Chapter Eight

As soon as Im out of the room, I dash upstairs, along the corridor, and into my bedroom to check my mobile. But its only half charged and I have no idea where Im going to find a signal. If Trish could get one, I must be able to. I wonder what network shes on

Samantha? Trishs voice rises from the ground floor.

Samantha? She sounds annoyed. Now I can hear her footsteps coming up the stairs.

Madam? I hurry back along the corridor.

There you are! She frowns slightly. Kindly do not disappear to your room while on duty. I dont want to have to be calling you like that.

Er... yes, Mrs. Geiger, I say. As we arrive down in the hall my stomach flips over. Beyond Trish, I can see the Times lying on the table. Its open at the business pages and a headline reads: Sc glazerbrooks calls in receivers.

My eyes run down the text as Trish starts rootling around in a huge white Chanel bag but I cant see any mention of Carter Spink. Thank God for that. The PR department must have managed to keep a lid on the story.

Where are my keys? Trish sounds fretful. Where are they? She rummages more and more violently in her Chanel bag. A gold lipstick goes flying through the air and lands at my feet. Why do things disappear ?

I pick up the lipstick and hand it to her. Do you remember where you lost them, Mrs. Geiger?

I didnt lose them. She inhales sharply. Theyve been stolen. Its obvious. Well have to change all the locks. Our identities will be taken. She clutches her head. This is what these fraudsters do, you know. There was a huge article about it in the Mail

Is this them? Ive suddenly noticed a Tiffany key fob glinting on the windowsill. I pick it up and hold out the bunch of keys.

Yes! Trish looks utterly amazed. Yes, thats them! Samantha, youre marvelous! How did you find them?

It was... no trouble. I shrug modestly.

Well! Im very impressed! She gives me a significant look. I will be telling Mr. Geiger.

Yes, madam, I say, trying to inject the right note of overwhelming gratitude into my voice. Thank you.

Mr. Geiger and I will be going out in a minute, she continues, producing a scent spray and spritzing herself. Kindly prepare a light sandwich lunch for one oclock, and get on with the downstairs cleaning. Well talk about dinner later. She swivels round. I might tell you, we were both very impressed by your seared foie gras menu.

Oh... um... good!

Its fine. Ill be gone by dinnertime. Now . Trish pats her hair one final time. Come in the drawing room, Samantha. I follow her into the room and over to the fireplace.

Before you start dusting in here, Trish says, I wanted to show you the arrangement of the ornaments. She gestures to a row of china figurines on the mantelpiece. This can be tricky to remember. For some reason, cleaners never get it right. So kindly pay attention !

Obediently, I turn with her to face the mantelpiece. Its very important, Samantha, that these china dogs face each other. Trish points to a

pair of King Charles spaniels. Do you see? They dont face out. They face each other !

Each other, I echo, nodding. Yes. I see.

And the shepherdesses face very slightly out . You see? They face out .

Shes speaking slowly and clearly, as though I have the IQ of a rather thick three-​year- old.

Out, I repeat dutifully.

Now, have you got that? Trish steps back from the fireplace. Lets see. Which way do the china dogs go? She lifts an arm to block my view of the mantelpiece.

I dont believe it. Shes testing me.

The china dogs, she prompts. Which way?

Oh, God, I cannot resist this.

Er... I ponder hard for a few moments. They face... out?

Each other ! Trish cries in exasperation. They face each other !

Oh, right, I say apologetically. Yes. Sorry. Ive got that now.

Trish has closed her eyes and is holding two fingers to her forehead as though the stress of stupid help is too much to bear.

Never mind, she says at last. Well try again tomorrow.

Ill take the coffee tray out, I suggest humbly. As I pick it up I glance again at my watch. Ten twelve. I wonder if theyve started the meeting.

By eleven-​thirty my nerves are really beginning to fray. My mobiles charged and Ive finally found a signal in the kitchen, but it hasnt rung. And there are no messages. Ive checked it every minute.

Ive stacked the dishwasher and at last managed to turn it on. And Ive dusted the china dogs with a tissue. Other than that all Ive done is pace up and down the kitchen.

I gave up on the light sandwich lunch almost straightaway. At least, I briefly tried sawing away at two loaves of breadand ended up with huge, wonky slices, each one more misshapen than the last, lying in a sea of crumbs.

All I can say is, thank God for yellow pages and caterers. And American Express. Its only going to cost me £45.50 to provide Trish and Eddie with a gourmet sandwich lunch from Cotswold Caterers. Less than six minutes of my time at Carter Spink.

Now Im just sitting on a chair, my hand clasped tight over the mobile in my pocket, desperately willing it to ring.

