The Undomestic Goddess - Sophie Kinsella

Trish is probably in her late forties too, I think, glimpsing her crow’s feet as she turns away from the window.

“Lovely garden,” I say.

“Oh.” Her eyes sweep over it without much interest. “Yes, our gardener is very good. Has all sorts of ideas. Now, sit down!” She makes a flapping motion with her hands and, feeling a little awkward, I sit down on a lounger. Trish sinks into a basket chair opposite and drains her cocktail.

“Can you make a good Bloody Mary?” she asks abruptly.

I stare at her, bewildered.

“No matter.” She drags on her cigarette. “I can teach you.”

“Teach me… ?”

“How’s your head?” she demands before I’m able to finish. “Better? Ah, here’s Eddie!”

“Greetings!” The door opens and Mr. Geiger comes into the conservatory. He doesn’t look quite as impressive close up as he did striding over the lawn. His blue eyes are a little bloodshot, and he has the beginnings of a beer belly.

“Eddie Geiger,” he says, holding out his hand jovially. “Master of the house.”

“Eddie, this is…” Trish looks at me in surprise. “What’s your name?”

“Samantha,” I explain. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but I had the most terrible headache…”

“I gave Samantha some of those wonderful migraine tablets!” puts in Trish.

“Good choice!” Eddie unscrews a Scotch bottle and pours himself a drink.

“I’m very grateful, really.” I manage a half smile. “You’ve been very kind, letting me trespass on your evening.”

“Her English is good, isn’t it?” Eddie raises his eyebrows at Trish.

“She’s English!” says Trish triumphantly, as though she’s pulled a rabbit out of a hat. “Understands everything I say!”

I am really not getting something here. Do I look foreign?

“Shall we do the tour of the house?” Eddie turns to Trish.

“Really, it’s not necessary,” I begin. “I’m sure it’s absolutely beautiful—”

“Of course it’s necessary!” Trish stubs out her cigarette. “Come on… bring your glass!”

This woman cannot have a life. All she seems interested in is housework. As we trail round the first floor, viewing one splendid room after another, she keeps pointing out things that need special dusting and polishing, and how careful you have to be with the soft furnishings. I’m sure silk drapes do need special treatment—but why tell me?

“Now upstairs!” She sweeps out of the dining room.

Oh, God. There’s more?

“You come from London, Samantha?” says Eddie Geiger as we head up the stairs. A huge oil painting of Trish in a long blue evening dress with astonishingly sparkly eyes and teeth gazes down at us, and I can see the real Trish waiting for a reaction.

“Yes, I do. That’s a… lovely painting,” I add. “So vivid!”

“We were rather pleased with it.” Trish looks complacent.

“And you have a full-time job there?” I’m sure Eddie’s only asking to be polite—but for a few moments I can’t bring myself to answer. Do I have a job?

“I did,” I say at last. “To be honest… I don’t know what my situation is at the moment.”

“What sort of hours did you work?” Trish seems suddenly interested in the conversation.

“All hours.” I shrug. “I’m used to working all day and into the night. Through the night, sometimes.”

The Geigers look absolutely stunned at this revelation. People just have no idea what the life of a lawyer is like.

“You used to work through the night?” Trish seems stupefied. “On your own?

“Me and the other staff. Whoever was needed.”

“So you come from… a big setup?”

“One of the biggest in London.”

Trish and Eddie are darting glances at each other. They really are the oddest people.

“Well, we’re far more relaxed, you’ll be glad to hear!” Trish pushes open a door. “This is the master bedroom… the second bedroom…”

As we walk down the corridor she opens and closes doors and shows me fourposter beds and swishy curtains and matching upholstered ottomans, until my head swims. I don’t know if it’s too much floral wallpaper or whatever was in those migraine pills—but I’m feeling more lightheaded by the minute.

“The green bedroom… As you will know, we don’t have children or pets…

Are you a smoker?” Trish suddenly demands.

“Urn… no. Thanks.”

“Not that we mind either way.”

We descend a small flight of stairs and I grab on to the wall to keep myself steady.

“Are you all right?” Eddie catches my arm.

“I think those tablets were a bit strong…” I mumble.

“They can be.” Trish gives me a considering look. “You haven’t drunk any alcohol today, have you?”

“Er… well, yes…”

“Aaah.” She pulls a face. “Well, maybe you should have a

: little rest before you leave. What a good thing we’ve come to the staff accommodation!“ She opens the last door with a flourish.

All the rooms in this house are huge. This one is about the size of my flat, with pale walls and stone mullioned windows overlooking the garden. It has the plainest bed I’ve seen yet in this house, vast and square and made up with crisp white bed linen.

I fight a sudden, almost overwhelming urge to lie down on it and sink into oblivion.

“Lovely,” I say politely. “It’s… a gorgeous room.”

“Good!” Eddie smacks his hands together. “Well, Samantha. I’d say you’ve got the job!”

I look at him dumbly.

Job?

“Eddie!” snaps Trish. “You can’t just offer her the job! We haven’t finished the interview!”

Interview?

“We haven’t even given her a full job description!” Trish is still laying into Eddie. “We haven’t been through any of the details!”

“Well, go through the details, then!” retorts Eddie. Trish shoots him a look of fury and clears her throat.