The Undomestic Goddess

  “Samantha,” she says at last. “Where have you been these last weeks?”

  “I’ve been … away somewhere.” My eye falls on a duster and can of Pledge, sitting on a side table. She must have been in the middle of cleaning when I rang. “I wouldn’t use those dusters if I were you,” I add politely. “I can recommend some better ones.”

  Mrs. Farley puts down her cup and leans forward in her chair. Her brow is wrinkled in concern.

  “Samantha, you haven’t joined some sort of religion?”

  “No!” I can’t help laughing at her face. “I’ve just been … doing something different. More coffee?”

  I head into the kitchen and froth up some more milk. When I return to the sitting room, Mrs. Farley is on her second slice of cake.

  “This is very good,” she says between bites. “Thank you.”

  “Well … you know.” I shrug, a little awkward. “Thanks for looking out for me all that time.”

  Mrs. Farley finishes her cake, puts her plate down, and regards me for a few moments, her head cocked to one side like a bird.

  “Dear,” she says finally. “I don’t know where you’ve been. Or what you’re doing. But whatever it is, you’re transformed.”

  “I know my hair’s different—” I begin, but Mrs. Farley shakes her head.

  “I used to see you, rushing in and out, arriving home late at night, always looking so weary. So troubled. And I used to think you looked like … like the empty shell of a person. Like a dried-up leaf. A husk.”

  A dried-up leaf? I think in indignation. A husk?

  “But now you’ve blossomed! You look fitter, you look healthier … you look happy.” She puts her cup down and leans forward. “Whatever you’ve been doing, dear, you look wonderful.”

  “Oh. Well … thanks,” I say bashfully. “I suppose I do feel different. I suppose I’m more relaxed these days.” I take a sip of coffee and lean back in my chair, mulling it over. “I enjoy life a bit more than I used to. I notice more than I used to—”

  “You haven’t noticed your phone’s ringing,” Mrs. Farley interrupts mildly, nodding at my pocket.

  “Oh!” I say in surprise, and grab my phone. “I should get this. Excuse me.”

  I flip it open and immediately hear Ketterman’s voice in my ear.

  “Samantha.”

  I spend three hours at the Carter Spink offices, talking in turn to a man from the Law Society, two of the senior partners, and a guy from Third Union Bank. By the time we finish I feel drained from repeating the same things over and over to the same carefully blank faces. The office lights are making my head ache. I’d forgotten how airless and dry the atmosphere is here.

  I still haven’t worked out exactly what’s going on. Lawyers are so bloody discreet. I know someone’s been to see Arnold at his home and that’s about it. But even if no one’s going to admit it, I know I was right. I’ve been vindicated.

  After the last interview, a plate of sandwiches is brought to the small conference room I’m in, together with a bottle of mineral water and a muffin. I get to my feet, stretch out my arms, and wander over to the window. I feel like a prisoner in here. There’s a tapping at the door and Ketterman comes into the room.

  “Have we finished yet?” I say.

  “We may need to speak to you again.” He gestures to the sandwiches. “Have something to eat.”

  I cannot stay in this room a moment longer. I have to stretch my legs, at least.

  “I’ll just go and freshen up first,” I say, and hurry out of the room before he can object.

  As I enter the Ladies, all the women in there stop talking immediately. I disappear into a cubicle and hear the sound of excited whisperings and murmurings outside. As I come out again, not one person has left the room. I can feel all the eyes on me, like sunlamps.

  “So are you back now, Samantha?” says an associate called Lucy.

  “Is it true you were a waitress?” chimes in a secretary from Litigation.

  “Not exactly.” I turn away to the sink, feeling self-conscious.

  “You look so different,” says another girl.

  “Your arms!” says Lucy as I wash my hands. “They’re so brown. And toned. Have you been to a spa?”

  “Er … no.” I pull down some paper towel. “But thanks. So, how’s life been here?”

  “Good.” Lucy nods a few times. “Really busy. Clocked up sixty-six billable hours last week. Two all-nighters.”

  “I had three,” puts in another girl. I can see the pride in her face. And the dark gray shadows under her eyes. Is that what I used to look like? All pale and strained and tense?

