The Undomestic Goddess - Sophie Kinsella

“Sure. I’ll cut you some.” He jumps down off the ladder and we walk along the path toward the herb garden.

It’s totally silent, down here away from the house, apart from the odd buzzing insect and the crunch of gravel on the path. I try to think of something light and easy to say, but my brain is blank.

“It’s… hot,” I manage at last.

“Uh-huh.” Nathaniel nods, and steps up easily over the stone wall into the herb garden. I try to follow him with a light springing step and catch my foot on the wall. Ow. Fuck.

“All right?” Nathaniel turns.

“Fine!” Even though my foot is throbbing with agony. “Wow. This is

amazing!” I look around the garden in genuine admiration. It’s laid out in a hexagonal shape, with little paths between the sections. Tiny dark green hedges act as borders, and topiary spheres mark the corners. Lavender stems are gently waving in old stone planters, interspersed with tubs of some tiny white flower that smells of honey.

“Did you do all this?” I peer at a bed of plants that I think might be oregano. “It’s absolutely stunning!”

“Thanks. I’m pleased with it.” Nathaniel sounds offhand but I can tell he’s gratified. “Anyway. Your rosemary.”

He pulls out a pair of secateurs from an old leather holster-type thing and starts clipping at a dark green, spiky bush.

OK. I have to say what I’ve come to say.

“So… um… it’s really weird,” I begin as lightly as I can, fingering the scented leaves of some bushy plant. “But Trish seems to have got the wrong idea about us! She seems to think we’re… you know.”

“Ah.” He nods, his face averted.

“Which is obviously… ridiculous!” I add.

“Mm-hmm.” He clips some more rosemary sprigs and holds them up. “This enough for you?”

Mm-hmm? That’s it? That’s all he has to say on the subject?

“Actually, I’d like some more,” I say, and he turns back to the bush. “So… isn’t

it ridiculous?” I add, trying to prod him into a proper answer.

“Well, of course.” At last Nathaniel looks at me properly. “You won’t be wanting to get into anything for a while. Not so soon after a bad relationship.”

I look at him blankly. What on earth—

Oh, yes. My bad relationship.

“Right,” I say after a pause. “Yes, that.”

Dammit.

Why did I go along with the bad relationship story? What was I thinking?

“Here’s your rosemary.” Nathaniel puts a fragrant bundle into my arms. “Anything else?”

“Um… yes!” I say quickly. “Could I have some mint?”

I watch as he moves carefully over the rows of herbs to where mint is growing in large stone containers.

“Actually…” I force myself to sound careless. “Actually, the relationship wasn’t that bad. In fact, I think I’ve pretty much got over it.”

Nathaniel looks up, shading his eyes against the sun. “You’ve got over a seven-year relationship in a week?”

Now that he puts it like that, it does sound a bit implausible. I cast around quickly in my mind.

“I have great reserves of resilience,” I say at last. “I’m like… rubber.”

“Rubber,” he echoes, his expression unreadable.

Was rubber a bad choice of word? No. Come on, rubber is sexy.

Nathaniel adds the mint to the rosemary in my arms. “Mum said…” He pauses awkwardly.

“What?” I say, a little breathless. They’ve been talking about me?

“Mum wondered if you’d been… badly treated.” He shifts his gaze away. “You’re so tense and twitchy.”

“I’m not tense and twitchy!” I retort at once.

Well, maybe that was a little tense and twitchy.

“I’m naturally twitchy,” I explain. “But I wasn’t badly treated or anything like that. I was just… I always felt… trapped.”

The word comes out to my own surprise. I have a flash of my life at Carter Spink. Constantly at the beck and call of senior partners. Practically living at the office some weeks. Taking piles of work home with me. Answering e-mails at every hour. Maybe I did feel a little bit trapped.

“But I’m fine now.” I shake back my hair. “Ready to move on… and start a new relationship… or something more casual… whatever.”

I gaze up at him, trying as hard as I can to dilate my pupils and casually lifting my hand to my ear for good measure.

There’s a still, tense silence, broken only by the buzzing of insects.

“You probably shouldn’t rush into anything new,” Nathaniel says. He moves away without meeting my eye and starts examining the leaves on a shrub.

There’s a stiffness in his back. I feel a rush of blood to my face. He’s letting me down lightly. He doesn’t want to go out with me.

Aargh. This is hideous. Here I am, with my hitched-up skirt and eyeliner, employing all the body language I know, basically just offering myself to him. And he’s trying to let me know he’s not interested.

I’m mortified. I have to get away from here. From him.

“You’re right,” I say, flustered. “It’s… far too soon to think about anything like that. In fact, it would be a terrible idea. I’m just going to focus on my new job. Cooking and… and… so forth. I must get on. Thanks for the herbs.”

“Anytime,” says Nathaniel.

“Yes. Well. I’ll see you.”

Clasping the bundle more tightly, I turn on my heel, step over the wall, managing not to bash my foot this time, and stride back along the gravel path up to the house.

I am beyond embarrassed. So much for a whole new Samantha.

That is the last time I ever go after a man, ever. My original strategy of waiting

politely, being ignored, and then being passed over for someone else was a million times better.

Anyway. I don’t care. It’s for the best, really. Because I do have to concentrate on my work. As soon as I get back to the house I set up the ironing board, plug in the iron, turn on the radio, and make a nice strong cup of coffee. This is going to be my focus from now on. Getting my tasks for the day done. Not some ridiculous crush on the gardener. I’m being paid to do a job here and I’m going to do it.

By midmorning I’ve ironed ten shirts, put a load of laundry on, and hoovered the conservatory. By lunchtime, I’ve dusted and hoovered all the downstairs rooms and polished all the mirrors with vinegar.