The Undomestic Goddess

“None taken,” said Martin amiably, reaching for a chocolate biscuit.

The visitors exchange looks.

“Of course,” says the chiseled-looking man after a long pause. “No problem.”

Ha! Something tells me this deal may not be happening after all.

“Your jacket, sir?” I say with a smile, handing it to him. “And again, I’m dreadfully, dreadfully sorry.”

The great thing about legal training is it really teaches you to lie.

It also teaches you to put up with being yelled at by your boss. Which is handy, because as soon as Trish hears what I’ve done, I’m forced to stand in the kitchen for twenty minutes while she strides around, haranguing me.

“Mr. Geiger is putting together a very important business deal! That meeting was crucial!”

“I’m very sorry, madam,” I say, eyes downcast.

“I know you have no understanding of these things, Samantha. But a lot of money is at stake! Money that you probably have no conception of.”

Stay calm. Stay humble.

“A lot of money,” Trish repeats, impressively.

She’s itching to tell me more. I can see the urge to show off and the urge to remain discreet fighting it out on her face.

“Seven figures,” she says at last.

“Um … gosh.” I do my best to look awestruck.

“We’ve been very good to you, Samantha. We’ve made every effort.” Her voice throbs with resentment. “And we expect you to make every effort in return.”

“I’m very sorry,” I say for the millionth time, but Trish still seems dissatisfied.

“Well, I’ll expect far more care tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“At dinner.” Trish raises her eyes skyward.

“But … I’ve got tonight off,” I say in alarm. “You said it would be OK, I could leave you a cold supper …”

Trish has clearly forgotten all about our conversation.

“Well,” she says querulously. “That was before you threw coffee over our guests. That was before you spent all morning sitting about, having your hair done.”

What? That is so unfair I can’t even find a response.

“Frankly, Samantha, I expect a little better. You will stay in tonight and serve dinner.” She picks up a magazine and strides out of the kitchen.

I stare after her, a familiar, heavy resignation creeping over me. This has happened so many times in my life, I’m used to it. I’ll have to call off my date with Nathaniel. Another date … another cancellation.

And then my thoughts stop mid-track. I’m not at Carter Spink anymore. I don’t have to put up with this.

I stalk out of the kitchen and find Trish in the living room.

“Mrs. Geiger,” I say as forcefully as I can. “I’m sorry about the coffee and I’ll make every effort to do better. But I have to have tonight off. I’ve made arrangements—and I’m going to stick to them. I’ll be going out at seven as planned.”

My heart is beating fast as I finish. I’ve never asserted myself like that before in my life. If I’d ever spoken like that at Carter Spink I’d have been dead meat.

For a moment Trish looks livid. Then, to my astonishment, she gives an irritated click with her tongue and turns a page.

“Oh, very well. If it’s that important—”

“Yes.” I swallow. “It’s important. My personal life is important.”

As I say the words, I feel stirred up. I almost want to say something more to Trish. Something about priorities, about balance.

But Trish is already engrossed in an article on “The Red Wine Diet—How It Can Work for You.” I’m not sure she’d appreciate being disturbed.

I’m putting the finishing touches to a cold roasted-vegetable salad for the Geigers’ supper when Trish comes into the kitchen. She opens the fridge, peers into it, then closes the door, looking dissatisfied. She leans against the counter, watching me work, until I start feeling twitchy.

“Er … can I get you anything, Mrs. Geiger?”

“No, you just carry on.” She picks up a vegetable parer and twirls it around in her hands.

“Um … Mrs. Geiger …” I gesture that I need the parer, and she hands it over with a tsk of irritation.

“You have such a simple life, Samantha,” she says, with a sigh. “So … untroubled.”

“Yes, madam,” I say after a pause. If you only knew …

Trish moves to the window and gives another gusty sigh.

“Mr. Geiger will be out this evening. So you only need to make one cold supper.”