The Undomestic Goddess
Page 73
We walk on again into the night without speaking. Nathaniel’s shoulder brushes against mine. Then I feel his hand. His fingers graze against my own casually at first, as though by accident—then, slowly, entwine round mine.
I feel an arching inside as my entire body responds, but somehow force myself not to catch my breath. There’s no sound except our footsteps on the road and the hooting of an owl. Nathaniel’s hand is sure and firm round my own. I can feel the roughened calluses on his skin, his thumb rubbing over mine.
We come to a stop at the entrance to the Geigers’ drive. He looks down at me silently, his expression almost grave. I can feel my breath thickening. I don’t care if it’s obvious I want him.
I was never any good at the rules, anyway.
He releases my hand and puts both hands round my waist. Now he’s slowly pulling me toward him. I close my eyes.
“For goodness sake!” comes an unmistakable voice. “Aren’t you going to kiss her?”
I jump backward. Nathaniel looks equally shocked; his arms have dropped to his sides. I turn round—and to my utter horror, Trish is leaning out of an upstairs window, holding a cigarette.
“I’m not a prude, you know,” she says. “You are allowed to kiss!”
I shoot furious daggers at her. Has she never heard the word privacy?
“Carry on!” Her cigarette end glows as she waves it. “Don’t mind me!”
Don’t mind her? I’m sorry, but Nathaniel and I are not having our first kiss with Trish as a spectator. I glance uncertainly at Nathaniel, who looks as nonplussed as I feel.
“Should we—” I’m not even sure what I’m about to suggest.
“Isn’t it a lovely summer’s night?” adds Trish conversationally.
“Lovely,” calls back Nathaniel politely.
This is disastrous. The mood is totally broken.
“Um … thanks for a great evening,” I say, trying to keep a straight face. “I had a great time.”
“Me too.” His eyes are almost indigo in the shadows. “So. Are we going to give Mrs. Geiger her kicks? Or leave her in an unbearable frenzy of frustration?”
Trish is still leaning avidly out the window, as if we’re the floor show.
“Oh … I think she probably deserves the unbearable frenzy of frustration,” I say with a tiny smile.
“So I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“I’ll be at your mum’s at ten o’clock.”
He holds out his hand and we barely brush fingertips before he turns and walks away. I watch him disappear into the darkness, then turn and head down the drive to the house, my whole body still pulsating.
It’s all very well, getting one over on Trish. But what about my unbearable frenzy of frustration?
Sixteen
I’m woken the next day by Trish banging sharply on my door. “Samantha! I need to speak to you! Now!”
It’s not even eight o’clock on a Saturday morning. Where’s the fire?
“OK! Hang on a sec!” I call blearily.
I get out of bed and put on a dressing gown, my head filled with delicious memories of last night. Nathaniel’s hand in mine … Nathaniel’s arms around me …
“Yes, Mrs. Geiger?” I open my door to see Trish standing there in a white robe. She puts her hand over the cordless phone in her hand.
“Samantha.” There’s a strange note of triumph in her voice. “You’ve fibbed to me, haven’t you?”
I feel a white flash of shock. How did she—how could she—
“Haven’t you?” She gives me a penetrating look. “I’m sure you know what I’m talking about?”
My mind frantically runs over all the fibs I’ve ever told Trish, up to and including “I’m a housekeeper.” It could be 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.”
I feel an arching inside as my entire body responds, but somehow force myself not to catch my breath. There’s no sound except our footsteps on the road and the hooting of an owl. Nathaniel’s hand is sure and firm round my own. I can feel the roughened calluses on his skin, his thumb rubbing over mine.
We come to a stop at the entrance to the Geigers’ drive. He looks down at me silently, his expression almost grave. I can feel my breath thickening. I don’t care if it’s obvious I want him.
I was never any good at the rules, anyway.
He releases my hand and puts both hands round my waist. Now he’s slowly pulling me toward him. I close my eyes.
“For goodness sake!” comes an unmistakable voice. “Aren’t you going to kiss her?”
I jump backward. Nathaniel looks equally shocked; his arms have dropped to his sides. I turn round—and to my utter horror, Trish is leaning out of an upstairs window, holding a cigarette.
“I’m not a prude, you know,” she says. “You are allowed to kiss!”
I shoot furious daggers at her. Has she never heard the word privacy?
“Carry on!” Her cigarette end glows as she waves it. “Don’t mind me!”
Don’t mind her? I’m sorry, but Nathaniel and I are not having our first kiss with Trish as a spectator. I glance uncertainly at Nathaniel, who looks as nonplussed as I feel.
“Should we—” I’m not even sure what I’m about to suggest.
“Isn’t it a lovely summer’s night?” adds Trish conversationally.
“Lovely,” calls back Nathaniel politely.
This is disastrous. The mood is totally broken.
“Um … thanks for a great evening,” I say, trying to keep a straight face. “I had a great time.”
“Me too.” His eyes are almost indigo in the shadows. “So. Are we going to give Mrs. Geiger her kicks? Or leave her in an unbearable frenzy of frustration?”
Trish is still leaning avidly out the window, as if we’re the floor show.
“Oh … I think she probably deserves the unbearable frenzy of frustration,” I say with a tiny smile.
“So I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“I’ll be at your mum’s at ten o’clock.”
He holds out his hand and we barely brush fingertips before he turns and walks away. I watch him disappear into the darkness, then turn and head down the drive to the house, my whole body still pulsating.
It’s all very well, getting one over on Trish. But what about my unbearable frenzy of frustration?
Sixteen
I’m woken the next day by Trish banging sharply on my door. “Samantha! I need to speak to you! Now!”
It’s not even eight o’clock on a Saturday morning. Where’s the fire?
“OK! Hang on a sec!” I call blearily.
I get out of bed and put on a dressing gown, my head filled with delicious memories of last night. Nathaniel’s hand in mine … Nathaniel’s arms around me …
“Yes, Mrs. Geiger?” I open my door to see Trish standing there in a white robe. She puts her hand over the cordless phone in her hand.
“Samantha.” There’s a strange note of triumph in her voice. “You’ve fibbed to me, haven’t you?”
I feel a white flash of shock. How did she—how could she—
“Haven’t you?” She gives me a penetrating look. “I’m sure you know what I’m talking about?”
My mind frantically runs over all the fibs I’ve ever told Trish, up to and including “I’m a housekeeper.” It could be 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.”
