The Undomestic Goddess
Page 64
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
I’m entranced by my reflection, by my new, glowing, caramel, honey self. I look alive. I look colorful.
I’m never going back to the way I looked before. Never.
My pleasure doesn’t fade. Even when I’ve gone downstairs again and am pushing the Hoover round the drawing room, I’m totally preoccupied by my new hair. As I pass any shiny surface, I stop to admire myself and flick up my hair so it cascades back down in a caramelly shower.
Vacuum under the rug. Flick. Vacuum under the coffee table. Flick. Flick.
It never even occurred to me to dye my hair before. What else have I been missing out on?
“Ah, Samantha.” I look up to see Eddie coming into the room, wearing a navy jacket and tie. “I’m having a meeting in the dining room. I’d like you to make some coffee and bring it in to my guests.”
“Yes, sir.” I curtsy. “How many of you are there?”
“Four altogether. And some biscuits. Snacks. Whatever.”
“Of course.”
Huh. He didn’t even notice my hair. In fact, he looks hyped up and red in the face. I wonder what this meeting is. As I head to the kitchen I glance curiously out the front window and see an unfamiliar red Mercedes Series 5 parked in the drive, next to a silver convertible BMW and a dark green Rover.
Hmm. Probably not the local vicar, then. Maybe it’s something to do with his company.
I make a pot of coffee, put it on a tray, add a plate of biscuits and some muffins I bought for tea. Then I head to the dining room and knock.
“Come in!”
I push the door open to see Eddie sitting with four men in suits, around the dining-room table, each with a thick, open file before him. Sitting beside Eddie is a plumpish man in a soft brown jacket and horn-rimmed glasses. Directly opposite him is a guy with chiseled, good-looking features, wearing an expensive-looking suit.
“So just a few amendments,” the chiseled man is saying as I approach the table. “Nothing that should concern anyone!”
“Your coffee,” I murmur in deferential tones.
“Thank you, Samantha.” Eddie looks puffed up, like the lord of the manor. “If you could serve it out?”
I put the tray down on the sideboard and distribute the cups among the men. As I’m doing so I can’t help glancing at the papers on the table—and immediately recognize them as contracts.
“Er … white or black?” I say to a burly, red-haired guy in a blazer.
“White, thanks.” He doesn’t even acknowledge me. While I pour the coffee, I have another casual look. It looks like some kind of property investment deal. Is Eddie sinking his money into something?
“Biscuit?” I offer.
“I’m sweet enough.” The red-haired man bares his teeth in a grin. What an asshole.
“So, Eddie. You understand that point now?” The chiseled-looking man is speaking, his voice dripping with concern.
I recognize this man. Not his face—but I know him. I worked with people like this for seven years. And I know instinctively that this man doesn’t care two jots whether Eddie understands.
“Yes!” says Eddie. “Yes, of course.” He peers at the contract uncertainly, then looks at the man in the brown jacket next to him. “Martin?”
“Let’s just have a look,” replies Martin. He starts perusing the document, nodding every so often. I guess he must be Eddie’s lawyer.
“We’re as concerned about security as you are,” says the chiseled man, with a smile.
“When it comes to money, who isn’t?” quips the red-haired guy.
OK. What exactly is going on here? Why am I suspicious?
As I move round to the chiseled-looking man and pour his coffee, the contract is clearly visible and I run my eyes down it with a practiced speed. It’s a property-development partnership. Both sides putting up money … residential development … so far so standard … It looks fine.
I pour out coffee for the next guy and have another quick scan, just to be sure.
And then I see something that makes me freeze in shock. A carefully worded, innocuous-looking little clause at the bottom of the page that commits Eddie to funding any shortfall. In one line. With no reciprocity.
If things go wrong … Eddie has to foot the bill. Does he realize?
Does his lawyer realize?
I’m totally aghast. My urge to reach for the contract and rip it up is almost overpowering. If this were at Carter Spink, these guys would not last two minutes. Not only would I throw their contract out, but I would recommend to my client that—
“Samantha?” I jerk back to reality to see Eddie frowning slightly at me. “Could you please serve Martin?”
