The Undomestic Goddess (26 page)

Thats why you wouldnt have me to stay.

But I dont say anything out loud. I really dont want to get into it. Its history.

Fine, I say at last. Whatever.

We start walking along the corridor together, Guy still engrossed in the Blackberry. God,
hes addicted to that thing, I think with slight irritation.

So where the hell did you disappear to? At last he stops tapping. What have you been doing
all this time? Youre not really a waitress ?

No. I cant help smiling at his expression. Im not. Ive got a job. I knew youd get snapped
up. He nods with satisfaction. Whos employed you? Oh... no one youd know.

Youre in the same area, though? He puts his Blackberry away. Doing the same kind of work?

I have a sudden vision of me in my blue nylon overall, mopping Trishs bathroom floor.

Er... as it happens, not really. Somehow I keep a straight face. Guy seems surprised.

But youre still in banking law, right? Dont tell me youve made a complete change? He
suddenly looks galvanized. You havent gone into commercial law, have you?

Um, no... not commercial law. Id better go. I cut him off and open the door to the
interview room. See you later.

I eat my sandwiches, I drink my mineral water. For half an hour no one disturbs me. I feel
a bit like Im in quarantine for some deadly illness. They could have given me some
magazines, at least. Ive developed quite a habit for gossip, after being surrounded by
Trishs endless supply of Heat and Hello !

At last I hear a knock at the door and Ketterman comes in. Samantha. We would like to see
you in the boardroom. The boardroom ?

I follow Ketterman down the corridors, aware of the nudges and whisperings from everyone
we pass. He opens the huge double doors to the boardroom and I walk in to see about half
the partners standing there, waiting for me. Theres silence as Ketterman closes the doors.
I glance at Guy, who grins back encouragingly but says nothing.

Am I supposed to speak? Did I miss the instructions? Ketterman has joined the group of
partners. Now he turns to face me.

Samantha. As you know, an investigation of... recent events is under way. The results have
not yet been fully determined. He breaks off, looking tense, and I can see some of the
others exchanging sober looks. However, we have come to one conclusion. You were...
wronged.

Im stupefied. Hes admitting it? Getting a lawyer to admit theyve made a mistake is like getting a movie star to admit
they had liposuction.

Im sorry? I say, just to force him to repeat it.

You were wronged. Ketterman frowns, clearly not enjoying this part of the conversation at
all. I almost want to laugh.

I was... wrong? I hazard, looking puzzled.

Wronged! he snaps. Wronged!

Oh, wronged . Well, thank you. I smile politely. I appreciate that.

Theyll probably offer me some kind of bonus, it crosses my mind. A luxury gift basket. Or
even a holiday.

And therefore Ketterman pauses. We would like to offer you full equity partnership in the
firm. Effective immediately.

Im so shocked I nearly sit down on the floor. Full equity partnership ?

I open my mouthbut I cant speak. I feel winded. I look around helplessly, like a fish on
the end of a line. Full equity partnership is the highest pinnacle, way above the first
rung of partnership. Its the most prestigious job in law. I never, ever, ever expected that.

Welcome back, Samantha, says Greg Parker.

Welcome back, chime in a few others. David Elldridge gives me a warm smile. Guy gives me
the thumbs-up.

We have some champagne. Ketterman nods to Guy, who opens the double doors. The next moment
two waitresses from the partners dining room are coming in with trays of champagne
glasses. Someone puts one in my hand.

This is all going too fast.

Er... excuse me? I call out. I havent actually said if Ill accept it.

The whole room seems to freeze, like a videotape on pause.

Im sorry? Ketterman turns to me.

Oh, God. Im not sure theyre going to take this very well.

The thing is... I break off and take a sip of champagne for Dutch courage, trying to work
out how to put this tactfully.

Ive been thinking about it all day, over and over. Being a partner at Carter Spink is the
dream Ive had all my adult life. The glittering prize. Its everything I ever wanted...

