The Undomestic Goddess - Sophie Kinsella

Just know that this summer was perfect.

N

Tears are flooding down my cheeks as I read it, over and over. I can’t believe he’s gone. How can he have given up on us? Whatever Guy said to him, whatever he thought. How can he have just left?

We could have made it work. Didn’t he know that? Didn’t he feel it, deep down?

I hear a sound and look up to see Guy and a crowd of journalists gathered around me. I hadn’t even noticed.

“Go away,” I say in a muffled voice. “Leave me alone.”

“Samantha,” says Guy, his voice low and conciliatory. “I know you’re hurt. I’m sorry if I upset you.”

I feel numb. It really is all over. I’m sitting in a first-class compartment on the express train to London, with the other partners. In a couple of hours we’ll be back. I have a new pair of tights on. My makeup has been repaired. I’ve even given a fresh statement to the press, hastily constructed by Hilary: “Although I will always feel affection for my friends in Lower Ebury, nothing is more exciting and important in my life right now than my career with Carter Spink.”

I was pretty convincing. I even found a smile from somewhere as I shook David Elldridge’s hand. It’s just possible they might print a picture of that, rather than

the one of me punching Guy. You never know.

As the train pulls out of the station I feel a painful stab and close my eyes for a moment, trying to stay composed. I’m doing the right thing. Everyone’s agreed. I take a sip of cappuccino, then another. If I drink enough coffee maybe it’ll jolt me alive. Maybe I’ll stop feeling as though I’m in a dream.

Wedged in the corner opposite me is the TV cameraman for the news documentary, together with the producer, Dominic, a guy with trendy glasses and a denim jacket. I can feel the camera lens on me, following every move, zooming in and out, catching every expression. I could really do without this.

“And so lawyer Samantha Sweeting leaves the village where she was known only as domestic help,” Dominic is saying into his microphone in a low, TVcommentary voice. “The question is— does she have any regrets?” He gives me a questioning glance.

“I thought you were supposed to be fly- on-the-wall,” I snap with a baleful look.

“Here you go!” Guy dumps a heavy set of contracts on my lap. “Here’s the Samatron deal. Get your teeth into that.”

I look at the piles of paper, inches thick. Once upon a time, seeing a brand-new, fresh contract gave me a rush of adrenaline. I always wanted to be first to spot an anomaly, first to raise a query. But now I feel blank.

Everyone else in the carriage is working away. I leaf through the contract, trying to summon up some enthusiasm. Come on. This is my life now. Once I get back into the swing of it I’ll start to enjoy it again, surely.

But the words are jumbling in front of my eyes. I can’t concentrate. All I can think about is Nathaniel. I’ve tried calling him but he isn’t answering. Or replying to texts. It’s like he doesn’t want to know anymore.

How can everything be over? How can he have just left?

My eyes are starting to blur with tears again and I furiously blink them away. I can’t cry. I’m a partner. Partners do not cry. Trying to get a grip, I look out the

window instead. We seem to be slowing down, which is a bit weird.

“An announcement for all passengers.” A voice suddenly comes crackling out of the loudspeakers. “This train has been rescheduled as a slow train. It will be stopping at Hitherton, Marston Bridge, Bridbury…”

“What?” Guy looks up. “A slow train?”

“Jesus Christ.” David Elldridge scowls. “How much longer will it take?”

“… and will arrive at Paddington half an hour after the scheduled time,” the voice is saying. “Apologies for any—”

“Half an hour?” David Elldridge whips out his mobile phone, looking livid. “I’m going to have to reschedule my meeting.”

“I’ll have to put off the Pattinson Lobb people.” Guy looks equally pissed off, and is already jabbing at the speed-dial on his phone. “Hi Mary? Guy. Listen, total cock-up on this train. I’m going to be half an hour late—”

“Rearrange Derek Tomlinson—” David’s instructing.

“We’ll have to push back Pattinson Lobb, cancel that guy from The Lawyer—”

“Davina,” Greg Parker is saying into his phone. “Fucking train’s slow. Tell the rest of the team I’ll be half an hour late, I’m sending an e-mail—” He puts down his phone and immediately starts typing into his BlackBerry. A moment later Guy is doing the same.

I’m watching all this frenzied action incredulously. They all look so stressed. So the train’s going to be late. It’s half an hour. It’s thirty minutes. How can anyone get so het up over thirty minutes?

Is this what I’m supposed to be like? Because I’ve forgotten how. Maybe I’ve forgotten how to be a lawyer altogether.

The train pulls into Hitherton station and slowly comes to a halt. I glance out the window—then gasp aloud. A huge hotair balloon is hovering just a few feet above the station building. It’s bright red and yellow, with people waving from a basket. It looks like something out of a fairy tale.

“Hey, look!” I exclaim. “Look at that!”

No one moves their head. They’re all frantically tapping at their keyboards.

“Look!” I try again. “It’s amazing!” There’s still no response. No one is interested in anything except the contents of their BlackBerry. And now the balloon’s soared away again. In a moment it’ll be out of sight. They all missed it.

I look at them, the cream of the legal world, dressed in their thousand-pound handmade suits, holding state-of-the-art computers. Missing out. Not even caring that they’re missing out. Living in their own world.

I don’t belong here. This is not my world anymore. I’m not one of them.