The Undomestic Goddess

“Hi,” I say casually as they approach.

“There you are,” says Nathaniel. “I haven’t seen you all afternoon.”

“I was studying recipes,” I say innocently, and turn to Trish with a polite smile. “Did you enjoy the party, Mrs. Geiger?”

Too late I see Nathaniel making deathlike, finger-across-the-throat gestures behind their backs.

“Thank you for asking, Samantha.” Trish snaps her purse shut and dabs her nose with a tissue. “I’d rather not talk about the party, thank you.”

Eddie makes an incensed spluttering sound. “You won’t bloody give up, will you? All I said was—”

“It was the way you said it!” shrieks Trish. “Sometimes I think your sole purpose in life is to embarrass me!”

Eddie stalks off toward the house, his Panama hat lopsided on his head.

Uh-oh. I raise my eyebrows at Nathaniel, who grins back over Trish’s head.

“Would you like a nice cup of tea, Mrs. Geiger?” I say soothingly. “Or … a Bloody Mary?”

“Thank you, Samantha,” she replies, lifting her chin in a dignified manner. “A Bloody Mary would be very nice.”

As we walk up to the conservatory,Trish seems to calm down a little. She even mixes her own Bloody Mary instead of bossing me around as I do it, and makes one each for me and Nathaniel too.

“Now,” she says, after we’ve each taken a sip and sat down among the frondy plants. “There was something I needed to tell you, Samantha. We’re having a visitor.”

“Oh, right,” I say, trying not to smile. Nathaniel is sitting next to me and is edging off my espadrille with his foot under the coffee table.

“My niece is coming to stay tomorrow for a few weeks. She’s coming to get some peace and quiet in the country. She has some work to do, and it’s very important she isn’t disturbed, so Mr. Geiger and I offered her a place here. I’d like you to get the spare room ready for her.”

“Very good.” I nod dutifully.

“She’ll need a bed made up and a desk—I believe she’s bringing a laptop computer with her.”

“Yes, Mrs. Geiger.”

“She’s a very bright girl, Melissa.” Trish lights up a cigarette with a Tiffany lighter. “Extremely high-powered. One of these City girls.”

“Oh, right,” I say, trying to stay composed as Nathaniel finally manages to push my espadrille off. “What does she do?”

“She’s a lawyer,” says Trish—and I look up, speechless. A lawyer?

A lawyer is coming to stay in this house?

Nathaniel is tickling the sole of my foot, but I can only respond with a weak smile. This could be bad.

What if I know this lawyer?

As Trish mixes herself another Bloody Mary, I’m racking my brains frantically. Melissa. It could be Melissa Davis from Freshwater. It could be Melissa Christie from Clark Forrester. It could be Melissa Taylor who worked on the DeltaCo merger. We spent hours in the same room together. She’d recognize me straightaway.

“So … is she a niece on your side, Mrs. Geiger?” I ask casually as Trish sits down. “Is she called Geiger too?”

“No, she’s called Hurst.”

Melissa Hurst. Doesn’t ring any bells.

“And where does she work?” Please let it be abroad.…

“Oh, she’s at some high-powered place in London.” Trish gestures vaguely with her glass.

OK, so I don’t know her. But if she’s at any of the big law firms she’s bound to have heard about me. She’s bound to know about the Carter Spink lawyer who lost fifty million and ran away. She’ll know every humiliating detail of my disgrace.

I’m feeling cold all over at the thought of it. All it takes is for her to recognize my name, to put two and two together … and the whole story will come out. I’ll be as humiliated here as I was in London. Everyone will know what happened at Carter Spink. Everyone will know my lies. I glance at Nathaniel and feel a spike of dread.

I can’t let things be spoiled. Not now.

Eighteen

The crucial thing is that this lawyer doesn’t recognize me. So the following afternoon, after I’ve prepared the spare room, I hurry to my own room and pin my hair up on top of my head, allowing large tendrils to escape artistically and conceal my face. Then I find myself adding a pair of old tinted glasses I discovered in the dressing table drawer, which look like they date from the 1980s. As disguises go, this isn’t exactly the most subtle job in the world—but at least I look nothing like my old self.

As I come downstairs, Nathaniel is heading out of the kitchen, looking pissed off. He looks up at me and stops dead in surprise.