The Undomestic Goddess

“Samantha, I’ll do everything I can,” he says at last. “I might as well tell you, a meeting has been arranged this morning to discuss your future.”

“And you honestly don’t think I should come in?” I bite my lip.

“It might do more harm than good at the moment. Stay where you are. Leave the rest to me.” Arnold hesitates, his voice a little gruff. “I’ll do my best, Samantha. I promise.”

“Thank you so much …” I say quickly. But he’s gone. Slowly I put down the phone.

I have never felt so powerless in my life. I have a sudden vision of them all sitting gravely round a conference table. Arnold. Ketterman. Maybe even Guy. Deciding whether to give me another break.

There’s still a chance. If Arnold is on my side, others might be too.…

“Super girl.”

I jump at the sound of Trish’s approaching voice. “Well, of course I’ll check her references, but, Gillian, I am a very good judge of character. I’m not easily fooled.…”

Trish rounds the corner, holding a mobile to her ear, and I quickly move away from the telephone.

“Samantha!” she says in surprise. “What are you doing? Still not dressed? Buck up!” She heads off again and I scuttle back to my room.

I suddenly feel bad.

In fact … I feel terrible. How are the Geigers going to react when I tell them I’m a total fraud? That I’m not a trained Cordon Bleu housekeeper at all, I just wanted a place to stay for the night?

I have a sudden image of them bundling me furiously out of the house. Feeling totally used. Maybe they’ll even call the police and file charges. Oh, God. This could get really nasty.

But, I mean, it’s not like I have any other option. It’s not like I could actually …

… Could I?

I pick up the blue uniform and finger it, my mind whirling round and round.

They’ve been so kind, putting me up. It’s not like I’m doing anything else right now. It’s not like I have anywhere else to go. Maybe it’ll even take my mind off things, doing a little light housework—

Abruptly I come to a decision.

I’ll busk it for a morning. It can’t be that hard. I’ll make their toast and dust the ornaments or whatever. I’ll think of it as my little thank-you to them. Then as soon as I hear from Arnold I’ll find a convincing excuse to leave. And the Geigers will never know I wasn’t a proper housekeeper.

Hurriedly I put on my uniform and run a comb through my hair. Then I stand to face myself in the mirror.

“Good morning, Mrs. Geiger,” I say to my reflection. “And … er … how would you like the drawing room dusted?”

The Geigers are standing at the bottom of the stairs looking up at me as I descend. I have never felt more self-conscious in my life.

I’m a housekeeper. I must behave like a housekeeper.

“Welcome, Samantha!” says Eddie as I arrive down in the hall. He’s wearing a polo shirt with some crested logo, and golfing trousers. “Sleep all right?”

“Very well, thank you, Mr. Geiger,” I reply demurely.

“That’s good!” Eddie rocks back and forth on the soles of his feet. He seems just a little awkward. In fact … they both seem awkward. Underneath the makeup, the tans, the expensive clothes … there seems a hint of uncertainty about the Geigers.

I walk over to the bench seat and straighten a cushion, trying to look as though I know what I’m doing.

“You’ll be wanting to get to know your new kitchen!” says Trish brightly.

“Of course!” I say with a confident smile. “I’m … looking forward to it!”

It’s only a kitchen. It’s only one morning. I can do this.

Trish leads the way into the vast maple kitchen, and this time I try to take in the details. There’s a huge hob set into the granite counter to my left. A bank of ovens built into the wall. Everywhere I look I can see shiny chrome gadgets plugged into sockets. Racks of saucepans and implements of all descriptions are hanging overhead in a jumble of stainless steel.

“You’ll want to get it the way you like it, of course,” says Trish, gesturing around. “Just change anything you like. Knock it into shape. You’re the professional!”

They’re both looking at me expectantly.

“Absolutely,” I say in a businesslike way. “Obviously I have my own … um … systems. That shouldn’t be there, for example.” I point randomly at a small metal gadget resembling a torpedo. “The … um …”

“Juice extractor,” supplies Trish.