At the same time Im utterly terrified that it will.

This tension is unbearable. I need something to relieve it. Anything . I wrench open the door of the Geigers enormous fridge and pull out a bottle of white wine. I pour myself a glass and take an enormous gulp. Im about to take another when I feel a tingling on the nape of my neck.

As if... Im being watched.

I swivel round and nearly jump out of my skin. Theres a man at the kitchen door.

Hes tall and broad, and deeply tanned, with intense blue eyes. His wavy hair is golden brown with bleached-​blond tips. Hes wearing old jeans and a torn T-​shirt and the muddiest boots Ive ever seen.

His eyes run doubtfully over the ten wonky, crumbly bread slices on the side, then onto my glass of wine.

Hi, he says at last. Are you the new Cordon Bleu cook?

Er... yes! Absolutely. I smooth my uniform down. Im the new housekeeper, Samantha. Hello.

Im Nathaniel. He holds out his hand and after a pause I take it. His skin is so hard and rough, its like shaking a piece of tree bark. I do the garden for the Geigers. Youll be

wanting to talk to me about vegetables.

I look at him uncertainly. Why would I want to talk to him about vegetables?

As he leans against the door frame and folds his arms, I cant help noticing how massive and strong his forearms are. Ive never seen a man with arms like that before.

I can supply pretty much anything, he continues. Seasonal, of course. Just tell me what you want.

Oh, for cooking , I say, suddenly realizing what he means. Er...yes. Ill be wanting some of those. Definitely.

They told me you trained with some Michelin-​starred chef? He gives a small frown. I dont know what kind of fancy stuff you use, but Ill do my best. He produces a small, mud-​stained notebook and a pencil. Which brassicas do you like to use?

Brassicas?

What are brassicas? They must be some kind of vegetable. I search my mind frantically but all I can see is images of brassieres, waving on a washing line.

Id have to consult my menus, I say at last with a businesslike nod. Ill get back to you on that one.

But just generally. He looks up. Which do you use most? So I know what to plant.

I darent risk naming a single vegetable in case I get it totally wrong.

I use... all sorts, really. I give him an airy smile. You know how it is with brassicas. Sometimes youre in the mood for one... sometimes another!

Im really not sure how convincing that sounded. Nathaniel looks baffled.

Im about to order leeks, he says slowly. What variety do you prefer? Albinstar or Bleu de Solaise?

I fiddle with a button on my uniform, my face prickling. I didnt catch either of those. Oh, God, why did this guy have to come into the kitchen right now?

The... um... first one, I say at last. It has very tasty... qualities.

Nathaniel puts down his notebook and surveys me for a moment. His attention shifts to my wineglass again. Im not sure I like his expression.

I was just about to put this wine in a sauce, I say hastily. With a nonchalant air, I take a

saucepan down from the rack, put it on the hob, and pour the wine in. I shake in some salt, then pick up a wooden spoon and stir.

Then I dart a glance at Nathaniel. Hes regarding me with something approaching incredulity.

Where did you say you trained? he says.

I feel a twinge of alarm. Hes not stupid, this man.

At... Cordon Bleu school. My cheeks are growing rather hot. I shake more salt into the wine and stir it briskly.

You havent turned the hob on, Nathaniel observes.

Its a cold sauce, I reply, without lifting my head. I keep stirring for a minute, then put down my wooden spoon. So. Ill just leave that to... marinate now.

At last I look up. Nathaniel is still leaning against the door frame, calmly watching me. Theres an expression in his blue eyes that makes my throat tighten.

He knows.

He knows Im a fake.

Please dont tell the Geigers, I silently transmit to him. Please. Ill be gone soon ,

Samantha? Trishs head pops round the door and I start nervously. Oh, youve met Nathaniel! Did he tell you about his vegetable garden?

Yes. I cant look at him. He did.

Marvelous! She pushes her sunglasses up onto her head. Well, Mr. Geiger and I are back now, and wed like our sandwiches in twenty minutes.

Twenty minutes ? But its only ten past twelve. The caterers arent coming till one oclock.

Would you like a drink first, maybe? I suggest.

No, thanks! she says. Just the sandwiches. Were both rather famished, actually, so if you could hurry up with them...

Right. I swallow. No problem! I automatically bob a curtsy as Trish disappears, and I hear a kind of snorting sound from

Nathaniel.

You curtsy, he says.

Yes, I curtsy, I say defiantly. Anything wrong with that?

Nathaniels eyes move to the misshapen bread slices lying on the breadboard.

Is that lunch?