  “Great!” I say politely, drying my hands. “Well, I’d better get back now. See you.”

  I exit the Ladies and am walking back to the conference room, lost in my own thoughts, when I hear a voice.

  “Oh, my God, Samantha?”

  “Guy?” I look up in shock to see him hurrying down the corridor toward me, his smile even more dazzling than ever.

  I wasn’t expecting to see Guy here. In fact, I feel a bit thrown by the sight of him.

  “Wow.” He grips my shoulders tightly and scans my face. “You look fantastic.”

  “I thought you were in Hong Kong.”

  “Got back this morning. I’ve just been briefed on the situation. Bloody hell, Samantha, it’s incredible.” He lowers his voice. “Only you could work all that out. Arnold, of all people. I was shell-shocked. Everyone is. Those who know,” he adds, lowering his voice still further. “Obviously it’s not out yet.”

  “I don’t even know what the ‘situation’ is,” I reply, with a touch of resentment. “No one’s telling me anything.”

  “Well, they will.” Guy reaches into his pocket, gets out his BlackBerry, and squints at it. “You are flavor of the month right now. I knew it all along.” He looks up. “I knew you could never make a mistake.”

  What? How can he say that?

  “No, you didn’t,” I reply at last, finding my words. “No, you didn’t. If you remember, you said I’d made errors. You said I was ‘unreliable.’ ”

  I can feel all the old hurt and humiliation starting to rise again and look away.

  “I said other people had said you made errors.” Guy pauses in tapping at his BlackBerry and looks up, frowning. “Shit, Samantha. I did stand up for you. I was on your side. Ask anyone!”

  That’s why you wouldn’t have me to stay.

  But I don’t say anything out loud. I really don’t want to get into it. It’s history.

  “Fine,” I say at last. “Whatever.”

  We start walking along the corridor together, Guy still engrossed in the BlackBerry. God, he’s addicted to that thing, I think with slight irritation.

  “So where the hell did you disappear to?” At last he stops tapping. “What have you been doing all this time? You’re not really a waitress?”

  “No.” I can’t help smiling at his expression. “I’m not. I’ve got a job.”

  “I knew you’d get snapped up.” He nods with satisfaction. “Who’s employed you?”

  “Oh … no one you’d know.”

  “You’re in the same area, though?” He puts his BlackBerry away. “Doing the same kind of work?”

  I have a sudden vision of me in my blue nylon overall, mopping Trish’s bathroom floor.

  “Er … as it happens, not really.” Somehow I keep a straight face. Guy seems surprised.

  “But you’re still in banking law, right? Don’t tell me you’ve made a complete change?” He suddenly looks galvanized. “You haven’t gone into commercial law, have you?”

  “Um, no … not commercial law. I’d better go.” I cut him off and open the door to the interview room. “See you later.”

  I eat my sandwiches, I drink my mineral water. For half an hour no one disturbs me. I feel a bit like I’m in quarantine for some deadly illness. They could have given me some magazines, at least. I’ve developed quite a habit for gossip, after bei
ng surrounded by Trish’s endless supply of Heat and Hello!

  At last I hear a knock at the door and Ketterman comes in.

  “Samantha. We would like to see you in the boardroom.”

  The boardroom?

  I follow Ketterman down the corridors, aware of the nudges and whisperings from everyone we pass. He opens the huge double doors to the boardroom and I walk in to see about half the partners standing there, waiting for me. There’s silence as Ketterman closes the doors. I glance at Guy, who grins back encouragingly but says nothing.

  Am I supposed to speak? Did I miss the instructions? Ketterman has joined the group of partners. Now he turns to face me.

  “Samantha. As you know, an investigation of … recent events is under way. The results have not yet been fully determined.” He breaks off, looking tense, and I can see some of the others exchanging sober looks. “However, we have come to one conclusion. You were … wronged.”

  I’m stupefied. He’s admitting it? Getting a lawyer to admit they’ve made a mistake is like getting a movie star to admit they had liposuction.

  “I’m sorry?” I say, just to force him to repeat it.

