The Undomestic Goddess
Page 88
I’m silent for a moment, trying to get my resentment under control.
“I’ll bring you out a sandwich,” I say at last.
“Thank you,” she says sarcastically, then stands with her arms folded, as though she’s waiting for something.
“What?” I say.
“Go on.” She gestures with her head. “Curtsy.”
What? She can’t be serious. “I’m not curtsying to you!” I say, almost laughing.
“You curtsy to my aunt. And my uncle.”
“They’re my employers,” I retort tightly. “It’s different.” And believe me, if I could turn back the clock, curtsying would not be featured in any of our lives.
“I’m living in this house. So I’m your employer too. You should show me the same respect.”
I want to slap this girl. If she was my junior at Carter Spink I would … annihilate her.
“Right.” I put my knife down. “I’ll go and ask Mrs. Geiger, shall I?” Before she can reply I stride out of the kitchen. I cannot tolerate this. If Trish takes her side, that’s it. I’m leaving.
I can’t see Trish anywhere downstairs, so I head upstairs, heart racing. I arrive outside her room and knock. “Mrs. Geiger? I’d like a word.”
A few moments later, Trish opens the door a crack and pokes her head out, looking a little ruffled. “Samantha! What do you want?”
“I’m not happy with the current situation,” I say, attempting a calm, civilized voice. “I’d like to discuss it, please.”
“What situation?” She wrinkles her brow.
“With Melissa. And her … her constant needs. I’m being taken away from my regular duties. The housekeeping will suffer if I have to keep attending to her.”
Trish doesn’t seem to have heard a word.
“Oh, Samantha … not now.” She waves a distracted, dismissive hand. “We’ll talk about this later.”
I can hear Eddie mumbling something from inside the room. Great. They were probably having sex. She probably wants to get back to Turkish style.
“Right.” I try to control my frustration. “So I’ll just … get on, then, shall I?”
“Wait.” Trish suddenly seems to focus on me. “Samantha, we’ll be having champagne on the terrace in half an hour with some … ahm … friends. I’d like you to wear something other than your uniform.” Her eyes run over it with slight distaste. “It’s not the most flattering garment you possess.”
You bloody chose it! I want to yell back at her. But instead, I curtsy, turn away, and walk to my room, fuming.
Bloody Trish. Bloody Melissa. If she’s waiting for a sandwich, she can just wait.
I close the door, slump down on my bed, and look down at my hands, red and raw from hand-washing Melissa’s delicate garments.
What am I doing here?
I can feel disappointment and disillusionment spreading through me. Maybe I was being naive—but I honestly thought Trish and Eddie had come to respect me. Not just as their housekeeper but as a person. But the way Trish behaved just now … it’s plain I’m just “staff” to them. Like some sort of useful object, one notch above the Hoover. I almost feel like packing my bags and walking out.
I have a sudden vision of myself flouncing down the stairs, flinging open the door, shooting over my shoulder to Melissa, “And by the way, I’ve got a law degree too, and mine is better than yours.”
But that would be petulant. No, worse. It would be pathetic.
I massage my temples, gradually getting things in perspective.
I chose to do this. No one forced me. And maybe it wasn’t the most rational move in the world, and maybe I won’t stay here forever. But it’s up to me to make the most of it while I am here. It’s up to me to be professional.
Or at least … as professional as I can be, bearing in mind I still haven’t a clue what a savarin mold is.
At last I summon some energy and get up off the bed. I change out of my uniform, into a dress, and brush out my hair. I even add some lipstick for good measure. Then I reach for my mobile and text Nathaniel:
hi! RU there? sam
I wait for a reply but none comes. He hasn’t been around all afternoon, I realize. I wonder what he’s up to.
As I descend the stairs into the hall, the house is still and silent. I don’t know what time Trish’s friends are coming, but there’s no sign of them yet. Maybe I’ve got time to finish my pastry quickly. I might even get the vegetables peeled.