No, thats not lunch! I snap, flustered. And please could you get out of my kitchen? I need a clear space to work in.

He raises his eyebrows. See you around, then. Good luck with the sauce. He nods toward the pan of wine.

As he closes the kitchen door behind him I whip out my phone and speed-​dial the caterers. But theyve left their machine on.

Hi, I say breathlessly after the bleep. I ordered some sandwiches earlier? Well, I need them now. As soon as you can. Thanks.

Even as I put the phone down I realize its fruitless. The caterers are never going to turn up in time. The Geigers are waiting.

OK. I can do this. I can make a few sandwiches.

Quickly I pick up the two least wonky of my bread slices and start cutting off the crusts until theyre about an inch square but presentable. Theres a butter dish on the side and I gouge some out with a knife. As I spread butter on the first slice of bread, it tears into two pieces.

Fuck.

Ill patch them together. No onell notice.

I fling open a cupboard door and frantically root through pots of mustard... mint sauce... strawberry jam. Jam sandwiches it is. An English classic. I hastily smother one piece of bread with jam, spread some more butter on the other, and sandwich the two together. Then I stand back and consider the result.

Total disaster. Jam is oozing out of the cracks and it still isnt completely square. Ive never seen a more revolting sandwich in my life.

Slowly I put the knife down in defeat. So this is it. Time for my resignation. Two jobs potentially lost in one day. As I stare at the jammy mess I feel strangely disappointed in

myself. I would have thought I could last a morning.

The sound of someone knocking breaks me out of my reverie and I whip round to see a girl in a blue velvet hair band peering through the kitchen window.

Hi! she calls. Did you order sandwiches for twenty?

It all happens so fast. One minute Im standing there looking at my botch of jam and crumbs. The next, two girls in green aprons are trooping into the kitchen with plate after plate of professionally made sandwiches.

Clean-​cut white and brown sandwiches, stacked in neat pyramids, garnished with sprigs of herbs and slices of lemon. They even have little handwritten paper flags describing the fillings.

Tuna, mint, and cucumber. Smoked salmon, cream cheese, and caviar. Thai chicken with wild rocket.

Im so sorry about the numbers mix-​up, the girl in the hair band says as I sign for them. It honestly looked like a twenty. And we dont often get an order for sandwiches for just two people

Its fine! I say, edging her toward the door. Really. Whatever. Just put it on my card...

The door finally closes and I look around the kitchen, totally dazed. Ive never seen so many sandwiches. There are plates of them everywhere. On every surface. Ive even had to put some on the cooker.

Samantha? I can hear Trish approaching.

Um... hold on! I hurry to the door, trying to block her view.

Its already five past one, I can hear her saying a little sharply. And I did ask, most clearly, for...

Her voice trails off into silence as she reaches the kitchen door, and her whole face sags in astonishment. I turn and follow her gaze as she surveys the endless plates of sandwiches.

My goodness! At last Trish finds her voice. This is... this is very impressive!

I wasnt sure what fillings youd prefer, I say. Obviously next time I wont make quite so many...

Well! Trish appears totally at a loss. She picks up one of the little flags and reads it out loud. Rare beef, lettuce, and horseradish. She looks up in astonishment. I havent bought any beef for weeks! Where did you find it?

Er... in the freezer?

I looked in the freezer earlier. The amount of food crammed into it would probably feed an entire small African country for a week.

Of course! Trish clicks her tongue. And you thawed it in the microwave! Arent you clever!

Ill put a selection on a plate for you, I suggest. And bring it out to the conservatory.

Marvelous. Nathaniel! Trish raps on the kitchen window. Come in and have a sandwich!

I stop dead. No. Not him again.

We dont want to waste them, after all. She arches her eyebrows. If I did have a criticism, Samantha, it would be that you were a little profligate Not that were poor , she adds suddenly. It isnt that .

Er... no, madam.

I dont like to talk about money, Samantha. Trish lowers her voice a little. Its very vulgar. However

Mrs. Geiger?

Nathaniel has appeared in the kitchen doorway again, holding a muddy garden spade.

Have one of Samanthas delicious sandwiches! exclaims Trish, gesturing around the kitchen. Just look! Isnt she clever?

Theres total silence as Nathaniel surveys the endless mounds of sandwiches. I cant bring myself to meet his eye. I feel I could be losing my grip on sanity here. Im standing in a kitchen in the middle of nowhere. In a blue nylon uniform. Masquerading as a housekeeper who can magically make sandwiches out of thin air.

Extraordinary, he says at last.

I finally risk looking up. Hes gazing at me, his brow deeply furrowed as if he really cant make me out.