Except all the things I never knew I wanted. Things I had no idea about until a few weeks
ago. Like fresh air. Like evenings off. Unburdened weekends. Making plans with friends.
Sitting in the pub after my work is done, drinking cider, with nothing to do, nothing
hanging over me.

Even if theyre offering me full equity partnership, it doesnt change the way I feel. It
doesnt change me. Mrs. Farley was right: Ive blossomed. Im not a husk anymore.

Why would I go back to being a husk?

I clear my throat.

Its a tremendous honor to be offered such an amazing opportunity, I say earnestly. And Im
very grateful. Truly. However... the reason I came back wasnt to get my job back. It was
to clear my name. To prove that I didnt make a mistake. I cant help shooting a look at
Guy. The truth is, since leaving Carter Spink Ive... well... moved on. I have a job. Which
I very much enjoy. So I wont be taking up your offer.

Theres a stunned silence.

Thank you, I add again, politely. And... er... thanks for the champagne.

Is she serious ? says someone at the back. Ketterman and Elldridge are exchanging frowns.

Samantha, says Ketterman, coming forward. You may have found opportunities elsewhere. But
you are a Carter Spink lawyer. This is where you trained, this is where you belong.

If its a question of salary, adds Elldridge, Im sure we can match whatever youre currently
He glances at Guy. Which law firm has she gone to?

Wherever you are, Ill speak to the senior partner, says Ketterman in a businesslike way.
The personnel director... whoever would be appropriate. Well sort this out. If you give me
a number. Hes taking out his Blackberry.

My mouth twists. I desperately want to laugh.

There isnt a personnel director, I explain. Or a senior partner.

There isnt a senior partner? Ketterman looks impatient. How can there not be a senior
partner?

I never said I was working as a lawyer.

Its as if Ive said I think the world is flat. I have never seen so many flummoxed faces in
my life.

Youre... not working as a lawyer? says Elldridge at last. What are you working as, then?

I was hoping it wouldnt come to this. But on the other hand, why shouldnt they know?

Im working as a housekeeper. I smile.

Housekeeper? Elldridge peers at me. Is that the new jargon for troubleshooter? I cant
keep up with these ridiculous job titles.

Youre on the compliance side? says Ketterman. Is that what you mean?

No, its not what I mean, I say patiently. Im a housekeeper. I make beds. I cook meals. Im
a domestic.

God, I wish I had a camera. Their faces .

Youre literally... a housekeeper ? stutters Elldridge at last.

Uh-huh. I look at my watch. And Im fulfilled and Im relaxed and Im happy. In fact, I
should be getting back. Thank you, I add to Ketterman. For listening to me. Youre the only
one who did.

Youre turning down our offer? says Oliver Swan incredulously. Im turning down your offer.
I give an apologetic shrug. Sorry. Bye, everyone.

As I head out of the room I feel slightly wobbly about the legs. And slightly manic
inside. I turned it down. I turned down full equity partnership of Carter Spink.

What the hell is my mother going to say?

The thought makes me want to burst into hysterical laughter.

I feel too keyed up to wait for the lift, so I head down the stairwell, clattering down
the cold stone steps.

Samantha! Guys voice suddenly echoes above me. Oh, honestly. What does he want? Im going!
I yell back. Leave me alone! You cant go!

I can hear him accelerating down the steps, so I pick up speed myself. Ive said my piece

what more is there to talk about? My shoes are clacking on the steps as I tear down,
gripping on the handrail for balance. But even so, Guys gaining on me.

Samantha, this is crazy!

No, its not!

I cant let you ruin your career out of... out of... pique! he calls, and I wheel round
indignantly, nearly falling down the stairs.

Im not doing this out of pique!

I know youre angry with us all! Guy joins me on the staircase, breathing hard. Im sure it
makes you feel really good to turn us down, to say youre working as a housekeeper

I am working as a housekeeper! I retort. And Im not turning you down because Im angry. Im
turning you down because I dont want the job.

