Sophie Kinsella - The Undomestic Goddess

No one is interested in tea.

“Did you have any idea your housekeeper has an IQ of 158?” The journalist is clearly loving this. “She’s a genius.”

“We knew she was bright!” says Eddie, defensive. “We spotted that! We were helping her with her―” He breaks off, looking foolish. “With her English GCSE.”

“And I’m really grateful!” I put in hurriedly. “Really.”

Eddie mops his brow with a tea towel. Trish is still clutching the chair as though she might keel over any minute.

“I don’t understand.” Eddie suddenly puts the tea towel down and turns to me. “How did you combine being a lawyer with the housekeeping?”

“Yes!” exclaims Trish, coming to life. “Exactly. How on earth could you be a City lawyer… and still have time to train with Michel de la Roux de la Blanc?”

Oh, God. They still don’t get it.

“I’m not really a housekeeper,” I say desperately. “I’m not really a Cordon Bleu cook.

Michel de la Roux de la Blanc doesn’t exist. I have no idea what this thing is really called.” I pick up the truffle beater, which is lying on the side. “I’m a… a fake.”

I can’t look at either of them. Suddenly I feel terrible. “I’ll understand if you want me to leave,” I mumble. “I took the job under false pretenses.”

“Leave?” Trish looks horrified. “We don’t want you to leave! Do we, Eddie?”

“Absolutely not!” he says, rallying himself. “You’ve done a fine job, Samantha.You can’t help it if you’re a lawyer.”

“ ‘I’m a fake,’ ” says the journalist, writing it carefully down on her notepad. “Do you feel guilty about that, Ms. Sweeting?”

“Stop it!” I sav. “I’m not doing an interview!”

“Ms. Sweeting says she’d rather clean loos than be a partner at Carter Spink,” says the journalist, turning to Trish. “Could I see the loos in question?”

“Our loos?” Spots of pink appear on Trish’s cheeks and she gives me an uncertain glance. “Well! We did have the bathrooms refitted recently; they’re all Royal Doulton.”

“How many are there?” The journalist looks up from her notepad.

“Stop this!” I clutch my hair. “Look, I’ll… I’ll make a statement to the press. And then I want you all to leave me and my employers alone.”

I hurry out of the kitchen, the Daily Mail woman following behind, and fling open the front door. The crowd of journalists is still there, behind the gate. Is it my imagination or are there more than before?

“It’s Sarah,” says the guy in black glasses sardonically as I approach them.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the press,” I begin. “I would be grateful if you would leave me alone. There isn’t any story here.”

“Are you going to stay as a housekeeper?” calls a fat guy in jeans.

“Yes, I am.” I lift my chin. “I’ve made a personal choice, for personal reasons, and I’m very happy here.”

“What about feminism?” demands a young girl. “Women have fought for years to gain an equal foothold. Now you’re telling them they should go back to the kitchen?”

“I’m not telling women anything!” I say, taken aback.“I’m just leading my own life.”

“But you think there’s nothing wrong with women being chained to the kitchen sink?”

A gray-haired woman glares at me.

“I’m not chained! I get paid for what I do, and I choose to―” My answer is drowned out by a barrage of questions and flashing cameras.

“Was Carter Spink a sexist hellhole?”

“Is this a bargaining ploy?”

“Do you think women should have careers?”

“We’d like to offer you a regular column on household hints!” says a chirpy blond girl in a blue mac. “We want to call it ‘Samantha Says.’”

“What?” I gape at her. “I don’t have any household hints!”

“A recipe, then?” She beams. “Your favorite dish?”

“Could you pose for us in your pinny?” calls out the fat guy, with a lascivious wink.

“No!” I say in horror.“I have nothing else to say! No comment! Go away!”

Ignoring the cries and shouts of “Samantha!” I turn and run with trembling legs back up the drive to the house.

The world is mad.

I burst into the kitchen, to find Trish, Eddie, and Melissa transfixed in front of the Daily World.

“Oh, no,” I say, my heart plunging. “Don’t read it. Honestly. It’s just… stupid… tabloid…”

All three of them raise their heads and regard me as though I’m some kind of alien.

“You charge… five hundred pounds an hour?” Trish doesn’t seem quite in control of her voice.

“They offered you full equity partnership?” Melissa looks green. “And you said no?

Are you crazy?”

“Don’t read this stuff!” I try to grab the paper. “Mrs. Geiger, I just want to carry on as usual. I’m still your housekeeper―”

“You’re one of the country’s top legal talents!” Trish jabs the paper hysterically. “It says so, here!”

“Samantha?” There’s a rapping at the door and Nathaniel comes into the kitchen, holding an armful of newly picked potatoes. “Will this be enough for the lunch?”

I stare at him dumbly, feeling a clutch at my heart. He has no idea. He knows nothing.

Oh, God.

I should have told him.Why didn’t I tell him? Why didn’t I tell him?

“What are you?” says Trish, turning to him wildly. “A top rocket scientist? A secret government agent?”

“I’m sorry?” Nathaniel shoots me a quizzical look.

“Nathaniel…”

I trail off, unable to continue. Nathaniel looks from face to face, a crease of uncertainty deepening in his brow.

“What’s going on?” he says at last. “Is something up?”

I have never made such a hash of anything as I make of telling Nathaniel. I stammer, I stutter, I repeat myself and go round in circles.

Nathaniel listens in silence. He’s leaning against an old stone pillar in front of the secluded bench where I’m sitting. His face is in profile, shadowed in the afternoon sun, and I can’t tell what he’s thinking.

At last I come to a finish and he slowly lifts his head. If I was hoping for a smile, I don’t get it. I’ve never seen him look so shell-shocked.

“You’re a lawyer,” he says at last. All the light seems to have gone out of his eyes.

“Yes.”

“I can’t believe you’re a lawyer.” There’s a hostility to his tone that I’ve never heard before.

“Nathaniel.” I swallow hard. “I know you had a bad experience with lawyers. I’m really sorry about your dad. But… I’m not like that.You know I’m not―”

“How do I?” he retorts with sudden aggression. “How do I know who you are anymore? You lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie! I just… didn’t tell you everything.”

“I thought you were in an abusive relationship.” He bows his head, clenching his hands behind his neck. “I thought that’s why you didn’t want to talk about your past.

And you let me believe it. When you went up to London, I was worried about you.

Jesus.”

“I’m sorry.” I wince with guilt. “I’m so sorry. I just… didn’t want you to know the truth.”

“Why not? What, you didn’t trust me?”

“No!” I say in dismay. “Of course I trust you! If it had been anything else…

Nathaniel, you have to understand. When we first met, how could I tell you?

Everyone knows you hate lawyers.You even have a sign in your pub!”

“That sign’s a joke.” He makes an impatient gesture.

“It’s not. Not completely! Come on, Nathaniel. If I’d told you I was a City lawyer when we first met, would you have treated me in the same way?”

Nathaniel doesn’t reply. He’s taken a few steps away and turned to face the house, as if he can’t even bear to look at me anymore.