The Undomestic Goddess - Sophie Kinsella

“And I’ve heard about the foie gras with an apricot glaze!” Petula raises her eyebrows. “Very impressive!”

“Samantha can cook anything!” boasts Trish, pink with pride. “She trained with Michel de la Roux de la Blanc! The master himself!”

“So how exactly will you be glazing the foie gras, Samantha?” asks Petula with interest.

The kitchen is silent. Both women are waiting, agog.

“Well.” I clear my throat several times. “I expect I’ll use the… usual method. The word glaze, obviously, comes from the transparent nature of the… er… finish… and complements the… gras.

Foie,” I amend. “De gras. The… blend of the flavors.”

I am making absolutely no sense here, but neither Trish nor Petula seems to have noticed. In fact they both seem totally impressed.

“Where on earth did you find her?” says Petula to Trish in what she clearly imagines to be a discreet undertone. “My girl is hopeless. Can’t cook and doesn’t understand a word I say.”

“She just applied out of the blue!” Trish murmurs back, still flushed with pleasure. “Cordon Bleu! English! We couldn’t believe it!”

They both eye me as though I’m some rare animal with horns sprouting out of my head. I can’t bear this anymore.

“Shall I make you some tea and bring it through to the conservatory?” I ask. Anything to get them out of the kitchen.

“No, we’re popping out to have our nails done,” says Trish. “I’ll see you later, Samantha.”

There’s an expectant pause. Suddenly I realize Trish is waiting for my curtsy. I start to prickle all over in embarrassment. Why did I curtsy? Why did I curtsy?

“Very good, Mrs. Geiger.” I bow my head and make an awkward bob. When I look up, Petula’s eyes are like saucers.

As the two women leave, I can hear Petula hissing, “She curtsies? She curtsies to you?”

“It’s a simple mark of respect,” I hear Trish replying airily. “But very effective. You know, Petula, you should really try it with your girl…”

Oh, God. What have I started?

I wait until the sound of tapping heels has completely disappeared. Then, moving into the larder to be on the safe side, I flip open my phone and redial Guy’s number. After three rings he answers.

“Samantha.” He sounds guarded. “Hi. Have you…”

“It’s OK, Guy. I’ve spoken to Ketterman. I know.”

“Oh, Christ, Samantha. I’m so sorry this has happened. So sorry…”

I cannot stand his pity. If he says anything else I’ll burst into tears.

“It’s fine,” I say, cutting him off. “Really. Let’s not talk about it. Let’s just… look forward. I have to get my life on track.”

“Jesus, you’re focused!” There’s a note of admiration in his voice. “You don’t let anything faze you, do you?”

I push my hair back off my face. “I just have to… get on with things.” Somehow I keep my voice even and steady. “I need to get back to London. But I can’t go home. Ketterman bought a flat in my building. He lives there.”

“Ouch. Yes, I heard about that.” There’s a wince in his voice. “That’s unfortunate.”

“I just can’t face him, Guy.” I feel the threat of tears again and force myself to hold them back. “So… I was wondering. Could I come and stay with you for a while? Just for a few days?”

There’s silence. I wasn’t expecting silence.

“Samantha… I’d love to help,” says Guy at last. “But I’ll have to check with Charlotte.”

“Of course,” I say, a little taken aback.

“Just stay on the line for a sec. I’ll call her.”

The next moment I’ve been put on hold. I sit waiting, listening to the tinny harpsichord music, trying not to feel discomfited. It was unreasonable to

expect him to say yes straightaway. Of course he has to clear it with his girlfriend.

At last Guy comes onto the line again. “Samantha, I’m not sure it’s possible.”

I feel slammed. “Right.” I try to sound natural, as though this is no big deal. “Well… never mind. It doesn’t matter…”

“Charlotte’s very busy right now… we’re having some work done to the bedrooms… it’s just not a good time…”

He sounds halting, as if he wants to get off the line. And suddenly I realize. This isn’t about Charlotte. This is all about him. He doesn’t want to be near me. It’s as though my disgrace is contagious, as though his career might get blighted too.

Yesterday I was his best friend. Yesterday, when I was about to become a partner, he was hanging around my desk, full of smiles and quips. And today he doesn’t want to be associated with me at all.

I know I should stay quiet, keep my dignity, but I just can’t contain myself.

“You don’t want to be associated with me, do you?” I burst out.

“Samantha!” His voice is defensive. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m still the same person. I thought you were my friend—”

“I am your friend! But you can’t expect me to… I have Charlotte to consider… we don’t have that much space… Look,

call me in a couple of days, maybe we can meet up for a drink—”

“Really, don’t worry.” I try to control my voice. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

“Wait!” he exclaims. “Don’t go! What are you going to do?”

“Oh, Guy.” I manage a little laugh.

I switch off my phone. Everything’s changed. Or maybe he hasn’t changed. Maybe this was what Guy was always like and I just never realized it.

I stare down at the tiny display of my phone, watching the seconds of each minute tick by. Wondering what to do next. When it suddenly vibrates in my hand, I nearly jump out of my skin. Tennyson, my display reads.

Mum.

I feel a clutch of dread. She can only be ringing for one thing. She’s heard the news. I guess I should have known this was coming. I could go and stay with her, it occurs to me. How weird. I didn’t even think of that before. I open up the phone and steel myself.

“Hi, Mum.”

“Samantha.” Her voice pierces my ear with no preamble. “Exactly how long were you going to wait before you told me about your debacle? I have to find out about my own daughter’s disgrace from an Internet joke!‘ She utters the words with revulsion.

“An… Internet joke?” I echo faintly. “What do you mean?”