The Undomestic Goddess
Page 115
“It must be that prize I won at law school! They must have heard about it somehow!” Melissa is gasping. “Oh, my God! The Daily Mail!”
“They want to take photos too!” puts in Eddie. “They want an exclusive!”
“I need to put on some makeup!” Melissa looks totally flustered. “How do I look?”
“Here we are!” Trish wrenches open her handbag. “Here’s some mascara … and lipstick.…”
I have to stop this. I have to break it to them.
“Mr. Geiger …” I clear my throat. “Are you sure … I mean, did they ask for Melissa by … by name?”
“They didn’t need to!” He twinkles at me. “Only one lawyer in this house!”
“Make some coffee, Samantha,” instructs Trish sharply. “And use the pink cups. Quickly! Wash them up.”
“The thing is … I have … I have something to tell you.”
“Not now, Samantha! Wash up those cups!” Trish thrusts the rubber gloves at me. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you today—”
“But I don’t think they’ve come to see Melissa,” I say desperately. “There’s something I … I should have told you.”
No one pays any attention. They’re all focused on Melissa.
“How do I look?” Melissa smooths her hair back self-consciously.
“Lovely, darling!” Trish leans forward. “Just a touch more lipstick. Make you look really glamorous …”
“Is she ready for the interview?” An unfamiliar woman’s voice comes from the kitchen door and everyone freezes in excitement.
“In here!” Eddie pulls open the door to reveal a dark-haired, middle-aged woman in a trouser suit, whose eyes immediately run appraisingly over the kitchen.
“Here’s our legal star!” Eddie gestures to Melissa with a beam of pride.
“Hello.” Melissa tosses back her hair, then steps forward with an outstretched hand. “I’m Melissa Hurst.”
The woman looks at Melissa blankly for a few moments. “Not her,” she says. “Her.” And she points at me.
In puzzled silence, everyone turns to stare at me. Melissa’s eyes have narrowed to deepest suspicion. I can see the Geigers exchanging glances.
“That’s Samantha,” says Trish, looking perplexed. “The housekeeper.”
“You’re Samantha Sweeting, I take it?” The woman brings out her reporter’s pad. “Can I ask you a few questions?”
“You want to interview the housekeeper?” says Melissa, with a sarcastic laugh. The journalist ignores her.
“You are Samantha Sweeting, aren’t you?” she persists.
“I … yes,” I admit at last. “But I don’t want to do an interview. I don’t have any comment.”
“Comment?” Trish’s eyes dart around uncertainly. “Comment on what?”
“What’s going on, Samantha, love?” Eddie looks anxious. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“You haven’t told them?” The Daily Mail journalist looks up from her notepad. “They have no idea?”
“Told us what?” says Trish, agitated. “What?”
“She’s an illegal immigrant!” says Melissa in tones of triumph. “I knew it! I knew there was something—”
“Your ‘housekeeper’ is a top City lawyer.” The woman throws down a copy of the Daily World onto the kitchen table. “And she’s just turned down a six-figure partnership to work for you.”
It’s as though someone’s thrown a grenade into the kitchen. Eddie visibly reels. Trish totters on her high-heeled clogs and grabs a chair for balance. Melissa’s face looks like a popped balloon.
“I meant to tell you.” I bite my lip awkwardly as I look round the faces. “I was … getting round to it …”
Trish’s eyes are bulging as she reads the Daily World headline. Her mouth is opening and closing, but no sound is coming out.
“You’re a … a lawyer?” she stutters at last.
“Not just any old lawyer,” chimes in the journalist, consulting her notes. “Highest law degree of her year … youngest ever partner of Carter Spink—”
“You’re a partner at Carter Spink?” stutters Melissa.
“No!” I say. “I mean … well … kind of … Can I make anyone a cup of tea?” I add desperately.
No one is interested in tea.
“Did you have any idea your housekeeper has an IQ of 158?” The journalist is clearly loving this. “She’s a genius.”
“They want to take photos too!” puts in Eddie. “They want an exclusive!”
“I need to put on some makeup!” Melissa looks totally flustered. “How do I look?”
“Here we are!” Trish wrenches open her handbag. “Here’s some mascara … and lipstick.…”
I have to stop this. I have to break it to them.
“Mr. Geiger …” I clear my throat. “Are you sure … I mean, did they ask for Melissa by … by name?”
“They didn’t need to!” He twinkles at me. “Only one lawyer in this house!”
“Make some coffee, Samantha,” instructs Trish sharply. “And use the pink cups. Quickly! Wash them up.”
“The thing is … I have … I have something to tell you.”
“Not now, Samantha! Wash up those cups!” Trish thrusts the rubber gloves at me. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you today—”
“But I don’t think they’ve come to see Melissa,” I say desperately. “There’s something I … I should have told you.”
No one pays any attention. They’re all focused on Melissa.
“How do I look?” Melissa smooths her hair back self-consciously.
“Lovely, darling!” Trish leans forward. “Just a touch more lipstick. Make you look really glamorous …”
“Is she ready for the interview?” An unfamiliar woman’s voice comes from the kitchen door and everyone freezes in excitement.
“In here!” Eddie pulls open the door to reveal a dark-haired, middle-aged woman in a trouser suit, whose eyes immediately run appraisingly over the kitchen.
“Here’s our legal star!” Eddie gestures to Melissa with a beam of pride.
“Hello.” Melissa tosses back her hair, then steps forward with an outstretched hand. “I’m Melissa Hurst.”
The woman looks at Melissa blankly for a few moments. “Not her,” she says. “Her.” And she points at me.
In puzzled silence, everyone turns to stare at me. Melissa’s eyes have narrowed to deepest suspicion. I can see the Geigers exchanging glances.
“That’s Samantha,” says Trish, looking perplexed. “The housekeeper.”
“You’re Samantha Sweeting, I take it?” The woman brings out her reporter’s pad. “Can I ask you a few questions?”
“You want to interview the housekeeper?” says Melissa, with a sarcastic laugh. The journalist ignores her.
“You are Samantha Sweeting, aren’t you?” she persists.
“I … yes,” I admit at last. “But I don’t want to do an interview. I don’t have any comment.”
“Comment?” Trish’s eyes dart around uncertainly. “Comment on what?”
“What’s going on, Samantha, love?” Eddie looks anxious. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”
“You haven’t told them?” The Daily Mail journalist looks up from her notepad. “They have no idea?”
“Told us what?” says Trish, agitated. “What?”
“She’s an illegal immigrant!” says Melissa in tones of triumph. “I knew it! I knew there was something—”
“Your ‘housekeeper’ is a top City lawyer.” The woman throws down a copy of the Daily World onto the kitchen table. “And she’s just turned down a six-figure partnership to work for you.”
It’s as though someone’s thrown a grenade into the kitchen. Eddie visibly reels. Trish totters on her high-heeled clogs and grabs a chair for balance. Melissa’s face looks like a popped balloon.
“I meant to tell you.” I bite my lip awkwardly as I look round the faces. “I was … getting round to it …”
Trish’s eyes are bulging as she reads the Daily World headline. Her mouth is opening and closing, but no sound is coming out.
“You’re a … a lawyer?” she stutters at last.
“Not just any old lawyer,” chimes in the journalist, consulting her notes. “Highest law degree of her year … youngest ever partner of Carter Spink—”
“You’re a partner at Carter Spink?” stutters Melissa.
“No!” I say. “I mean … well … kind of … Can I make anyone a cup of tea?” I add desperately.
No one is interested in tea.
“Did you have any idea your housekeeper has an IQ of 158?” The journalist is clearly loving this. “She’s a genius.”