That didnt take you long, he says, a slight question in his voice.

Im... pretty quick when I want to be, I say blandly.

Samanthas wonderful! says Trish, biting greedily into a sandwich. And such a tidy worker! Look at this immaculate kitchen! She shoves another sandwich in her mouth and practically swoons. This Thai chicken is divine!

Surreptitiously I pick up one from the pile and take a bite into it, feeling suddenly ravenous.

Bloody hell, thats good. Though I say it myself.

By half past two the kitchen is empty. Trish and Eddie devoured over half the sandwiches and have now gone out.

Nathaniel is back in the garden. Im pacing up and down, fiddling with a spoon.

Arnoldwill call soon. The meeting must have broken up by now.

I look out the window at a small brown bird pecking at the ground, then turn away and sink into a chair, staring down at the table, running my thumbnail obsessively round the fine grain of the polished wood.

I made one mistake. One. People are allowed to make one mistake in life. Its in the rules.

Or... maybe its not. I just dont know.

Suddenly I feel my mobile vibrate. I grab the phone out of my uniform pocket with a trembling hand.

The caller ID tells me its Guy.

Hi, Guy? I try to speak confidentlybut my voice sounds tiny and scared to my own ears.

Samantha? Is that you ? Guys voice rushes through the phone in an urgent torrent. Where the hell are you? Why arent you here? Didnt you get my e-​mails?

I havent got my Blackberry, I say, taken aback. Why didnt you call?

I tried early today, but your phone seemed out of order. Then I was in meetings, but Ive been sending you e-​mails all morning... Samantha, where on earth are you? You should

be here at the office! Not hiding out, for Christs sake!

Hiding out? What does he mean?

But... butArnold said dont come in! He said it would be best! He told me to stay away and he would do what he could

Do you have any idea how this looks ? Guy cuts across me. First you freak out, then you disappear. People are saying youre unhinged, youve had a breakdown... Theres a rumor youve skipped the country...

As the truth hits me, I feel a hot, choking panic. I cant believe how wrong Ive played this. I cant believe how stupid Ive been. What am I doing still sitting in this kitchen, miles fromLondon ?

Tell them Im coming straight in, I stammer. Tell Ketterman Ill be there at once... Im getting on a train...

It might be too late. Guy sounds heavy and reluctant. Samantha... all sorts of stories are going round.

Stories? My heart is thudding so hard I can barely say the word. What... what stories?

I cant take all this in. I feel like my car has suddenly lurched off the road and I cant stop it.

Apparently people have said youre... unreliable, Guy says at last. That this isnt the first time. That youve made errors before.

Errors ? I leap to my feet, my voice as sharp as though Ive been scalded. Whos saying that? Ive never made any errors! What are they talking about?

I dont know. I wasnt in the meeting. Samantha... think back carefully. Have you made any other mistakes?

Think back carefully?

Im stunned. He doesnt believe me?

Ive never made any mistakes, I say, trying and failing to keep my voice level. None. Never! Im a good lawyer. Im a good lawyer. To my dismay I realize tears are pouring down my cheeks. Im steady! You know that, Guy.

In the tense little silence that follows, the unsaid is there between us. Like a conviction. I lost a client £50 million.

Guy, I dont know how I didnt see the Glazerbrooks documentation. My words tumble out faster and faster. I dont know how it happened. It doesnt make any sense. I know my desk is messy, but I have my systems, for Gods sake. I dont miss things like that. I just dont

Samantha, calm down

How can I calm down? I almost yell. This is my life. My life . I dont have anything else! I wipe the tears away from my cheeks. Im not losing this. Im coming in. Now.

I cut the phone dead and get to my feet, bubbling with panic. I should have gone back. I should have gone back straightaway, not wasted time here. I dont know what times the trains will be, but I dont care. I have to get out of here.

I grab a piece of paper and a pencil and scrawl,

Dear Mrs. Geiger, I am afraid I must resign as your housekeeper. While I have enjoyed my time

Come on. I havent got time to write any more, I have to leave now. I put the paper down on the table and head for the door. Then I stop. I cant leave the letter unfinished in the middle of a sentence.

While I have enjoyed my time with you, I feel I would like afresh challenge. Many thanks for your kindness.

Yours sincerely, Samantha Sweeting

I put the pen down and push my chair back with a scrape. As I reach the door my mobile vibrates again.

Guy, I instantly think. I reach for itand am already flipping it open when I see the caller ID. Its not Guy.

Its Ketterman.

Something cold grips my spine. As I stare at his name I feel real fear in a way I never have before. Childish, nightmarish fear. Every instinct in my body is telling me not to answer.

