Sophie Kinsella - The Undomestic Goddess

I glance at my watch as we speed along the Strand. Seven forty-two. I’m starting to feel quite excited. The street outside is still bright and warm and tourists are walking along in T-shirts and shorts, pointing at the High Court. It must have been a gorgeous summer’s day. Inside the air-conditioned Carter Spink building you have no idea what the weather in the real world is doing.

We come to a halt outside Maxim’s and I pay the taxi driver, adding a large tip.

“Have a great evening, love!” he says.“ And happy birthday!”

“Thanks!”

As I hurry into the restaurant, I’m looking all around for Mum or Daniel, but I can’t spot either of them.

“Hi!” I say to the maitre d‘. “I’m meeting Ms. Tennyson.”

That’s Mum. She disapproves of women taking the name of their husband. She also disapproves of women staying at home, cooking, cleaning, or learning to type, and thinks all women should earn more than their husbands because they’re naturally brighter.

The maitre d‘―a dapper man who is a good six inches shorter than me―leads me to an empty table in the corner and I slide into the suede banquette.

“Hi!” I smile at the waiter who approaches. “I’d like a Buck’s Fizz, a gimlet, and a martini, please. But don’t bring them over until the other guests arrive.”

Mum always drinks gimlets. And I’ve no idea what Daniel’s on these days, but he won’t say no to a martini.

The waiter nods and disappears, and I shake out my napkin, looking all around at the other diners. Maxim’s is a pretty cool restaurant, all wenge floors and steel tables and mood lighting. It’s very popular with lawyers; in fact, Mum has an account here. Two partners from Linklaters are at a distant table, and I can see one of the biggest libel lawyers in London at the bar. The noise of chatter, corks popping, and forks against oversize plates is like the huge roar of the sea, with occasional tidal waves of laughter making heads turn.

As I scan the menu I suddenly feel ravenous. I haven’t had a proper meal for a week, and it all looks so good. Glazed foie gras. Lamb on minted hummus. And on the specials board is chocolate-orange souffle with two homemade sorbets. I just hope Mum can stay long enough for pudding. I’ve heard her say plenty of times that half a dinner party is enough for anybody. The trouble is, she’s not really interested in food.

She’s also not that interested in most people, as they’re generally less intelligent than her. Which rules out most potential dinner guests.

But Daniel will stay. Once my brother starts on a bottle of wine, he feels obliged to see it through to the end.

“Miss Sweeting?” I look up to see the maitre d‘. He’s holding a mobile phone. “I have a message. Your mother has been held up at her chambers.”

“Oh.” I try to hide my disappointment. But I can hardly complain. I’ve done the same thing to her enough times. “So… what time will she be here?”

I think I see a flash of pity in his eyes.

“I have her here on the telephone. Her secretary will put her through… Hello?” he says into the phone. “I have Ms. Tennyson’s daughter.”

“Samantha?” comes a crisp, precise voice in my ear. “Darling, I can’t come tonight, I’m afraid.”

“You can’t come at all?” My smile falters. “Not even… for a drink?”

Her chambers is only five minutes away in a cab, in Lincoln’s Inn Fields.

“Far too much on. I have a very big case on and I’m in court tomorrow― No, get me the other file,” she adds to someone in her office. “These things happen,” she resumes. “But have a nice evening with Daniel. Oh, and happy birthday. I’ve wired three hundred pounds to your bank account.”

“Oh, right,” I say. “Thanks.”

“I assume you haven’t heard about the partnership yet.”

“Not yet.”

“I heard your presentation went well…” I can hear her tapping her pen on the phone.

“How many hours have you put in this month?”

“Urn… probably about two hundred…”

“Is that enough? Samantha, you don’t want to be passed over. You’ve been working toward this for a long time.”

Like I don’t know that.

Still, I suppose I should be glad she’s not badgering me about whether I’ve got a boyfriend. Mum never asks me about my personal life. She expects me to be as focused and driven as she is, if not more so. And even though we don’t talk very often anymore, even though she’s less controlling than she was when I was younger, I still feel apprehensive whenever she rings.

“There will be younger lawyers coming up behind,” she continues. “Someone in your position could easily go stale.”

“Two hundred hours is quite a lot…” I try to explain. “Compared to the others―”

“You have to be better than the others!” Her voice cuts across mine as though she’s in a courtroom. “You can’t afford for your performance to slip below excellent. This is a crucial time― Not that file!” she adds impatiently to whoever it is. “Hold the line, Samantha―”

“Samantha?”

I look up in confusion from the phone to see a girl with long swishy blond hair, wearing a powder-blue suit, approaching the table. She’s holding a gift basket adorned with a bow, and has a wide smile.

“I’m Lorraine, Daniel’s PA,” she says in a singsong voice I suddenly recognize from calling Daniel’s office. “He couldn’t make it tonight, I’m afraid. But I’ve got a little something for you―plus he’s here on the phone to say hello…”

She holds out a lit-up mobile phone. In total confusion, I take it and press it to my other ear.

“Hi, Samantha,” comes Daniel’s businesslike drawl. “Look, babe, I’m snowed under.

I can’t be there.”

Neither of them is coming?

“I’m really sorry,” Daniel’s saying. “One of those things. But have a great time with Mum, won’t you?”

I take a deep breath. I can’t admit she blew me off too. I can’t admit that I’m sitting here all on my own.

“OK!” Somehow I muster a breezy tone. “We will!”

“I’ve transferred some money to your account. Buy something nice. And I’ve sent some chocolates along with Lorraine,” he adds proudly. “Picked them out myself.”

I look at the gift basket Lorraine is proffering. It isn’t chocolates, it’s soap.

“That’s really lovely, Daniel,” I manage. “Thanks very much.”

“Happy birthday to you …”

There’s sudden chorusing behind me. I swivel round to see a waiter carrying over a cocktail glass with a sparkler. Happy Birthday Samantha is written in caramel on the steel tray, next to a miniature souvenir menu signed by the chef. Three waiters are following behind, all singing in harmony.

After a moment, Lorraine awkwardly joins in. “Happy birthday to you…”

The waiter puts the tray down in front of me, but my hands are full with phones.

“I’ll take that for you,” says Lorraine, relieving me of Daniel’s phone. She lifts it to her ear, then beams at me. “He’s singing!” she says, pointing to the receiver encouragingly.

“Samantha?” Mum is saying in my ear. “Are you still there?”

“I’m just… they’re singing ‘Happy Birthday’…”

I put the phone on the table. After a moment’s thought, Lorraine puts the other phone carefully down on the other side of me.

This is my family birthday party.

Two cell phones.

I can see people looking over at the singing, their smiles falling a little as they see I’m sitting on my own. I can see the sympathy in the faces of the waiters. I’m trying to keep my chin up, but my cheeks are burning with embarrassment.

Suddenly the waiter I ordered from earlier appears at the table. He’s carrying three cocktails on a tray and looks at the empty table in slight confusion.