  “You were wronged.” Ketterman frowns, clearly not enjoying this part of the conversation at all. I almost want to laugh.

  “I was … wrong?” I hazard, looking puzzled.

  “Wronged!” he snaps. “Wronged!”

  “Oh, wronged. Well, thank you.” I smile politely. “I appreciate that.”

  They’ll probably offer me some kind of bonus, it crosses my mind. A luxury gift basket. Or even a holiday.

  “And therefore—” Ketterman pauses. “We would like to offer you full equity partnership in the firm. Effective immediately.”

  I’m so shocked I nearly sit down on the floor. Full equity partnership?

  I open my mouth—but I can’t speak. I feel winded. I look around helplessly, like a fish on the end of a line. Full equity partnership is the highest pinnacle, way above the first rung of partnership. It’s the most prestigious job in law. I never, ever, ever expected that.

  “Welcome back, Samantha,” says Greg Parker.

  “Welcome back,” chime in a few others. David Elldridge gives me a warm smile. Guy gives me the thumbs-up.

  “We have some champagne.” Ketterman nods to Guy, who opens the double doors. The next moment two waitresses from the partners’ dining room are coming in with trays of champagne glasses. Someone puts one in my hand.

  This is all going too fast.

  “Er … excuse me?” I call out. “I haven’t actually said if I’ll accept it.”

  The whole room seems to freeze, like a videotape on pause.

  “I’m sorry?” Ketterman turns to me.

  Oh, God. I’m not sure they’re going to take this very well.

  “The thing is …” I break off and take a sip of champagne for Dutch courage, trying to work out how to put this tactfully.

  I’ve been thinking about it all day, over and over. Being a partner at Carter Spink is the dream I’ve had all my adult life. The glittering prize. It’s everything I ever wanted …

  Except all the things I never knew I wanted. Things I had no idea about until a few weeks ago. Like fresh air. Like evenings off. Unburdened weekends. Making plans with friends. Sitting in the pub after my work is done, drinking cider, with nothing to do, nothing hanging over me.

  Even if they’re offering me full equity partnership, it doesn’t change the way I feel. It doesn’t change me. Mrs. Farley was right: I’ve blossomed. I’m not a husk anymore.

  Why would I go back to being a husk?

  I clear my throat.

  “It’s a tremendous honor to be offered such an amazing opportunity,” I say earnestly. “And I’m very grateful. Truly. However … the reason I came back wasn’t to get my job back. It was to clear my name. To prove that I didn’t make a mistake.” I can’t help shooting a look at Guy. “The truth is, since leaving Carter Spink I’ve … well … moved on. I have a job. Which I very much enjoy. So I won’t be taking up your offer.”

  There’s a stunned silence.

  “Thank you,” I add again, politely. “And … er … thanks for the champagne.”

  “Is she serious?” says someone at the back. Ketterman and Elldridge are exchanging frowns.

  “Samantha,” says Ketterman, coming forward. “You may have found opportunities elsewhere. But you are a Carter Spink lawyer. This is where you trained, this is where you belong.”

  “If it’s a question of salary,” adds Elldridge, “I’m sure we can match whatever you’re currently—” He glances at Guy. “Which law firm has she gone to?”

  “Wherever you are, I’ll speak to the senior partner,” says Ketterman in a businesslike way. “The personnel director … whoever would be appropriate. We’ll sort this out. If you give me a number.” He’s taking out his BlackBerry.

  My mouth twists. I desperately want to laugh.

  “There isn’t a personnel director,” I explain. “Or a senior partner.”

  “There isn’t a senior partner?” Ketterman looks impatient. “How can there not be a senior partner?”

  “I never said I was working as a lawyer.”

  It’s as if I’ve said I think the world is flat. I have never seen so many flummoxed faces in my life.

  “You’re … not working as a lawyer?” says Elldridge at last. “What are you working as, then?”

  I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this. But on the other hand, why shouldn’t they know?

  “I’m working as a housekeeper.” I smile.

  “ ‘Housekeeper?’ ” Elldridge peers at me. “Is that the new jargon for ‘troubleshooter’? I can’t keep up with these ridiculous job titles.”

