The Undomestic Goddess (13 page)

I wake up the next morning, heart pounding, leaping to my feet, my mind racing with
everything I have to do...

And then it stops, like a car screeching to a halt. For a moment I cant move. Then,
hesitantly, I sink back into bed, overcome by the most extraordinary feeling.

Its Saturday. I have nothing to do.

No contracts to go over, no e-mails to reply to, no emergency meetings at the office.
Nothing.

I try to remember the last time I had nothing to do. But Im not sure I can. It seems like
Ive never had nothing to do, ever since I was about seven. I get out of bed, walk to the window, and
stare out at the early morning translucent blue sky, trying to get my head around my
situation. Its my day off. No one has any hold over me. No one can call me up and demand
my presence. This is my own time. My own time .

As I stand there at the window, contemplating this fact, I start to feel an odd feeling
inside. Light and giddy, like a helium balloon. I am free. A smile of exhilaration spreads
across my face. For the first time ever, I can do whatever I like.

I check the timeand its only 7:15 a.m. The whole day stretches before me like a fresh
sheet of paper. What shall I do? Where do I start ?

Im already sketching out a timetable for the day in my head. Forget six-minute segments.
Forget hurrying. Im going to start measuring time in hours . An hour for wallowing in the bath and getting dressed. An hour for lingering over
breakfast. An hour for reading the paper, cover to cover. Im going to have the laziest,
most indolent, most enjoyable morning Ive ever had in my adult life.

As I head into the bathroom, I can feel muscles twinging with pain all over my body. They
really should market house-cleaning as a workout. I run a deep warm bath and slosh in some
of Trishs bath oil, then step into the scented water and lie back happily.

Delicious. Im just going to stay here for hours and hours and hours.

I close my eyes, letting the water lap my shoulders, and time wafts past in great swathes.
I think I even fall asleep for a while. I have never spent so long in a bath in my entire
life.

At last I open my eyes, reach for a towel, and get out. As Im starting to dry myself off I
reach for my watch, just out of curiosity.

7:30 a.m.

What?

I was only fifteen minutes?

How can I have only taken fifteen minutes? I stand, dripping, in indecision for a moment,
wondering if I should get back in and do it all again, more slowly.

But no. That would be too weird. It doesnt matter. So I had my bath too quickly. Ill just
make sure I take my time properly over breakfast.

At least I have some clothes to put on. Trish took me out last night to a shopping center
a few miles away so I could stock up on underwear and shorts and summer dresses. She told
me shed leave me to itthen ended up bossing me about and picking everything out for me...
and somehow I ended up with not a single item in black.

I cautiously put on a pink slip dress and a pair of sandals and look at myself. Ive never
worn pink before in my life. My entire closet at home is filled with black suits for work
and Ive got into the habit of wearing black at the weekends too. It just makes life easy.

But to my amazement I dont look too bad! Apart from the huge streak of bleach in my hair.

As I make my way along the corridor, theres no sound from the Geigers bedroom. I move
silently past the door, feeling suddenly awkward. Itll be a bit strange, spending all
weekend in their house, with nothing to do. Id better go out later. Get out of their way.

The kitchen is as silent and gleamy as ever, but its starting to feel slightly less
intimidating. I know my way around the kettle and the toaster, if nothing else. Ill have
toast for breakfast, with orange and ginger marmalade, and a nice cup of coffee. And Ill
read the paper from cover to cover. Thatll take me to about eleven oclock and then I can
think about what else to do...

I wonder how the Fallons deal is progressing.

The thought pops into my mind with no warning. I cant help picturing my last scribbled
amendments on the draft agreementall my work, left half done. And Kettermans due diligence
report. I never finished that.

My grip on the kettle tightens as I remember all the projects Ive left behind. I wonder
whos taken over all my unfinished deals. Edward Faulkner, maybe? Hes a year or two younger
than me, but pretty sharp. With a wince I imagine him taking the files off my desk,
flipping through all my work, introducing himself to the Fallons people. The team could be
there right now, finishing up an all-nightersitting around the table, Edward Faulkner in
my place...

Stop.

