The Undomestic Goddess
Page 40
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Companionably, we empty pans and pots and packets into the bin. I scrub all the smeared surfaces while Nathaniel mops up the meringue.
“How long have you worked here?” I ask as he rinses out the mop in the sink.
“Three years. I worked for the people who lived here before the Geigers, the Ellises. Then Trish and Eddie moved in two years ago and kept me on.”
I digest this. “Why did the Ellises move? It’s such a beautiful house.”
“The Geigers made them an offer they couldn’t refuse.” Nathaniel’s mouth is twitching with … amusement?
“What?” I say, intrigued. “What happened?”
“Well …” He puts the mop down. “It was fairly comical. The house was used as a location in a BBC period drama, all set in the Cotswolds. Two weeks after it was aired, Trish and Eddie arrived on the doorstep waving a check. They’d seen it on television, decided they wanted it, and tracked it down.”
“Wow.” I laugh. “Presumably they paid a good price.”
“God knows what they paid. The Ellises would never say.”
“Do you know how the Geigers made all their money?”
“They built up a road haulage company from nothing and sold it off. Made a bundle.” He starts mopping up the final patch of meringue.
“And how about you? Before the Ellises?” I tip the congealed apricots down the waste disposal with a shudder.
“I was working at Marchant House,” Nathaniel replies. “It’s a stately home near Oxford. Before that, university.”
“University?” I say, my ears pricking up. “I didn’t know—”
I halt, reddening. I was about to say, “I didn’t know gardeners went to university.”
“I did natural sciences.” Nathaniel gives me a look that makes me think he knew exactly what I was thinking.
I open my mouth to ask him where and when he was at university—then on second thought, close it and switch the waste disposal on. I don’t want to start getting into details, going down the “do we know anyone in common?” road. Right now, I could do without remembering the particulars of my life.
At last the kitchen looks a bit more normal. I pick up the eggcup, drain the rest of the Cointreau, and take a deep breath.
“OK. Showtime.”
“Good luck.” Nathaniel raises his eyebrows.
I open the kitchen door to see Trish and Eddie loitering in the hall, holding their sherry glasses.
“Ah, Samantha! Everything ready?” Trish’s face is all lit up with anticipation, and I feel a huge twinge of guilt for what I’m about to do.
But I can’t see any other way.
I take a deep breath and put on my best breaking-bad-news-to-a-client face.
“Mr. and Mrs. Geiger.” I look from one face to the other, making sure I have their attention. “I am devastated.”
I close my eyes and shake my head.
“Devastated?” echoes Trish nervously.
“I have done my best.” I open my eyes. “But I’m afraid I cannot work with your equipment. The dinner I created was not up to my own professional standards. I could not allow it out of the kitchen. I will of course reimburse all your costs—and offer my resignation. I will leave in the morning.”
There. Done. And no casualties.
I can’t help glancing at Nathaniel, standing in the doorway of the kitchen. He gives me the thumbs-up.
“Leave?” Trish puts her sherry glass down on a side table with a little crash. “You can’t leave! You’re the best housekeeper we’ve ever had! Eddie, do something!”
“Mrs. Geiger, after tonight’s performance, I feel I have no choice,” I say. “To be frank, the dinner was inedible.”
“That wasn’t your fault!” she says in consternation. “It was our fault! We’ll order you new equipment at once.”
“But—”
“Just give us a list of what you need. Spare no expense! And we’ll give you a pay rise!” She’s suddenly gripped by a new idea. “How much do you want? Name your price!”
This is not going the way I planned. Not at all.
“Well … we never discussed pay,” I begin. “And really I can’t accept—”
“Eddie!” Trish rounds on him savagely. “This is your fault! Samantha’s leaving because you’re not paying her enough!”
“Mrs. Geiger, that’s not the case—”
“And she needs new kitchen pots and pans. From the best place.” She digs Eddie in the ribs with her elbow and mutters, “Say something!”
“How long have you worked here?” I ask as he rinses out the mop in the sink.
“Three years. I worked for the people who lived here before the Geigers, the Ellises. Then Trish and Eddie moved in two years ago and kept me on.”
I digest this. “Why did the Ellises move? It’s such a beautiful house.”
“The Geigers made them an offer they couldn’t refuse.” Nathaniel’s mouth is twitching with … amusement?
“What?” I say, intrigued. “What happened?”
“Well …” He puts the mop down. “It was fairly comical. The house was used as a location in a BBC period drama, all set in the Cotswolds. Two weeks after it was aired, Trish and Eddie arrived on the doorstep waving a check. They’d seen it on television, decided they wanted it, and tracked it down.”
“Wow.” I laugh. “Presumably they paid a good price.”
“God knows what they paid. The Ellises would never say.”
“Do you know how the Geigers made all their money?”
“They built up a road haulage company from nothing and sold it off. Made a bundle.” He starts mopping up the final patch of meringue.
“And how about you? Before the Ellises?” I tip the congealed apricots down the waste disposal with a shudder.
“I was working at Marchant House,” Nathaniel replies. “It’s a stately home near Oxford. Before that, university.”
“University?” I say, my ears pricking up. “I didn’t know—”
I halt, reddening. I was about to say, “I didn’t know gardeners went to university.”
“I did natural sciences.” Nathaniel gives me a look that makes me think he knew exactly what I was thinking.
I open my mouth to ask him where and when he was at university—then on second thought, close it and switch the waste disposal on. I don’t want to start getting into details, going down the “do we know anyone in common?” road. Right now, I could do without remembering the particulars of my life.
At last the kitchen looks a bit more normal. I pick up the eggcup, drain the rest of the Cointreau, and take a deep breath.
“OK. Showtime.”
“Good luck.” Nathaniel raises his eyebrows.
I open the kitchen door to see Trish and Eddie loitering in the hall, holding their sherry glasses.
“Ah, Samantha! Everything ready?” Trish’s face is all lit up with anticipation, and I feel a huge twinge of guilt for what I’m about to do.
But I can’t see any other way.
I take a deep breath and put on my best breaking-bad-news-to-a-client face.
“Mr. and Mrs. Geiger.” I look from one face to the other, making sure I have their attention. “I am devastated.”
I close my eyes and shake my head.
“Devastated?” echoes Trish nervously.
“I have done my best.” I open my eyes. “But I’m afraid I cannot work with your equipment. The dinner I created was not up to my own professional standards. I could not allow it out of the kitchen. I will of course reimburse all your costs—and offer my resignation. I will leave in the morning.”
There. Done. And no casualties.
I can’t help glancing at Nathaniel, standing in the doorway of the kitchen. He gives me the thumbs-up.
“Leave?” Trish puts her sherry glass down on a side table with a little crash. “You can’t leave! You’re the best housekeeper we’ve ever had! Eddie, do something!”
“Mrs. Geiger, after tonight’s performance, I feel I have no choice,” I say. “To be frank, the dinner was inedible.”
“That wasn’t your fault!” she says in consternation. “It was our fault! We’ll order you new equipment at once.”
“But—”
“Just give us a list of what you need. Spare no expense! And we’ll give you a pay rise!” She’s suddenly gripped by a new idea. “How much do you want? Name your price!”
This is not going the way I planned. Not at all.
“Well … we never discussed pay,” I begin. “And really I can’t accept—”
“Eddie!” Trish rounds on him savagely. “This is your fault! Samantha’s leaving because you’re not paying her enough!”
“Mrs. Geiger, that’s not the case—”
“And she needs new kitchen pots and pans. From the best place.” She digs Eddie in the ribs with her elbow and mutters, “Say something!”