Samantha, you wanted partnership more than anything else in the world! Guy grabs my arm. I
know you did! Youve worked for it for all these years. You cant throw it away! Its too
valuable.

What if I dont value it anymore? Its been less than two months! Everything cant have
changed! It has. I have. Guy shakes his head in disbelief. Youre really serious about the housekeeper thing.
Im really serious, I snap. Whats wrong with being a housekeeper?

Oh, for Gods He stops himself. Look, Samantha, come upstairs. Well talk about it. The
human-resources department has come on board. You lost your job...you were badly
treated... its no wonder you cant think straight. Theyre suggesting counseling.

I dont need counseling! I turn on my heel and start down the stairs again. Just because I
dont want to be a lawyer, what, Im crazy ?

I reach the bottom of the stairwell and burst into the foyer with Guy in hot pursuit.
Hilary Grant, head of PR, is sitting on a leather sofa with some red-suited woman I dont
recognize, and they both look up in surprise.

Samantha you cannot do this! Guy is shouting after me as he emerges into the foyer. You
are one of the most talented lawyers I know. I cannot let you turn down partnership

to be a fucking... housekeeper .

Why not, if its what I want to do? I come to a halt on the marble and spin round to face
him. Guy... Ive found out what its like to have a life! Ive found out what its like not working every weekend. Not feeling pressure all the time. And...I like it!

Guy isnt listening to a word I say. He doesnt even want to understand.

Youre going to stand there and tell me you prefer cleaning loos to being a partner at
Carter Spink? His face is flushed with outrage.

Yes! I say defiantly. Yes, I do!

Whos that? says the woman in the red suit with interest.

Samantha, youre making the biggest mistake of your entire existence! Guys voice follows me
as I reach the glass doors. If you walk out now

I dont wait to hear any more. Im out the door. Down the steps. Gone.

Youre making the biggest mistake of your entire existence. As I sit on the train back to
Gloucestershire, Guys words keep ringing in my ears.

Once upon a time, just that thought would have sent me into a tailspin. But not anymore.
He has no idea.

If Ive learned one lesson from all thats happened to me, its that there is no such thing as the biggest mistake of your existence. Theres no such thing as ruining
your life. Lifes a pretty resilient thing, it turns out.

When I arrive atLower Ebury I head straight to the pub. Nathaniel is behind the bar,
wearing a chambray shirt Ive never seen before, talking to Eamonn. For a few moments I
just watch him from the doorway. His strong hands; the slant of his neck; the way his brow
furrows as he nods. I can tell at once he disagrees with whatever Eamonn is saying. But
hes waiting, wanting to be tactful about making his point. He knows how people work.

As if he can sense me watching him, he looks up and his face jolts. He smiles in
welcomebut I can see the tension underneath. This last couple of days cant have been easy
for him. Maybe he thought Id get suckered in to my old relationship, that I wasnt coming
back.

A roar goes up from the dartboard. Bill, a local farmer Ive gotten to know, turns and
spots me walking toward the bar.

Samantha! he shouts. At last! We need you on our team!

In a sec! I call over my shoulder. Hi, I say as I reach Nathaniel. Nice shirt.

Hi, he says casually. Good trip?

Not bad. I nod. Nathaniel lifts up the bar for me to come through, his eyes searching my
face as though for clues.

So... is it over? Yes. I put my arms around him and hug him tight. Its over. And at that
moment, I truly believe it is.

Nothing happens until lunchtime the next day.

I make the breakfast for Trish and Eddie as usual. I hoover and dust as usual. Then I put
on Iriss apron, get out the chopping board, and start squeezing oranges. Im going to make
bitter chocolate and orange mousse for the charity lunch tomorrow. Were going to serve it
on a bed of crystallized orange slices, and each plate is going to be garnished with a
real silver-leaf angel from a Christmas-decoration catalog.

This was Trishs idea. As are the angels hanging from the ceiling.

How are we doing? Trish comes tapping into the kitchen, looking flustered. Have you made
the mousses yet?