Just stop. I mustnt think about it. Ive left Carter Spink. Its nothing to do with me anymore. Im going to relax and enjoy my free time,
like any normal person.

Forcing the images out of my mind, I head out into the hall, where I find a copy of the Times on the doormat. I bring it back to the kitchen just as my toast is popping up.

Thisis the life.

I sit by the window, crunching toast, sipping coffee, and leafing through the paper in a
leisurely way. At last, after devouring three slices, two cups of coffee, and all the
Saturday sections, I stretch my arms in a big yawn and glance at the clock. I dont believe
it. Its only seven fifty-six.

What is wrong with me? I was supposed to take hours over breakfast. I was supposed to be sitting there all morning. Not get everything
finished in twenty minutes flat.

OK... never mind. Ill soon get the hang of it.

I put my crockery away in the dishwasher and wipe away my toast crumbs. Then I sit down at
the table again and look about. I wonder what to do next.

Abruptly I realize Im tapping the table with my fingernails. I stop myself and survey my
hands for a moment. This is ridiculous. Im having my first true day off in about ten
years. I should be relaxed . Come on, I can think of something nice to do, surely.

What do people do on days off? My mind scrolls through a series of images from TV. I could
make another cup of coffee, but Ive already had two. I could read the paper again, but I
have an almost photographic memory. So rereading things I already know is a bit pointless.

My gaze drifts to the garden, where a squirrel is perched on a stone pillar, looking
around with bright eyes. Maybe Ill go outside. Enjoy the garden and the wildlife and the
early morning dew. Good idea.

Except the trouble with early morning dew is it gets all over your feet. As I pick my way
over the damp grass, Im already wishing I hadnt put on open-toed sandals. Or that Id
waited till later for my little stroll.

The garden is a lot bigger than Id appreciated. I walk down the lawn toward an ornamental
hedge where the land seems to finish, only to realize theres a whole section beyond it,
with an orchard at the end and some sort of walled garden to my left.

Its a stunning garden. Even I can see that. The flowers are vivid without being garish;
every wall is covered with some beautiful creeper or vine. As I walk toward the orchard I
can see little golden pears hanging from the branches of trees. I dont think Ive ever seen
an actual pear growing on a tree before in my life. I grew up in a town house with a small
paved courtyard containing nothing but a few nondescript shrubs.

I walk through the fruit trees toward a huge, square, brown patch of earth with vegetation
growing in serried rows. These must be the vegetables. I prod one of them cautiously with
my foot. It could be a cabbage or a lettuce. Or the leaves of something growing
underground, maybe.

To be honest, it could be an alien. I have no idea.

I sit down on a mossy wooden bench and look at a nearby bush covered in white flowers. Mm.
Pretty.

Now what? What do people do in their gardens?

I feel I should have something to read. Or someone to call. My fingers are itching to
move. I look at my watch. Still only eight sixteen. Oh, God.

Come on, I cant give up yet. Ill just sit here for a bit and enjoy the peace. I lean back
and watch a little speckled bird pecking the ground nearby for a while.

Then I look at my watch again: eight seventeen.

I cant do this.

I cant do nothing all day. Its going to drive me crazy. Ill have to go and buy another
paper from the village shop. If theyve got War and Peace , Ill buy that too. I get up and head briskly back across the lawn when a bleep from my
pocket makes me stop still.

Its my mobile. Its received a text. Someones just texted me, early on a Saturday morning.
I pull out my mobile, feeling edgy. I havent had any contact with the outside world for
two days. Is it from Carter Spink?

I know there are other texts in my phonebut I havent read any of them. I know there are
messages in my voice mailbut I havent listened to a single one. I dont want to know.

I finger my mobile, telling myself to put it away. But now my curiosity has been sparked.
Someone texted me a few seconds ago. Someone, somewhere, has been holding a mobile phone,
punching in a message to me. I have a sudden vision of Guy, in his off-duty chinos and
blue shirt. Sitting at his desk, frowning as he texts. Apologizing. Or giving me some
news. Some kind of development I couldnt have guessed at yesterday

I cant help it. Despite all, I feel a sudden flicker of hope. As I stand there on the
early morning lawn, I can feel my mental self being dragged out of this garden, back
toLondon , back to the office. Two whole days have gone on there without me. A lot can
happen in forty-eight hours. Things can change for the better.

