The Undomestic Goddess

Freya’s on the phone?

“Lady Edgerly …” Trish lifts the phone to her ear. “You’re quite right, far too unassuming …” She looks up. “Lady Edgerly would like to have a word with you.”

She hands me the phone and in a blur of incredulity I lift it to my ear.

“Hello?”

“Samantha?” Freya’s familiar, raspy voice erupts into my ear through a sea of static. “Are you OK? What the fuck is going on?”

“I’m … fine!” I glance at Trish, who is standing approximately two meters away. “I’ll just … go somewhere a bit more …”

Ignoring Trish’s laserlike eyes, I hurry into my bedroom and close the door tight. Then I lift the phone to my ear again.

“I’m fine!” I feel a rush of joy to be talking to Freya again. “It’s so amazing to hear from you!”

“What on earth’s going on?” she demands again. “I got this message but it made no sense! You’re a housekeeper? Is this some huge windup?”

“No.” I glance at the door, then move into the bathroom and turn the fan on. “I’m a full-time housekeeper,” I say in a lower voice. “I’ve left my job at Carter Spink.”

“You’ve quit?” says Freya. “Just like that?”

“I didn’t quit. I was … thrown out. I made a mistake and they fired me.”

It’s still hard to say it. Or even to think about it.

“You were thrown out for a simple mistake?” Freya sounds outraged. “Jesus H. Christ, these people—”

“It wasn’t a simple mistake,” I cut her off in mid-flow. “It was … a really big, important mistake. Anyway, that’s what happened. And I decided to do something different. Become a housekeeper for a bit.”

“You decided to become a housekeeper,” echoes Freya slowly. “Samantha, did you totally lose your mind?”

“Why not?” I say defensively. “You were the one who said I should have a break.”

“But a housekeeper? You can’t cook!”

“Well, I know.”

“I mean, you really can’t cook!” She’s giggling now. “I’ve seen your cooking. And your nonexistent cleaning.”

“I know! It was a bit of a nightmare to begin with. But I’m kind of … learning. You’d be surprised.”

“Do you have to wear an apron?”

“I’ve got this hideous nylon uniform.” I’m snuffling with laughter now. “And I call them Madam … and Sir … and I curtsy.”

“Samantha, this is insane,” says Freya. “Absolutely insane. You cannot stay there. I’m going to rescue you. I’ll fly back tomorrow—”

“No!” I say with more vehemence than I intended. “No! I’m … having a good time. I’ve met—”

I halt abruptly. But Freya’s too quick off the mark for me.

“A man?” she exclaims in delight.

“Well … yes.”

“That’s fantastic! About time too. Only he’d better not be another dreary lawyer—”

“Don’t worry.” I feel an unwilling grin come to my face. “He’s not.”

“Details?”

“It’s early days. But he’s … you know. Nice.”

“Well, even so. If you want to escape, you know I’m only a phone call away. You can stay at our place.”

“Thanks, Freya.” I feel a tug of affection for her.

“No problem. Samantha?”

“Yes?” There’s a long silence, until I think the line must have cut out.

“What about the law?” says Freya at last. “What about partnership? I know I gave you a hard time about it. But it was your dream. Are you just going to abandon it?”

I push down a twinge of deep, buried grief.

“That dream’s over,” I say shortly. “Partners don’t make fifty-million-quid mistakes.”

“Fifty million quid?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Jesus.” I hear her sharp intake of breath. “I had no idea. I can’t imagine how you’ve coped with all this—”

“It’s fine.” I cut her off. “I’ve got over it.”

Freya sighs. “You know, I had a feeling something was up. I tried to send you an e-mail the other day via the Carter Spink Web site. But your page was gone.”

“Really?” I feel an odd tweak inside.

“And then I thought—” She breaks off, and I can hear some kind of mayhem in the background. “Oh, bugger. Our transport’s here. Listen, I’ll call again soon—”