The Undomestic Goddess - Sophie Kinsella

anything. It could be something small and insignificant. Or she could have found out the whole lot.

“I don’t know what you’re referring to,” I say in a throaty voice. “Madam.”

“Well.” Trish walks toward me, swishing her silk dressing gown crossly. “As you can imagine, I’m rather upset that you never told me you’d cooked paella for the Spanish ambassador.”

My mouth hangs open.

“I specifically asked in your interview if you had cooked for any notable persons.” Trish arches her eyebrows in reproof. “You never even mentioned the banquet for three hundred at the Mansion House.”

OK, has she been bipolar all this time? That would explain a lot.

“Mrs. Geiger,” I say, a little nervous. “Would you like to sit down?”

“No, thank you!” she says crisply. “I’m still on the phone with Lady Edgerly.”

Freya’s on the phone?

“Lady Edgerly…” Trish lifts the phone to her ear. “You’re quite right Jar too unassuming…” She looks up. “Lady Edgerly would like to have a word with you.”

She hands me the phone and in a blur of incredulity I lift it to my ear.

“Hello?”

“Samantha?” Freya’s familiar, raspy voice erupts into my ear through a sea of

static. “Are you OK? What the fuck is going on?”

“I’m… fine!” I glance at Trish, who is standing approximately two meters away. “I’ll just… go somewhere a bit more…”

Ignoring Trish’s laserlike eyes, I hurry into my bedroom and close the door tight. Then I lift the phone to my ear again.

“I’m fine!” I feel a rush of joy to be talking to Freya again. “It’s so amazing to hear from you!”

“What on earth’s going on?” she demands again. “I got this message but it made no sense! You’re a housekeeper? Is this some huge windup?”

“No.” I glance at the door, then move into the bathroom and turn the fan on. “I’m a full-time housekeeper,” I say in a lower voice. “I’ve left my job at Carter Spink.”

“You’ve quit?” says Freya. “Just like that?”

“I didn’t quit. I was… thrown out. I made a mistake and they fired me.”

It’s still hard to say it. Or even to think about it.

“You were thrown out for a simple mistake?” Freya sounds outraged. “Jesus H. Christ, these people—”

“It wasn’t a simple mistake,” I cut her off in mid-flow. “It was… a really big, important mistake. Anyway, that’s what

happened. And I decided to do something different. Become a housekeeper for a bit.”

“You decided to become a housekeeper,” echoes Freya slowly. “Samantha, did you totally lose your mind?”

“Why not?” I say defensively. “You were the one who said I should have a break.”

“But a housekeeper? You can’t cook!”

“Well, I know.”

“I mean, you really can’t cook!” She’s giggling now. “I’ve seen your cooking. And your nonexistent cleaning.”

“I know! It was a bit of a nightmare to begin with. But I’m kind of… learning. You’d be surprised.”

“Do you have to wear an apron?”

“I’ve got this hideous nylon uniform.” I’m snuffling with laughter now. “And I call them Madam… and Sir… and I curtsy.”

“Samantha, this is insane,” says Freya. “Absolutely insane.

You cannot stay there. I’m going to rescue you. I’ll fly back tomorrow—“

“No!” I say with more vehemence than I intended. “No! I’m… having a good time. I’ve met—”

I halt abruptly. But Freya’s too quick off the mark for me.

“A man?” she exclaims in delight.

“Well… yes.”

“That’s fantastic! About time too. Only he’d better not be another dreary lawyer—”

“Don’t worry.” I feel an unwilling grin come to my face. “He’s not.”

“Details?”

“It’s early days. But he’s… you know. Nice.”

“Well, even so. If you want to escape, you know I’m only a phone call away. You can stay at our place.”

“Thanks, Freya.” I feel a tug of affection for her.

“No problem. Samantha?”

“Yes?” There’s a long silence, until I think the line must have cut out.

“What about the law?” says Freya at last. “What about partnership? I know I gave you a hard time about it. But it was your dream. Are you just going to abandon it?”

I push down a twinge of deep, buried grief.

“That dream’s over,” I say shortly. “Partners don’t make fifty-million-quid mistakes.”

“Fifty million quid?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Jesus.” I hear her sharp intake of breath. “I had no idea. I can’t imagine how you’ve coped with all this—”

“It’s fine.” I cut her off. “I’ve got over it.”

Freya sighs. “You know, I had a feeling something was up. I tried to send you an e-mail the other day via the Carter Spink Web site. But your page was gone.”

“Really?” I feel an odd tweak inside.

“And then I thought—” She breaks off, and I can hear some kind of mayhem in the background. “Oh, bugger. Our transport’s here. Listen, I’ll call again soon—”

“Wait!” I say urgently. “Before you go, Freya, what on earth did you say to Trish about the Spanish ambassador? And the Mansion House?”

“Oh, that! Well, she kept asking questions, so I thought I’d better make some stuff up. I said you could fold napkins into a scene from Swan Lake…

and make ice sculptures… and David Linley once asked for your cheese-straw recipe.”

“Freya…” I close my eyes.

“I made quite a lot up, actually. She lapped it up! I have to go, babe. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

The phone goes dead and I stand motionless for a moment, the bathroom suddenly very silent without Freya’s husky voice in my ear.

I look at my watch. It’s still early. I’ve got time to have a look.

Three minutes later I’m sitting at Eddie’s desk, tapping my fingers as I wait for the Internet connection to work. I asked