But my phones already open. Its too late. Slowly I lift it up to my ear. Hello. Samantha. John Ketterman here. Right. My voice is scratchy with nerves. Hello.

Theres a long pause. I know this is my moment to speak, but my throat feels wadded by cotton wool. No words seem adequate. Everyone knows how much Ketterman despises apologies and excuses and explanations.

Samantha, Im ringing to tell you that your contract with Carter Spink has been terminated.

I feel all the blood drain from my face.

A letter is on its way to you giving the reasons. His tone is distant and formal. Gross negligence compounded by your subsequent unprofessional behavior. Your P45 will be sent to you. Your pass has been disabled. I dont expect to see you at the Carter Spink offices again.

Hes going too fast. This is all happening too fast.

Please dont... I blurt out. Please give me another chance. I made one mistake. One.

Lawyers at Carter Spink dont make mistakes, Samantha. Nor do they run away from their mistakes.

I know it was wrong to run away. Im shaking all over. But it was such a shock... I wasnt thinking straight...

Youve disgraced the reputation of the firm and yourself. Kettermans voice sharpens as though he, too, might be finding this difficult. You have lost fifty million pounds of a clients money through your own negligence. And subsequently absconded with no explanation. Samantha, you cannot have expected any other outcome, surely.

Theres a long silence. My forehead is pressed hard against the heel of my hand. I try to focus on just breathing. In and out. In and out.

No, I whisper at last.

Its over. My entire career is really over.

Ketterman starts on a pre-​prepared speech about meeting with the human-​resources department, but I dont listen.

Everything Ive worked for since I was twelve years old. Gone. Everything ruined. In twenty-​four hours.

At last I realize Ketterman has disappeared from the line. I get to my feet and stagger over to the shiny fridge. My eyes are huge, burning holes. For a long time I just stand there, staring at my own face until the features blur.

Ive been fired. The phrase echoes round my mind. Ive been fired . I could collect the dole. I imagine myself with the men from The Full Monty . Standing in the unemployment queue, moving my hips back and forth to Hot Stuff.

Suddenly I hear the sound of a key in the front door. I cant be found in this condition. I cant face any probing, any sympathy. Otherwise Im afraid I might just collapse into sobs and never stop.

Distractedly, I reach for a cloth and start sweeping it in meaningless circles over the table. Then I glimpse my note to Trish, still lying there. I crumple it up and throw it in the bin. Later. Ill do it later. I feel as though I can barely function right now, let alone give a convincing resignation speech.

There you are! Trish comes tripping into the kitchen on her high-​heeled clogs, holding three bursting shopping bags. Samantha! She stops at the sight of me. Are you all right? Is your headache back?

Im... fine. Thanks.

You look dreadful ! Goodness me! Have some more pills!

Really...

Now, sit down... and Ill make you a cup of tea!

She plonks the bags down and switches on the kettle, then rootles around for the green painkillers.

These are the ones you like, arent they?

Id rather just have an aspirin, I say quickly. If thats OK?

Are you quite sure? She runs me a glass of water and gives me a couple of aspirin. Now. You just sit there. Relax. Dont even think of doing anything else! Until its time to make the supper, she adds as an afterthought.

Youre... very kind, I manage.

As I say the words I have the dim realization that I mean them. Trishs kindness may be a bit warped, but its real.

Here we are...Trish puts a cup of tea down and scrutinizes me. Are you home sick? She sounds triumphant, as though she may have cracked the mystery. Our girl from thePhilippines did get rather blue from time to time... but I used to say to her, cheer up, Manuela! Trish pauses thoughtfully. Then I found out her name was Paula. Extraordinary.

Im not homesick, I say, gulping my tea.

My mind is beating like a butterflys wings. What am I going to do?

Go home .

But the thought of returning to that flat, with Ketterman living two floors above, makes me sick. I cant face him. I cant do it.

Phone Guy. Hell have me to stay. He and Charlotte have that huge house in Islington with all those spare rooms. Ive stayed the night before. Then Ill... sell my flat. Find a job.

What job?

This will cheer you up. Trishs voice breaks my thoughts. She pats the shopping bags with suppressed glee. After your stunning performance at lunch... Ive been shopping. And Ive got a surprise for you! This will make your day!

A surprise? I look up, bewildered, as Trish starts producing packets from the bag.

Foie gras... chickpeas... shoulder of lamb... She hefts a joint of meat onto the table and looks at me expectantly. Then she clicks her tongue at my bewildered expression. Its ingredients ! Your dinner-​party menu! Well eat at eight, if thats OK?

Date: 2015-02-03; view: 625