Not yet, I say, briskly squeezing an orange. Mrs. Geiger, dont worry. Its all under
control.

Do you know what Ive been through, the last few days? She clutches her head. More and more people keep accepting.
Ive had to change the seating plan...

Itll be fine, I say soothingly. Try to relax.

Yes. She sighs, holding her head between two lacquered fingernails. Youre right. Ill just
go and check the goody bags...

I cannot believe how much Trish is spending on this lunch. Every time I question whether
we really need to canopy the dining room in white silk or give every guest an orchid
buttonhole, she shrills, Its all in a good cause!

Which reminds me of something Ive been meaning to ask her for quite a while now.

Er... Mrs. Geiger, I say casually. Are you charging your guests for entrance to the lunch?

Oh, no! she says. I think thats rather tacky , dont you?

Are you holding a raffle?

I dont think so. She wrinkles her nose. People loathe raffles.

I hardly dare ask this next question.

So... um... how exactly are you planning on making money for Save The Children?

Theres silence in the kitchen. Trish has frozen, her eyes wide.

Bugger , she says at last.

I knew it. She hadnt given it a thought. Somehow I manage to keep my respectful
housekeepers expression.

Perhaps we could ask for voluntary donations? I suggest. We could hand round a little bag
with the coffee and mints?

Yes.Yes. Trish peers at me as though Im a genius. Thats the answer. She exhales sharply. This is really very stressful, Samantha. I dont know how
you stay so calm.

Oh... I dont know. I feel a sudden wave of fondness for her. When I arrived back at the
house last night it was like coming home. Even though Trish had left a mountain of dirty
crockery on the counter for my return, and a note saying, Samantha, please polish all silver for luncheon .

Trish heads out of the kitchen and I start whisking up egg whites for the mousse. Then I
notice a man sidling down the drive. Hes wearing jeans and an old polo shirt and has a
camera slung round his neck. He disappears from view and I frown in puzzlement. Maybe hes
a deliveryman. I measure out the caster sugar, with half an ear out for the doorbell, and
start folding it into the egg whites, just the way Iris taught me. Then suddenly the man
is standing at the kitchen door, peering in through the window.

Im not ruining my mixture for some door-to-door salesman. He can wait a few moments. I
finish folding in the sugarthen head to the door and open it.

Can I help? I say politely.

Are you Samantha Sweeting? he says, glancing down at a folded-up tabloid newspaper in his
hand.

I look back at him warily. Why?

Im from the Cheltenham Gazette . He flashes an ID card at me. Im after an exclusive interview with you. Why I Chose the
Cotswolds as My Secret Hideaway. That kind of thing.

I look at him blankly for a few seconds.

Er... what are you talking about?

You havent seen it? He looks surprised. Havent your friends been on the phone?

No. At least, I dont know, I say, confused. My mobile phones upstairs in my bedroom. If it
has been ringing, I havent heard it.

I take it this is you? He turns the newspaper round and my stomach seizes up.

Its a picture of me. In the Daily World . A national tabloid.

Its my official Carter Spink portrait. Im wearing a black suit and my hair is screwed up.
Above it, in bold black letters, is the headline: ID RATHER CLEAN LOOS THAN BE A PARTNER
AT CARTER SPINK.

What the hell is going on? With trembling hands I grab the paper from the guy and scan the
text.

They are the Masters of the Universe, the envy of their peers. Top law firm Carter Spink
is the most prestigious in the country. But yesterday one young woman turned down a
high-ranking post as partner in order to work as a humble housekeeper.

GET A LIFE

Partners were left with egg on their faces as star £500-an-hour lawyer Samantha

Sweeting rejected their offer, which carried a substantial six-figure salary. Having
previously been fired, the high-flyer apparently uncovered a financial scandal at the
firm. However, when offered full equity partnership, Sweeting cited the pressure and lack
of free time as reason for her decision.

Ive got used to having a life, she said, as partners begged her to stay.

