The Undomestic Goddess - Sophie Kinsella

stammer, I stutter, I repeat myself and go round in circles.

Nathaniel listens in silence. He’s leaning against an old stone pillar in front of the secluded bench where I’m sitting. His face is in profile, shadowed in the afternoon sun, and I can’t tell what he’s thinking.

At last I come to a finish and he slowly lifts his head. If I was hoping for a smile, I don’t get it. I’ve never seen him look so shell-shocked.

“You’re a lawyer,” he says at last. All the light seems to have gone out of his eyes.

“Yes.”

“I can’t believe you’re a lawyer.” There’s a hostility to his tone that I’ve never heard before.

“Nathaniel.” I swallow hard. “I know you had a bad experience with lawyers. I’m really sorry about your dad. But… I’m not like that.You know I’m not—”

“How do I?” he retorts with sudden aggression. “How do I know who you are anymore? You lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie! I just… didn’t tell you everything.”

“I thought you were in an abusive relationship.” He bows his head, clenching his hands behind his neck. “I thought that’s why you didn’t want to talk about your past. And you let me

believe it. When you went up to London, I was worried about you. Jesus.”

“I’m sorry.” I wince with guilt. “I’m so sorry. I just… didn’t want you to know the truth.”

“Why not? What, you didn’t trust me?”

“No!” I say in dismay. “Of course I trust you! If it had been anything else… Nathaniel, you have to understand. When we first met, how could I tell you? Everyone knows you hate lawyers.You even have a sign in your pub!”

“That sign’s a joke.” He makes an impatient gesture.

“It’s not. Not completely! Come on, Nathaniel. If I’d told you I was a City

lawyer when we first met, would you have treated me in the same way?”

Nathaniel doesn’t reply. He’s taken a few steps away and turned to face the house, as if he can’t even bear to look at me anymore.

It’s all ruined between us. Just as I feared. I can feel the tears rising but somehow keep my chin steady.

“Nathaniel, I didn’t tell you the truth about myself because it was incredibly painful,” I say quietly. “And because everything was so wonderful between us, I didn’t want to ruin it. And because… I thought you might look at me differently.”

Nathaniel slowly turns to face me, his face still closed and unforgiving.

“Like you’re looking at me now.” A tear runs down my cheek and I brush it away. “This is what I was afraid of.”

The silence seems to last forever. Then Nathaniel exhales heavily, as though coming to a conclusion.

“Come here.” He holds out his arms. “Come here.”

He wraps them around me and I lean against his chest, almost overcome with relief.

“I’m the same person, you know,” I mumble. “Even if I used to be a lawyer— I’m still me. Samantha.”

“Samantha Sweeting, corporate lawyer.” He surveys me for a few moments. “Nope. I can’t see it.”

“Me either! That part of my life is over. Nathaniel… I’m so sorry. I never meant any of this to happen.” A bay leaf falls into his hair from the tree behind and I pick it out, automatically rubbing it to release the sweet scent.

“So what happens now?” says Nathaniel.

“Nothing. The media interest will die down. They’ll get bored.” I rest my head on his shoulder. “I’m happy in my job. I’m happy in this village. I’m happy with you. I just want everything to stay the same.”

Chapter Twenty-four

I’m wrong. The media interest doesn’t die down. I wake up the next morning to find twice as many reporters as yesterday camped outside, plus two TV vans. My mobile is so jammed with messages from journalists who have got hold of the number, I’ve given up listening to them. As I enter the kitchen, Melissa and Eddie are sitting at the table, which is covered in newspapers.

“You’re in every single paper,” Melissa informs me. “Uncle Eddie went down to the shop for them. Look.” She shows me a double-page spread in the Sun. There’s a picture of me superimposed on the background of a loo, and someone’s drawn a toilet brush in one of my hands, “I’D RATHER CLEAN LOOS!” is in huge letters next to my face.

“Oh, my God.” I sink into a chair and stare at the picture. “Why?”

“It’s August,” says Eddie, flicking through the Telegraph. “Nothing else in the news. Says here you’re a casualty of today’s work-obsessed society.‘ He turns the paper around to show me a small item topped with the headline CARTER SPINK HIGHFLYER CHOOSES DRUDGERY AFTER RUMORS OF SCANDAL.

“It says here you’re a Judas to career women everywhere.” Melissa is reading the Herald. “This columnist Mindy Morrell is really angry with you.”

“Angry?” I echo, bewildered. “Why would anyone be angry with me?”

“But in the Daily World you’re a savior of traditional values.” Melissa reaches for the paper and opens it. “Samantha Sweeting believes women should return to the hearthside for the sake of their own health and that of society.”

“What? I never said that!” I grab the paper and scan the text in disbelief. “Why are they all so obsessed?”

“Silly season,” says Eddie, reaching for the Express. “Is it true you singlehandedly uncovered Mafia connections at your law firm?”

“No!” I look up. “Who said that?”

“Can’t remember where I saw it now,” he says, riffling through the pages. “There’s a picture of your mother in this one. Nice-looking lady.”

“My mother?” I stare in dismay.

“High-flying daughter of a high-flying mother,” Eddie reads aloud. “Was the pressure to succeed too much?”

Oh, God. Mum is going to kill me.

“This one has a poll, look.” Eddie has opened another paper. “Samantha Sweeting: Heroine or Fool? Phone or text your vote. Then they give a number to call.” He reaches for the phone and frowns. “Which shall I vote for?”

“Fool,” says Melissa, grabbing the phone. “I’ll do it.”

“Samantha! You’re up!”

I raise my head to see Trish coming into the kitchen, holding a bundle of newspapers under her arm. As she looks