The Undomestic Goddess

“It’ll be different this time! I’ll keep a balance. They really want me to come back, they’ll listen to what I want—”

“Who are you kidding?” Nathaniel grips my shoulders. “Samantha, they don’t give a shit about you! Can’t you see that? It’ll be the same stress, the same lifestyle—”

I feel a sudden surge of anger toward him for not understanding; for not supporting me.

“Well, at least I tried something new!” My words pour out in a torrent. “At least I went out and tried a different life for a bit!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” His grasp loosens in shock.

“It means, what have you ever tried, Nathaniel?” I know I sound shrill and aggressive but I can’t help myself. “You’re so narrow-minded! You live in the same village you grew up in, you run the family business, you’re buying a nursery down the road … you’re practically still in the womb. So before you lecture me on the way to live my life, try living one of your own, OK?”

I break off, panting, to see Nathaniel looking as though I’ve slapped him.

“I … didn’t mean it,” I mumble.

I take a few steps away, feeling near to tears. This isn’t the way things were supposed to go. Nathaniel was supposed to support me and give me a hug and tell me I was making the right decision. Instead here we are, standing yards apart, not even looking at each other.

“I thought about spreading my wings.” Nathaniel suddenly speaks, his voice stiff. “There’s a nursery in Cornwall I’d die to own. Fantastic piece of land, fantastic business—but I didn’t look at it. I preferred not to be six hours away from you.” He shrugs. “I guess you’re right. That was pretty narrow-minded of me.”

I don’t know how to reply. For a while there’s silence, except for the cooing of pigeons down at the end of the garden. It is the most spectacular evening, I suddenly realize. Evening sun is slanting through the willow tree and the grass smells sweet underneath my feet.

“Nathaniel … I have to go back.” My voice isn’t quite steady. “I don’t have any choice. But we can still be together. The two of us. We can still make it work. We’ll have holidays … weekends … I’ll come back for Eamonn’s party … You won’t know I’ve gone!”

He’s silent for a moment, fiddling with the handle of the bucket. When at last he looks up, his expression makes my heart hurt.

“Yeah,” he says in a quiet voice. “I will.”

Twenty-five

The news makes the front page of the Daily Mail. I am a genuine celebrity. samantha chooses law over loos. As I come into the kitchen the next morning, Trish is poring over it, with Eddie reading another copy.

“Trish’s interview has been printed!” he announces. “Look!”

“ ‘I always knew Samantha was a cut above the average housekeeper,’ says Trish Geiger, thirty-seven” reads out Trish proudly. “ ‘We often discussed philosophy and ethics together over the Hoover.’ ”

She looks up and her face changes. “Samantha, are you all right? You look absolutely washed out.”

“I didn’t sleep that well,” I admit, and flip on the kettle.

I spent the night at Nathaniel’s. We cooked mushroom omelets together and watched the end of an old war movie and had slow, tender sex. We didn’t talk any more about my going. But at three o’clock, when I looked over at him, he was awake too, staring up at the ceiling.

“You need energy!” says Trish, perturbed. “It’s your big day! You need to look your best!”

“I will.” I try to smile. “I just need a cup of coffee.”

It’s going to be a huge day. The Carter Spink PR department swung into action as soon as I made my decision and has turned my return into a full media event. There’s going to be a big press conference at lunchtime in front of the Geigers’ house, where I’ll say how delighted I am to be going back to Carter Spink. Several of the partners are going to shake my hand for the photographers and I’ll give a few short interviews. And then we’re all going back to London on the train.

“So,” says Eddie as I spoon coffee into the pot. “All packed up?”

“Pretty much. And Mrs. Geiger … here.” I hand Trish the blue uniform, which I’ve been carrying, folded, under my arm. “It’s clean and pressed. Ready for your next housekeeper.”

As Trish takes the uniform she looks suddenly stricken. “Of course,” she says, her voice jumpy. “Thank you, Samantha.” She clasps a napkin to her eyes.