A former Carter Spink employee who declined to be named confirmed the brutal working
conditions of the legal firm. They expect you to sell your soul, he said. I had to resign
from stress. No wonder she prefers manual labor.

A spokeswoman for Carter Spink defended the firms practices. We are a flexible, modern
firm with a sympathetic working ethos. We would like to talk to Samantha about her views
and would certainly not expect employees to sell their soul.

VANISHED

She confirmed that Ms. Sweetings job offer is still open and Carter Spink partners are
anxious to talk to her. However, in a further extraordinary twist, this modern-day
Cinderella has not been seen since running away from the offices.

WHERE IS SHE?

See comment, page 34.

I peer at it in a daze. See comment? Theres more ? With fumbling hands I turn to page 34.

THE PRICE OF SUCCESS-TOO HIGH?

A high-flying lawyer with everything ahead of her gives up a six-figure salary and turns
to domestic drudgery instead. What does this story say about todays high-pressure

society? Are our career women being pushed too hard? Are they burning out? Does this
extraordinary story herald the start of a new trend?

One thing is for certain. Only Samantha Sweeting can answer.

I stare at the page, numb. How didwhat did How ? A flash interrupts me and I lift my head to see the guy pointing his camera at me. Stop!
I say, putting my hands up in front of my face.

Can I have a picture of you holding a toilet brush, love? he says, zooming his lens in. It
was a waitress inCheltenham pointed me in the right direction. Reckoned shed worked with
you. Quite a scoop! The camera flashes again and I flinch.

No! You... youve made a mistake! I shove the paper back at him in a mess of pages. My
names Sarah. Im not a lawyer. Whatever that waitress said... she was wrong.

The journalist looks at me suspiciously, and down at the photo again. I can see a flicker
of doubt cross his face. I do look fairly different now from the way I did then, with my
blond hair and everything.

Please leave, I say. My employers wont like it. I wait until he steps off the doorstep,
then slam the door shut and turn the key. Then I pull the curtain across the window and
lean back against the door, my heart thudding. Fuck. Fuck. What am I going to do?

OK. The important thing is not to panic. The important thing is to stay rational.

On the one hand, my entire past has been exposed in a national tabloid. On the other hand,
Trish and Eddie dont read that particular tabloid. Or the CheltenhamGazette . Its one silly story in one silly paper and it will die away by tomorrow. Theres no
reason to tell them anything. Theres no need to rock the boat. Ill just carry on making my
chocolate-orange mousses as though nothing has happened. Yes. Total denial is the way
forward.

Feeling slightly better, I reach for the chocolate and start breaking chunks into a glass
bowl.

Samantha! Who was that? Trish pokes her head round the door.

No one. I look up with a fixed smile. Nothing. Why dont I make you a cup of coffee and
bring it out to the garden?

Keep calm. Denial. Itll all be fine.

OK. Denials not going to work, because there are three more journalists in the drive.

Its twenty minutes later. Ive abandoned my chocolate mousses and am peering out the hall
window in rising dismay. Two blokes and a girl have appeared out of nowhere. They all have
cameras and are chatting to the guy in the polo shirt, whos gesticulating toward the
kitchen. Occasionally one of them breaks off and takes a shot of the house. Any minute one
of them is going to ring the doorbell.

I cannot let this develop. I need a new plan. I need...

Diversion. Yes. At least it might buy me some time.

I head to the front door, grabbing one of Trishs floppy straw hats on the way. Then I
cautiously step outside and make my way down the gravel drive to the entrance, where the
four journalists crowd around me.

Are you Samantha Sweeting? says one, thrusting a tape recorder in my face.

Do you regret turning down partnership? demands another.

My names Sarah, I say, keeping my head down. Youve got the wrong girl. Kindly leave the
premises at once.

I wait for the stampede, but no one moves.

Youve all made a mistake! I try again. If you dont leave... Ill call the police.

One of the journalists peers under the brim of Irishs hat. Its her, he says scornfully.
Ned, its her! Come over here!

