait before you told me about your debacle? I have to find out about my own daughters
disgrace from an Internet joke ! She utters the words with revulsion.

An... Internet joke? I echo faintly. What do you mean?

You didnt know? Apparently in certain legal circles the new term for fifty million pounds
is a Samantha. Take it from me, I was not amused.

Mum, Im so sorry

At least the story has been contained within the legal world. Ive spoken to Carter Spink
and they assure me that it wont be going further. You should be grateful for that.

I... I suppose so...

Where are you? she cuts across my faltering words. Where are you right now? Im standing in
a larder, surrounded by packets of cereal. Im... at someones house. Out ofLondon . And
what are your plans?

I dont know. I rub my face. I need to... get myself together. Find a job.

A job, she says scathingly. You think any top law firm is going to touch you now?

I flinch at her tone. I... I dont know. Mum, Ive only just heard about being fired. I cant
just

You can. Thankfully, I have acted for you.

Shes acted for me?

What do you

Ive called in all my favors. It wasnt an easy job. But the senior partner at Fortescues
will see you tomorrow at ten.

Im almost too stupefied to reply. Youve... organized me a job interview?

Assuming all goes well, you will enter at senior associate level. Her voice is crisp.
Youre being given this chance as a personal favor to me. As you can imagine, there are...
reservations. So if you want to progress, Samantha, you are going to have to perform.
Youre going to have to give this job every hour you have.

Right. I shut my eyes, my thoughts whirling. I have a job interview. A fresh start. Its
the solution to my nightmare.

Why dont I feel more relieved?

You will have to give more than you did at Carter Spink, Mum continues in my ear. No
slacking. No complacency. You will have to prove yourself doubly . Do you understand?

Yes, I say automatically.

More hours. More work. More late nights.

Its almost as if I can feel the concrete blocks being loaded onto me again. More and more
of them. Heavier and heavier.

I mean... no, I hear myself saying. No. Its too much. I... dont want that now. I need some
time.

The words come out of my mouth all by themselves. I wasnt planning them; Ive never even
thought them before. But now that theyre out in the air they somehow feel... true.

Im sorry ? Mums voice is sharp. Samantha, what on earth are you saying? I dont know. Im kneading my
forehead, trying to make sense of my own confusion.

I was thinking... I could take a break, maybe.

A break would finish your legal career. Her voice snaps dismissively. Finish it.

I could... do something else.

You wouldnt last more than two minutes in anything else! She sounds affronted. Samantha,
youre a lawyer . Youve been trained as a lawyer.

There are other things in the world than being a lawyer! I cry, rattled.

Theres an ominous silence. I cant believe Im standing up to her. I dont think Ive ever
challenged my mother in my life. I feel shaky as I grip the phone. But at the same time, I
know I cant do what she wants.

Samantha, if youre having some kind of breakdown like your brother

Im not having a breakdown! My voice rises in distress. I never asked you to find me another job. I dont know what I want. I need a bit of time... to... to
think...

You will be at that job interview, Samantha. Mums voice is like a whip. You will be there
tomorrow at ten oclock.

I wont! Tell me where you are! Im sending a car straightaway. No! Leave me alone.

I switch off my phone, come out of the larder, and almost savagely throw it down onto the
table. Shes my mother. And she didnt express one word of sympathy. Not one jot of
kindness. My face is burning and tears are pressing hotly at the back of my eyes. The
phone starts vibrating angrily on the table, but I ignore it. Im not going to answer it.
Im not going to talk to anyone. Im going to have a drink. And then Im going to cook this
bloody dinner.

I slosh some white wine into a glass and take several gulps. Then I address myself to the
pile of raw ingredients waiting on the table.

I can cook. I can cook this stuff. Even if everything else in my life is in ruins, I can
do this. I have a brain, I can work it out.

Without delay I rip the plastic coverings off the lamb. This can go in the oven. In some
kind of dish. Simple. And the chickpeas can go in there too. Then Ill mash them and that
will make the hummus.

I open a cupboard and pull out a whole load of gleaming baking dishes and trays. I select
a baking tray and scatter the chickpeas onto it. Some bounce onto the floor, but I dont
care. I grab a bottle of oil from the counter and drizzle it over the top. Already Im
feeling like a cook.

I shove the tray into the oven and turn it on full blast. Then I put the lamb in an oval
dish and shove that in too.

So far so good. Now all I need to do is leaf through all Trishs recipe books and find
instructions for seared foie gras with an apricot glaze.

OK. I didnt find a single recipe for seared foie gras with an apricot glaze. I found
apricot and raspberry flan, turkey with chestnut and apricot stuffing, and almond
pithivier with apricot filling and Prosecco sabayon.

I stare at the page blindly. I have just turned down what may be my only opportunity to
start over. Im a lawyer. Thats what I am . What else am I going to do? Whats happened to me?

Oh, God. Why is smoke coming out of the oven?

By seven oclock Im still cooking.

At least I think thats what Im doing. Both ovens are roaring with heat. Pots are bubbling
on the hob. The electric whisk is whirring busily. Ive burned my right hand twice taking
things out of the oven. Eight recipe books are open around the kitchen, one drenched with
spilled oil and another with egg yolk. Im puce in the face, sweating hard, and trying
every so often to run my hand under cold water.

Ive been going for three hours. And I havent yet made anything that could actually be
eaten. So far Ive discarded a collapsed chocolate souffle, two pans of burned onions, and
a saucepan of congealed apricots that made me feel sick just to look at them.

I cant work out whats going wrong. I havent got time to work out whats going wrong. Theres no scope for analysis. Every time theres a disaster
I just dump it and start again, quickly thawing food from the freezer, changing tack,
trying to cobble something together.

The Geigers meanwhile are drinking sherry in the drawing room. They think everything is
going splendidly. Trish tried to come into the kitchen about half an hour ago, but I
managed to head her off.

In less than an hour she and Eddie are going to be sitting down at the table expecting a
gourmet meal. Shaking out their napkins with anticipation, pouring out their mineral water
and wine.