I’m never going back to the way I looked before. Never.
My pleasure doesn’t fade. Even when I’ve gone downstairs again and am pushing the Hoover round the drawing room, I’m totally preoccupied by my new hair. As I pass any shiny surface, I stop to admire myself and flick up my hair so it cascades back down in a caramelly shower.
Vacuum under the rug. Flick. Vacuum under the coffee table. Flick. Flick.
It never even occurred to me to dye my hair before. What else have I been missing out on?
“Ah, Samantha.” I look up to see Eddie coming into the room, wearing a navy jacket and tie. “I’m having a meeting in the dining room. I’d like you to make some coffee and bring it in to my guests.”
“Yes, sir.” I curtsy. “How many of you are there?”
“Four altogether. And some biscuits. Snacks. Whatever.”
“Of course.”
Huh. He didn’t even notice my hair. In fact, he looks hyped up and red in the face. I wonder what this meeting is. As I head to the kitchen I glance curiously out the front window and see an unfamiliar red Mercedes Series 5 parked in the drive, next to a silver convertible BMW and a dark green Rover.
Hmm. Probably not the local vicar, then. Maybe it’s something to do with his company.
I make a pot of coffee, put it on a tray, add a plate of biscuits and some muffins I bought for tea. Then I head to the dining room and knock.
“Come in!”
I push the door open to see Eddie sitting with four men in suits, around the dining-room table, each with a thick, open file before him. Sitting beside Eddie is a plumpish man in a soft brown jacket and horn-rimmed glasses. Directly opposite him is a guy with chiseled, good-looking features, wearing an expensive-looking suit.
“So just a few amendments,” the chiseled man is saying as I approach the table. “Nothing that should concern anyone!”
“Your coffee,” I murmur in deferential tones.
“Thank you, Samantha.” Eddie looks puffed up, like the lord of the manor. “If you could serve it out?”
I put the tray down on the sideboard and distribute the cups among the men. As I’m doing so I can’t help glancing at the papers on the table—and immediately recognize them as contracts.
“Er … white or black?” I say to a burly, red-haired guy in a blazer.
“White, thanks.” He doesn’t even acknowledge me. While I pour the coffee, I have another casual look. It looks like some kind of property investment deal. Is Eddie sinking his money into something?
“Biscuit?” I offer.
“I’m sweet enough.” The red-haired man bares his teeth in a grin. What an asshole.
“So, Eddie. You understand that point now?” The chiseled-looking man is speaking, his voice dripping with concern.
I recognize this man. Not his face—but I know him. I worked with people like this for seven years. And I know instinctively that this man doesn’t care two jots whether Eddie understands.
“Yes!” says Eddie. “Yes, of course.” He peers at the contract uncertainly, then looks at the man in the brown jacket next to him. “Martin?”
“Let’s just have a look,” replies Martin. He starts perusing the document, nodding every so often. I guess he must be Eddie’s lawyer.
“We’re as concerned about security as you are,” says the chiseled man, with a smile.
“When it comes to money, who isn’t?” quips the red-haired guy.
OK. What exactly is going on here? Why am I suspicious?
As I move round to the chiseled-looking man and pour his coffee, the contract is clearly visible and I run my eyes down it with a practiced speed. It’s a property-development partnership. Both sides putting up money … residential development … so far so standard … It looks fine.
I pour out coffee for the next guy and have another quick scan, just to be sure.
And then I see something that makes me freeze in shock. A carefully worded, innocuous-looking little clause at the bottom of the page that commits Eddie to funding any shortfall. In one line. With no reciprocity.
If things go wrong … Eddie has to foot the bill. Does he realize?
Does his lawyer realize?
I’m totally aghast. My urge to reach for the contract and rip it up is almost overpowering. If this were at Carter Spink, these guys would not last two minutes. Not only would I throw their contract out, but I would recommend to my client that—
“Samantha?” I jerk back to reality to see Eddie frowning slightly at me. “Could you please serve Martin?”