  “You’re on the compliance side?” says Ketterman. “Is that what you mean?”

  “No, it’s not what I mean,” I say patiently. “I’m a housekeeper. I make beds. I cook meals. I’m a domestic.”

  God, I wish I had a camera. Their faces.

  “You’re literally … a housekeeper?” stutters Elldridge at last.

  “Uh-huh.” I look at my watch. “And I’m fulfilled and I’m relaxed and I’m happy. In fact, I should be getting back. Thank you,” I add to Ketterman. “For listening to me. You’re the only one who did.”

  “You’re turning down our offer?” says Oliver Swan incredulously.

  “I’m turning down your offer.” I give an apologetic shrug. “Sorry. Bye, everyone.”

  As I head out of the room I feel slightly wobbly about the legs. And slightly manic inside. I turned it down. I turned down full equity partnership of Carter Spink.

  What the hell is my mother going to say?

  The thought makes me want to burst into hysterical laughter.

  I feel too keyed up to wait for the lift, so I head down the stairwell, clattering down the cold stone steps.

  “Samantha!” Guy’s voice suddenly echoes above me.

  Oh, honestly. What does he want?

  “I’m going!” I yell back. “Leave me alone!”

  “You can’t go!”

  I can hear him accelerating down the steps, so I pick up speed myself. I’ve said my piece—what more is there to talk about? My shoes are clacking on the steps as I tear down, gripping on the handrail for balance. But even so, Guy’s gaining on me.

  “Samantha, this is crazy!”

  “No, it’s not!”

  “I can’t let you ruin your career out of … out of … pique!” he calls, and I wheel round indignantly, nearly falling down the stairs.

  “I’m not doing this out of pique!”

  “I know you’re angry with us all!” Guy joins me on the staircase, breathing hard. “I’m sure it makes you feel really good to turn us down, to say you’re working as a housekeeper—”

  “I am working as a housekeeper!” I retort. “And I’m not turning you down because I’m angry. I’m turning you down because I don’t want the job.”

  “Samantha, you
wanted partnership more than anything else in the world!” Guy grabs my arm. “I know you did! You’ve worked for it for all these years. You can’t throw it away! It’s too valuable.”

  “What if I don’t value it anymore?”

  “It’s been less than two months! Everything can’t have changed!”

  “It has. I have.”

  Guy shakes his head in disbelief. “You’re really serious about the housekeeper thing.”

  “I’m really serious,” I snap. “What’s wrong with being a housekeeper?”

  “Oh, for God’s—” He stops himself. “Look, Samantha, come upstairs. We’ll talk about it. The human-resources department has come on board. You lost your job … you were badly treated … it’s no wonder you can’t think straight. They’re suggesting counseling.”

  “I don’t need counseling!” I turn on my heel and start down the stairs again. “Just because I don’t want to be a lawyer, what, I’m crazy?”

  I reach the bottom of the stairwell and burst into the foyer with Guy in hot pursuit. Hilary Grant, head of PR, is sitting on a leather sofa with some red-suited woman I don’t recognize, and they both look up in surprise.

  “Samantha you cannot do this!” Guy is shouting after me as he emerges into the foyer. “You are one of the most talented lawyers I know. I cannot let you turn down partnership to be a fucking … housekeeper.”

  “Why not, if it’s what I want to do?” I come to a halt on the marble and spin round to face him. “Guy … I’ve found out what it’s like to have a life! I’ve found out what it’s like not working every weekend. Not feeling pressure all the time. And … I like it!”

  Guy isn’t listening to a word I say. He doesn’t even want to understand.

  “You’re going to stand there and tell me you prefer cleaning loos to being a partner at Carter Spink?” His face is flushed with outrage.

  “Yes!” I say defiantly. “Yes, I do!”

  “Who’s that?” says the woman in the red suit with interest.

  “Samantha, you’re making the biggest mistake of your entire existence!” Guy’s voice follows me as I reach the glass doors. “If you walk out now—”

  I don’t wait to hear any more. I’m out the door. Down the steps. Gone.