The Undomestic Goddess

“Oh!” I say in surprise, and grab my phone. “I should get this. Excuse me.”

I flip it open and immediately hear Ketterman’s voice in my ear.

“Samantha.”

I spend three hours at the Carter Spink offices, talking in turn to a man from the Law Society, two of the senior partners, and a guy from Third Union Bank. By the time we finish I feel drained from repeating the same things over and over to the same carefully blank faces. The office lights are making my head ache. I’d forgotten how airless and dry the atmosphere is here.

I still haven’t worked out exactly what’s going on. Lawyers are so bloody discreet. I know someone’s been to see Arnold at his home and that’s about it. But even if no one’s going to admit it, I know I was right. I’ve been vindicated.

After the last interview, a plate of sandwiches is brought to the small conference room I’m in, together with a bottle of mineral water and a muffin. I get to my feet, stretch out my arms, and wander over to the window. I feel like a prisoner in here. There’s a tapping at the door and Ketterman comes into the room.

“Have we finished yet?” I say.

“We may need to speak to you again.” He gestures to the sandwiches. “Have something to eat.”

I cannot stay in this room a moment longer. I have to stretch my legs, at least.

“I’ll just go and freshen up first,” I say, and hurry out of the room before he can object.

As I enter the Ladies, all the women in there stop talking immediately. I disappear into a cubicle and hear the sound of excited whisperings and murmurings outside. As I come out again, not one person has left the room. I can feel all the eyes on me, like sunlamps.

“So are you back now, Samantha?” says an associate called Lucy.

“Is it true you were a waitress?” chimes in a secretary from Litigation.

“Not exactly.” I turn away to the sink, feeling self-conscious.

“You look so different,” says another girl.

“Your arms!” says Lucy as I wash my hands. “They’re so brown. And toned. Have you been to a spa?”

“Er … no.” I pull down some paper towel. “But thanks. So, how’s life been here?”

“Good.” Lucy nods a few times. “Really busy. Clocked up sixty-six billable hours last week. Two all-nighters.”

“I had three,” puts in another girl. I can see the pride in her face. And the dark gray shadows under her eyes. Is that what I used to look like? All pale and strained and tense?

“Great!” I say politely, drying my hands. “Well, I’d better get back now. See you.”

I exit the Ladies and am walking back to the conference room, lost in my own thoughts, when I hear a voice.

“Oh, my God, Samantha?”

“Guy?” I look up in shock to see him hurrying down the corridor toward me, his smile even more dazzling than ever.

I wasn’t expecting to see Guy here. In fact, I feel a bit thrown by the sight of him.

“Wow.” He grips my shoulders tightly and scans my face. “You look fantastic.”

“I thought you were in Hong Kong.”

“Got back this morning. I’ve just been briefed on the situation. Bloody hell, Samantha, it’s incredible.” He lowers his voice. “Only you could work all that out. Arnold, of all people. I was shell-shocked. Everyone is. Those who know,” he adds, lowering his voice still further. “Obviously it’s not out yet.”

“I don’t even know what the ‘situation’ is,” I reply, with a touch of resentment. “No one’s telling me anything.”

“Well, they will.” Guy reaches into his pocket, gets out his BlackBerry, and squints at it. “You are flavor of the month right now. I knew it all along.” He looks up. “I knew you could never make a mistake.”

What? How can he say that?

“No, you didn’t,” I reply at last, finding my words. “No, you didn’t. If you remember, you said I’d made errors. You said I was ‘unreliable.’ ”

I can feel all the old hurt and humiliation starting to rise again and look away.

“I said other people had said you made errors.” Guy pauses in tapping at his BlackBerry and looks up, frowning. “Shit, Samantha. I did stand up for you. I was on your side. Ask anyone!”

That’s why you wouldn’t have me to stay.

But I don’t say anything out loud. I really don’t want to get into it. It’s history.

“Fine,” I say at last. “Whatever.”

We start walking along the corridor together, Guy still engrossed in the BlackBerry. God, he’s addicted to that thing, I think with slight irritation.