Or... become even worse. Theyre suing me. Theyre prosecuting me. Theres some obscure piece
of negligence law I dont know about...

Im gripping my phone more and more tightly. I have to know. Good or bad. I flip open the
phone and find the text. Its from a number I dont even recognize.

Who? Who on earth is texting me? Feeling a little sick, I press OK to read. @ Hi Samantha,
Nathaniel here.

Nathaniel?

Nathaniel?

My relief is so huge, I laugh out loud. Of course! I gave him my mobile number yesterday
for his mother. I scroll down to read the rest of the message.

If youre interested, mum could start cooking lessons today, Nat

Cooking lessons. I feel a spark of delight. What a perfect way to fill the day! I press
reply and quickly text:

Would love to. Thanks, Sam

I send it with a little smile. This is fun. A minute or two later, the phone bleeps again.

What time? Is 11 too early? Nat

I look at my watch. Eleven oclock is still two and a half hours away. Two and a half hours
with nothing to do except avoid Trish and Eddie. I press reply.

Shall we make it 10? Sam

//hr

At five to ten Im ready in the hall. Nathaniels mothers house is nearby but apparently
tricky to find, so the plan is to meet here and hell walk me over. I check my reflection
in the hall mirror and wince. The streak of bleach in my hair is as obvious as ever. Am I

really going out in public like this? I push my hair backward and forward a few times but
I cant hide it. Maybe I could walk along with my hand carelessly positioned at my head, as
if Im thinking hard. I attempt a few casual, pensive poses in the mirror.

Is your head all right?

I swivel round in shock to see Nathaniel at the open door, wearing a plaid shirt and jeans.

Er... fine, I say, my hand still glued to my head. I was just...

Oh, theres no point. I bring my hand down from my hair and Nathaniel regards the streak
for a moment.

It looks nice, he says. Like a badger.

A badger ? I say, affronted. I dont look like a badger.

Badgers are beautiful creatures, says Nathaniel with a shrug. Id rather look like a badger
than a stoat.

Hang on. Since when was my choice between badger and stoat? How did we get onto this
subject, anyway?

Perhaps we should go, I say with dignity, then pick up my bag and give one last glance in
the mirror.

OK. Maybe I look a little bit like a badger.

The summer air is already warming up outside, and as we walk down the gravel drive I sniff
appreciatively. Theres some sort of nice flowery smell that I definitely recognize...

Honeysuckle and jasmine! I exclaim in sudden recognition. I have the Jo Malone bath oil at
home.

Honeysuckle on the wall. Nathaniel points to a tangle of tiny pale-yellow flowers on the
old stone wall bordering the drive. Put it in a year ago.

I peer up at the delicate flowers with interest. Thats what real honeysuckle looks like?
Theres no jasmine around here, though, he says, curiously. Can you smell it? Er... I
spread my hands vaguely. Maybe not. I dont think Ill mention my Jo Malone bath oil at this
point. Or, in fact, at any point.

As we turn out of the drive I realize this is the first time Ive been out of the Geigers
grounds since I arrived here apart from the shopping trip with Trish, when we turned in
the opposite direction. And anyway, I was too busy scrabbling for her Celine Dion CD to
notice my surroundings. Nathaniel has turned left and is striding easily along the road
but I cant move. Im gazing at the sight in front of me, my jaw wide open. This village is
absolutely stunning .

I had no idea.

I look around, taking in the old, honey-colored stone walls, the rows of ancient cottages
with steeply pitched roofs, the little river lined with willow trees. Up ahead is the pub
I noticed on the first night, decorated with hanging baskets. I can hear the distant
clip-clop of horses hooves. Nothing jars. Everything is soft and mellow and feels like its
been here for hundreds of years.

Samantha?

Nathaniel has finally noticed Im pinned to the spot.

Im sorry. I hurry to join him. Its just such a beautiful place!

Its nice. I can hear a note of pride in his voice. Gets too many tourists, but...