Shes there! Shes come out!

Its her!

I hear voices from across the streetand, aghast, I see another load of journalists
suddenly appear, hurrying down the road toward the gates, bearing cameras and Dictaphones.

Fuck. Where did they come from?

Ms. Sweeting, Angus Watts. Daily Express . Black-glasses guy lifts up his microphone. Do you have a message for young women of
today?

Do you really enjoy cleaning toilets? chimes in someone else, snapping a camera in my
face. What brand of toilet cleaner do you use?

Stop it! I say, flustered. Leave me alone! I haul at the iron gates until theyre closed,
then turn and run up the drive, into the house and into the kitchen.

What am I going to do? What?

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirrored fridge. My face is flushed and my expression
wild. Im also still wearing Trishs floppy straw hat.

I grab it off my head and dump it on the table, just as Trish comes into the kitchen. Shes
holding a book called Your Elegant Luncheon Party and an empty coffee cup.

Do you know whats going on, Samantha? she says. There seems a bit of a commotion outside in the road.

Is there? I say. I... I hadnt noticed.

It looks like a protest. She wrinkles her brow. I do hope theyre not still there tomorrow.
Protesters are so selfish ... Her eye falls on the counter. Havent you finished the mousses yet? Samantha, really!
What have you been doing ?

Um... nothing! I reach for the bowl and start doling out chocolate mixture into molds. Im
just getting on with them, Mrs. Geiger.

I feel like Im in some kind of parallel reality. Everythings going to come out. Its a
matter of time. What do I do?

Have you seen this protest? Trish demands as Eddie saunters into the kitchen. Outside our gates! I
think we should tell them to move on.

Its not a protest, he says, opening the fridge and peering inside. Its journalists.

Journalists ? Trish peers at him. What on earth would journalists be doing here?

Maybe we have a new celebrity neighbor? suggests Eddie, pouring his beer into a glass. At
once Trish claps her hand over her mouth.

Joanna Lumley! I heard a rumor she was buying in the village! Samantha, have you heard anything about this?

I... er... no, I mumble, my face burning. I have to say something. But what? Where do I
start?

Samantha, I need this shirt ironed by tonight. Melissa comes wandering into the kitchen,
holding a sleeveless print shirt. And be really careful with the collar, OK? Whats going
on outside?

Nobody knows, says Trish, looking beside herself. But we think its Joanna Lumley!

Suddenly the doorbell rings. For a moment I consider bolting out the back door.

I wonder if thats them! exclaims Trish. Eddie, go and answer it. Samantha, put on some
coffee. She looks at me in impatience. Come on!

I need to explain but Im totally paralyzed.

Samantha? She peers at me. Are you all right?

With an almighty effort I look up.

Urn... Mrs. Geiger... My voice comes out a nervous husk. Theres... theres something... I
ought to

Melissa! Eddies voice interrupts me.Hes hurrying into the kitchen, a huge smile spread
across his face. Melissa, love! They want you!

Me ? Melissa looks up in surprise. What do you mean, Uncle Eddie? Its the Daily Mail . They want to interview you! Eddie turns to Trish, glowing with

pride. Did you know that our Melissa has one of the finest legal brains in the country?
Oh, no. Oh, no. What? Trish nearly drops her copy of Your Elegant Luncheon Party .

Thats what they said! Eddie nods. They said it might come as quite a surprise to me to
learn we had such a highflying lawyer in the house. I said, nonsense! He puts an arm
around Melissa. Weve always known you were a star!

Mrs. Geiger... I say urgently. No one takes any notice of me. It must be that prize I won
at law school! They must have heard about it somehow!

Melissa is gasping. Oh, my God! The Daily Mail ! They want to take photos too! puts in Eddie. They want an exclusive! I need to put on
some makeup! Melissa looks totally flustered. How do I look? Here we are! Trish wrenches
open her handbag. Heres some mascara... and

lipstick...

I have to stop this. I have to break it to them.