I’m hurrying toward the kitchen when Nathaniel appears out the door.
“I’ll bring you out a sandwich,” I say at last.
“Thank you,” she says sarcastically, then stands with her arms folded, as though she’s waiting for something.
“What?” I say.
“Go on.” She gestures with her head. “Curtsy.”
What? She can’t be serious. “I’m not curtsying to you!” I say, almost laughing.
“You curtsy to my aunt. And my uncle.”
“They’re my employers,” I retort tightly. “It’s different.” And believe me, if I could turn back the clock, curtsying would not be featured in any of our lives.
“I’m living in this house. So I’m your employer too. You should show me the same respect.”
I want to slap this girl. If she was my junior at Carter Spink I would … annihilate her.
“Right.” I put my knife down. “I’ll go and ask Mrs. Geiger, shall I?” Before she can reply I stride out of the kitchen. I cannot tolerate this. If Trish takes her side, that’s it. I’m leaving.
I can’t see Trish anywhere downstairs, so I head upstairs, heart racing. I arrive outside her room and knock. “Mrs. Geiger? I’d like a word.”
A few moments later, Trish opens the door a crack and pokes her head out, looking a little ruffled. “Samantha! What do you want?”
“I’m not happy with the current situation,” I say, attempting a calm, civilized voice. “I’d like to discuss it, please.”
“What situation?” She wrinkles her brow.
“With Melissa. And her … her constant needs. I’m being taken away from my regular duties. The housekeeping will suffer if I have to keep attending to her.”
Trish doesn’t seem to have heard a word.
“Oh, Samantha … not now.” She waves a distracted, dismissive hand. “We’ll talk about this later.”
I can hear Eddie mumbling something from inside the room. Great. They were probably having sex. She probably wants to get back to Turkish style.
“Right.” I try to control my frustration. “So I’ll just … get on, then, shall I?”
“Wait.” Trish suddenly seems to focus on me. “Samantha, we’ll be having champagne on the terrace in half an hour with some … ahm … friends. I’d like you to wear something other than your uniform.” Her eyes run over it with slight distaste. “It’s not the most flattering garment you possess.”
You bloody chose it! I want to yell back at her. But instead, I curtsy, turn away, and walk to my room, fuming.
Bloody Trish. Bloody Melissa. If she’s waiting for a sandwich, she can just wait.
I close the door, slump down on my bed, and look down at my hands, red and raw from hand-washing Melissa’s delicate garments.
What am I doing here?
I can feel disappointment and disillusionment spreading through me. Maybe I was being naive—but I honestly thought Trish and Eddie had come to respect me. Not just as their housekeeper but as a person. But the way Trish behaved just now … it’s plain I’m just “staff” to them. Like some sort of useful object, one notch above the Hoover. I almost feel like packing my bags and walking out.
I have a sudden vision of myself flouncing down the stairs, flinging open the door, shooting over my shoulder to Melissa, “And by the way, I’ve got a law degree too, and mine is better than yours.”
But that would be petulant. No, worse. It would be pathetic.
I massage my temples, gradually getting things in perspective.
I chose to do this. No one forced me. And maybe it wasn’t the most rational move in the world, and maybe I won’t stay here forever. But it’s up to me to make the most of it while I am here. It’s up to me to be professional.
Or at least … as professional as I can be, bearing in mind I still haven’t a clue what a savarin mold is.
At last I summon some energy and get up off the bed. I change out of my uniform, into a dress, and brush out my hair. I even add some lipstick for good measure. Then I reach for my mobile and text Nathaniel:
hi! RU there? sam
I wait for a reply but none comes. He hasn’t been around all afternoon, I realize. I wonder what he’s up to.
As I descend the stairs into the hall, the house is still and silent. I don’t know what time Trish’s friends are coming, but there’s no sign of them yet. Maybe I’ve got time to finish my pastry quickly. I might even get the vegetables peeled.
I’m hurrying toward the kitchen when Nathaniel appears out the door.
