The Undomestic Goddess - Sophie Kinsella

cooking! It’s roasted sea bream with julienned vegetables tonight, isn’t it?”

“Er… yes!” I gulp. “I suppose it is.”

“Mind your backs!”

We both jump aside as two deliverymen troop past with boxes stacked high in their arms. I follow them into the kitchen and watch the growing pile in disbelief.

“Now, we bought you everything,” says Trish, as though reading my mind. “Go on! Open them! I’m sure you can’t wait!”

I fetch a knife and start unpacking the first box, while Trish slits the plastic on another. Out of the profusion of foam peanuts and bubble wrap, I lift a gleaming stainless-steel…

something. What on earth is this? I glance quickly at the label on the side of the box. Savarin Mold.

“A… savarin mold!” I exclaim. “How marvelous. Just what I… wanted.”

“We only got eight of those,” says Trish, with concern. “Is that enough?”

“Er…” I look at it helplessly. “That should be plenty.”

“Now, the saucepans.” Trish has ripped open a box of shiny aluminum pans and holds out one to me expectantly. “We were told these were the very best quality. Would you agree? As a trained chef?”

“Let’s just have a look,” I say, trying to sound professional. I heft the saucepan

appraisingly, then study the bottom and, for good measure, ping the surface with my fingernail.

“Yes, that’s a nice-quality pan,” I say at last. “You chose well.”

“Oh, good!” Trish beams, delving into another box. “And look at this!” She scatters foam to reveal a weird-shaped gadget with a wooden handle. “I’ve never even seen one of these! What is it, Samantha?”

Yikes. What’s that? It looks like a cross between a sieve, a grater, and a whisk. I glance quickly at the box for clues, but the label has been torn off.

“What is it?” says Trish again.

“This is used for a highly specialized cooking technique,” I say at last. “Highly specialized.”

“What do you do with it? Show me!” She thrusts the handle at me.

“Well.” I take the thing from her. “It’s a kind of… whisking… circular motion… keep the wrist light…” I beat the air briskly a few times. “Kind of like that. It’s difficult to show properly without the… um… truffles.”

“So what’s it called?” says Trish, agog.

“I’ve always known it as a… truffle beater,” I say at last. “But it could have some… other name as well. Why don’t I

make you a cup of coffee?“ I add quickly. ”And I’ll unpack everything else later.“

I switch on the kettle, reach for the coffeepot, and glance out the window. Nathaniel is striding across the lawn.

Oh, God. Full crush alert. Full, one hundred percent, old-fashioned adolescent crush.

I cannot take my eyes off him. The sunlight is catching the ends of his tawny hair and he’s wearing ancient, faded jeans. As I watch, he picks up some huge sack of something, swings it round easily, and throws it onto something that might be a compost heap.

My mind is suddenly filled with a fantasy of him picking me up in exactly the same

way. Swinging me round easily in his big strong arms. I mean, I can’t be that much heavier than a sack of potatoes—

“So, how was your weekend off, Samantha?” Trish breaks my thoughts. “We barely saw you! Did you go into town?”

“I went to Nathaniel’s house,” I reply without thinking.

“Nathaniel?” Trish sounds astonished. “The gardener? Why?”

Immediately I realize my huge mistake. I can’t exactly say, “To have cooking lessons.” I try to fabricate an instant, convincing reason.

“Just… to say hello, really,” I say at last, aware that I sound tongue-tied. And also that my cheeks are turning pink.

Trish’s face suddenly snaps in comprehension and her eyes open very wide.

“Oh, I see,” she says. “How adorable!”

“No!” I say quickly. “It’s not… Honestly—”

“Don’t worry!” Trish cuts me off emphatically. “I won’t say a word. I am discretion itself.” She puts a finger to her lips. “You can rely on me.”

Before I can say anything else she picks up her coffee and heads out of the kitchen. I sit down amid all the kitchen

stuff and packaging and fiddle with the truffle beater.

That was awkward. But I suppose it doesn’t really matter. As long as she doesn’t say anything inappropriate to Nathaniel.

Then I realize I’m being stupid. Of course she’ll say something inappropriate to Nathaniel. She’ll make some oh-so-subtle innuendo, and then who knows what he’ll think. This could be really embarrassing. This could ruin everything.

I must go and make the situation quite clear to him. That Trish misunderstood me, and I do not have a crush on him.

While, obviously, making it clear that I do.

I force myself to wait until I’ve done breakfast for Trish and Eddie, tidied the new kitchen equipment away, mixed up some olive oil and lemon zest, and put tonight’s sea bream fillets into it, just as Iris taught me.

Then I hitch up my uniform a bit more, add some more eyeliner for luck, and head out into the garden, holding a basket I found in the larder. If Trish wants to know what I’m doing, I’m gathering herbs for cooking.

I find Nathaniel in the orchard behind the old wall, standing on a ladder, tying some rope round a tree. As I make my way toward him I’m ridiculously nervous. My mouth feels dry—and did my legs just wobble‘?

God, you’d think I’d have some poise. You’d think being a lawyer for seven years would have prepared me a bit better. Ignoring my jitters as best I can, I walk up to the ladder, toss back my hair, and wave up to him, trying not to squint in the sun.

“Hi!”

“Hi.” Nathaniel smiles back. “How’s it going?”

“Fine, thanks! Much better. No disasters yet…”

There’s a pause. I suddenly realize I’m gazing a little too hard at his hands as they tighten the rope. “I was just after some… rosemary.” I gesture to my basket. “If you have any?”