Sophie Kinsella - The Undomestic Goddess

It’s all ruined between us. Just as I feared. I can feel the tears rising but somehow keep my chin steady.

“Nathaniel, I didn’t tell you the truth about myself because it was incredibly painful,”

I say quietly. “And because everything was so wonderful between us, I didn’t want to ruin it. And because… I thought you might look at me differently.”

Nathaniel slowly turns to face me, his face still closed and unforgiving.

“Like you’re looking at me now.” A tear runs down my cheek and I brush it away.

“This is what I was afraid of.”

The silence seems to last forever. Then Nathaniel exhales heavily, as though coming to a conclusion.

“Come here.” He holds out his arms. “Come here.”

He wraps them around me and I lean against his chest, almost overcome with relief.

“I’m the same person, you know,” I mumble. “Even if I used to be a lawyer―I’m still me. Samantha.”

“Samantha Sweeting, corporate lawyer.” He surveys me for a few moments. “Nope. I can’t see it.”

“Me either! That part of my life is over. Nathaniel… I’m so sorry. I never meant any of this to happen.” A bay leaf falls into his hair from the tree behind and I pick it out, automatically rubbing it to release the sweet scent.

“So what happens now?” says Nathaniel.

“Nothing. The media interest will die down. They’ll get bored.” I rest my head on his shoulder. “I’m happy in my job. I’m happy in this village. I’m happy with you. I just want everything to stay the same.”

I’m wrong. The media interest doesn’t die down. I wake up the next morning to find twice as many reporters as yesterday camped outside, plus two TV vans. My mobile is so jammed with messages from journalists who have got hold of the number, I’ve given up listening to them. As I enter the kitchen, Melissa and Eddie are sitting at the table, which is covered in newspapers.

“You’re in every single paper,” Melissa informs me. “Uncle Eddie went down to the shop for them. Look.” She shows me a double-page spread in the Sun. There’s a picture of me superimposed on the background of a loo, and someone’s drawn a toilet brush in one of my hands, “I’D RATHER CLEAN LOOS!” is in huge letters next to my face.

“Oh, my God.” I sink into a chair and stare at the picture. “Why?”

“It’s August,” says Eddie, flicking through the Telegraph. “Nothing else in the news.

Says here you’re a casualty of today’s work-obsessed society.‘ He turns the paper around to show me a small item topped with the headline CARTER SPINK

HIGHFLYER CHOOSES DRUDGERY AFTER RUMORS OF SCANDAL.

“It says here you’re a Judas to career women everywhere.” Melissa is reading the Herald. “This columnist Mindy Morrell is really angry with you.”

“Angry?” I echo, bewildered. “Why would anyone be angry with me?”

“But in the Daily World you’re a savior of traditional values.” Melissa reaches for the paper and opens it. “Samantha Sweeting believes women should return to the hearthside for the sake of their own health and that of society.”

“What? I never said that!” I grab the paper and scan the text in disbelief. “Why are they all so obsessed?”

“Silly season,” says Eddie, reaching for the Express. “Is it true you single-handedly uncovered Mafia connections at your law firm?”

“No!” I look up. “Who said that?”

“Can’t remember where I saw it now,” he says, riffling through the pages. “There’s a picture of your mother in this one. Nice-looking lady.”

“My mother?” I stare in dismay.

“Highflying daughter of a highflying mother,” Eddie reads aloud. “Was the pressure to succeed too much?”

Oh, God. Mum is going to kill me.

“This one has a poll, look.” Eddie has opened another paper. “Samantha Sweeting: Heroine or Fool? Phone or text your vote. Then they give a number to call.” He reaches for the phone and frowns. “Which shall I vote for?”

“Fool,” says Melissa, grabbing the phone. “I’ll do it.”

“Samantha! You’re up!”

I raise my head to see Trish coming into the kitchen, holding a bundle of newspapers under her arm. As she looks at me she has the same shell-shocked expression of awe that she had yesterday, as though I’m a priceless work of art that has suddenly pitched up in her kitchen. “I’ve just been reading about you!”

“Good morning, Mrs. Geiger.” I put down the Daily World and hastily get to my feet.“Um, what can I get you for breakfast? Some coffee to begin with?”

“Don’t you make the coffee, Samantha!” she replies, looking flustered. “Eddie, you can make the coffee!”

“I’m not making the coffee!” objects Eddie.

“Then… Melissa!” says Trish. “Make us all some nice coffee. Samantha, you sit down for once! You’re our guest!” She gives an unnatural laugh.

“I’m not your guest!” I protest. “I’m your housekeeper!”

I can see Eddie and Trish exchanging doubtful looks. What do they think? That I’m going to leave?

“Nothing’s different!” I insist. “I’m still your housekeeper! I just want to carry on my job as usual.”

“Are you crazy?” demands Melissa. “Have you seen how much Carter Spink wants to pay you?”

“You wouldn’t understand,” I retort. “Mr. and Mrs. Geiger… you’ll understand. I’ve learned a lot living here. I’ve changed as a person. And I’ve found a fulfilling way of life.Yes, I could make a lot more money being a lawyer in London. Yes, I could have some high-powered, pressurized career. But it’s not what I want.” I spread my arms around the kitchen. “This is what I want to do. This is where I want to be.”

I’m half expecting Trish and Eddie to look moved by my little speech. Instead, they both peer at me in total incomprehension, then glance at each other again.

“I think you should consider the offer,” says Eddie. “It says in the paper they’re desperate to woo you back.”

“We won’t be at all offended if you leave,” adds Trish, nodding emphatically. “We’ll completely understand.”

Is that all they can say? Aren’t they glad I want to stay? Don’t they want me as their housekeeper?

I don’t want to leave! I say, almost crossly. I want to stay here and enjoy a fulfilling life at a different pace.“

“Right,” says Eddie after a pause, then surreptitiously pulls a “What?” face at Trish.

The telephone rings and Trish picks it up.

“Hello?” She listens for a moment. “Yes, of course, Mavis. And Trudy. See you later!” She puts the receiver down. “Two more guests for the charity lunch!”

“Right.” I glance at my watch. “I’d better get going on the starters.”

As I’m getting out my pastry the phone rings again and Trish sighs. “If this is more late guests… Hello?” As she listens, her expression changes and she puts her hand over the receiver.

“Samantha,” she hisses. “It’s an ad company. Are you willing to appear in a TV commercial for Toilet Duck? You’d wear a barrister’s wig and gown, and you’d have to say―”

“No!” I say, recoiling. “Of course not!”

“You should never turn down television,” says Eddie reprovingly. “Could be a big opportunity.”

“No, it couldn’t! I don’t want to be in any commercials!” I can see Eddie opening his mouth to argue. “I don’t want to do any interviews,” I add quickly. “I don’t want to be a role model. I just want everything to go back to normal.”

But by lunchtime everything is even more surreal than before.

I’ve had three more requests to appear on TV and one to do a “tasteful” photo shoot for the Sun in a French maid’s uniform. Trish has given an exclusive interview to the Mail. Callers to a radio phone-in that Melissa insisted on listening to have described me as “an antifeminist moron,” a “Martha Stewart wannabe,” and “a parasite on the taxpayers who paid for my education.” I was so furious I almost phoned up myself.