Sophie Kinsella - The Undomestic Goddess

“Absolutely,” I reply. Ketterman is unnerving at the best of times. He just emanates scary, brainy power. But today is a million times worse, because Ketterman is on the decision panel.Tomorrow morning at nine a.m., he and thirteen other partners are holding a big meeting to decide on which associates will become partners this year.

All the candidates gave presentations last week to the panel, outlining what qualities and ideas we would bring to the firm. As I finished mine, I had no idea whether I’d impressed or not.Tomorrow, I’ll find out.

“The draft documentation is right here…” I reach into a pile of folders and pull out what feels like a box file with an efficient flourish.

It’s the wrong one.

Hastily I put it down. “It’s definitely here somewhere…” I scrabble frantically and locate the correct file. Thank God. “Here!”

“I don’t know how you can work in this shambles, Samantha.” Ketterman’s voice is thin and sarcastic.

“At least everything’s to hand!” I attempt a little joke, but Ketterman remains stony-faced. Flustered, I pull out my chair, and a pile of articles and old drafts falls in a shower to the floor.

“You know, the old rule was that desks were completely cleared every night by six.”

Ketterman’s voice is steely. “Perhaps we should reintroduce it.”

“Maybe!”

“Samantha!” ‘A genial voice interrupts us and I look round in relief to see Arnold Saville approaching along the corridor.

Arnold is my favorite of the senior partners. He’s got woolly gray hair that always seems a bit wild for a lawyer, and flamboyant taste in ties. Today he’s wearing a bright red paisley affair, with a matching handkerchief in his top pocket. He greets me with a broad smile, and at once I feel myself relax.

I’m sure Arnold’s the one who’s rooting for me to be made partner. Just as I’m equally sure Ketterman will be opposing it. I’ve already overheard Ketterman saying I’m very young to be made a partner, that there’s no rush. He’d probably have me pegging away as an associate for five more years. But Arnold’s always been on my side. He’s the maverick of the firm, the one who breaks the rules. For years he had a labrador, Stan, who lived under his desk, despite the complaints of the health and safety department. If anyone can lighten the atmosphere in a tricky meeting, it’s Arnold.

“Letter of appreciation about you, Samantha.” Arnold beams and holds out a sheet of paper. “From the chairman of Gleiman Brothers, no less.”

I take the cream vellum sheet in surprise and glance down at the handwritten note:.. great esteem…her services always professional…

“I gather you saved him a few million pounds he wasn’t expecting.” Arnold twinkles.

“He’s delighted.”

“Oh, yes.” I color slightly. “Well, it was nothing. I just noticed an anomaly in the way they were structuring their finances.”

“You obviously made a great impression on him.” Arnold raises his bushy eyebrows.

“He wants you to work on all his deals from now. Excellent, Samantha! Very well done.”

“Er… thanks.” I glance at Ketterman, just to see if by any remote chance he might look impressed. But he’s still frowning impatiently.

“I also want you to deal with this.” Ketterman puts a file on my desk. “Marlowe and Co. are acquiring a retail park. I need a due diligence review in forty-eight hours.”

Oh, bloody hell. My heart sinks as I look at the heavy folder. It’ll take me hours to do this.

Ketterman’s always giving me extra bits of mundane work he can’t be bothered to do himself. In fact, all the partners do it. Even Arnold. Half the time they don’t even tell me, just dump the file on my desk with some illegible memo and expect me to get on with it.

And of course I do. In fact I always try to get it done just a bit faster than they were expecting.

“Any problems?”

“Of course not,” I say in a brisk, can-do, potential-partner voice. “See you at the meeting.”

As he stalks off I check my watch. Ten twenty-two. I have precisely eight minutes to make sure the draft documentation for the Fallons deal is all in order. Fallons is our client, a big multinational tourism company, and is acquiring the Smithleaf Hotel Group. I open the file and scan the pages swiftly, checking for errors, searching for gaps. I’ve learned to read a lot faster since I’ve been at Carter Spink.

In fact, I do everything faster. I walk faster, talk faster, eat faster… have sex faster…

Not that I’ve had much of that lately. But two years ago I dated a senior partner from Berry Forbes. His name was Jacob and he worked on huge international mergers, and he had even less time than I did. By the end, we’d honed our routine to about six minutes, which would have been quite handy if we were billing each other.

(Obviously we weren’t.) He would make me come―and I would make him come.

And then we’d check our e-mails.

Which is practically simultaneous orgasms. So no one can say that’s not good sex.

I’ve read Cosmo; I know these things.

Anyway, then Jacob was made a huge offer and moved to Boston, so that was the end of it. I didn’t mind very much.

To be totally honest, I didn’t really fancy him.

“Samantha?” It’s my secretary, Maggie. She only started three weeks ago and I don’t know her very well yet. “You had a message while you were out. From Joanne?”

“Joanne from Clifford Chance?” I look up, my attention grabbed. “OK.Tell her I got the e-mail about clause four, and I’ll call her about it after lunch―”

“Not that Joanne,” Maggie interrupts. “Joanne your new cleaner. She wants to know where you keep your vacuum-cleaner bags.”

I look at her blankly. “My what?”

“Vacuum-cleaner bags,” repeats Maggie patiently. “She can’t find them.”

“Why does the vacuum cleaner need to go in a bag?” I say, puzzled. “Is she taking it somewhere?”

Maggie peers at me as though she thinks I must be joking. “The bags that go inside your vacuum cleaner,” she says carefully. “To collect the dust? Do you have any of those?”

“Oh!” I say quickly. “Oh, those bags. Er…”

I frown thoughtfully, as though the solution is on the tip of my tongue. The truth is, I can’t even visualize my vacuum cleaner. Where did I put it? I know it was delivered, because the porter signed for it.

“Maybe it’s a Dyson,” suggests Maggie. “They don’t take bags. Is it a cylinder or an upright?” She looks at me expectantly.

“I’ll sort it,” I say in a businesslike manner, and start gathering my papers together.

“Thanks, Maggie.”

“She had another question.” Maggie consults her pad. “How do you switch on your oven?”

For a moment I continue gathering my papers. “Well. You turn the… er… knob,” I say at last, trying to sound nonchalant. “It’s pretty clear, really…”

“She said it has some weird timer lock.” Maggie frowns. “Is it gas or electric?”

OK, I think I should terminate this conversation right now.

“Maggie, I really need to prepare for this meeting,” I say. “It’s in three minutes.”

“So what shall I tell your cleaner?” Maggie persists. “She’s waiting for me to call back.”

“Tell her to… leave it for today. I’ll sort it out.”

As Maggie leaves my office I reach for a pen and memo pad.

1. How switch on oven?

2. Vacuum-cleaner bags―buy

I put the pen down and massage my forehead. I really don’t have time for this. I mean, vacuum bags. I don’t even know what they look like, for God’s sake, let alone where to buy them― A sudden brain wave hits me. I’ll order a new vacuum cleaner. That’ll come with a bag already installed, surely.