The Undomestic Goddess
Page 67
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“Um … right.” I have the feeling that if I point out I’ve already made a salad for two, she’ll bite my head off.
She definitely looks out of sorts, standing there, running her finger up and down the windowpane. Maybe I should make conversation.
“Nathaniel told me that you used to run a business, Mrs. Geiger,” I say, carving strips off a huge chunk of Parmesan. “Road haulage? That must have been interesting.”
“Oh, yes. It was our life.”
“You must have worked hard,” I prompt.
“We built it up from scratch, you know. Mr. Geiger and I.” She suddenly looks animated. “By the end we had a staff of thirty. Contracts with every major supermarket chain in the country. You’ll have seen our lorries on the road. Red with a black flash.”
“Those are yours?” I feel a flash of genuine interest. “I’ve seen them on the motorway!”
“They were ours,” corrects Trish. “We were made an extremely generous offer a few years ago. Which naturally … we took.” All the animation has waned from her voice.
As I sprinkle torn basil over the plate, she gazes out the window again, her face rigid.
“And you don’t ever think about … doing another job?” I venture.
“Samantha,” says Trish, in her explaining-things-to-a-three-year-old voice. “Mr. Geiger and I have made our money. I am fortunate enough not to need to work.”
“No, of course not,” I say deferentially.
I grind black pepper onto the salad, remembering Trish’s tears that day by the washing machine. I can’t help feeling a bit sorry for her. She obviously has no idea what to do with all her time. And Eddie doesn’t help, being out on the golf course all day.
“You know, Lady Edgerly didn’t have a job either,” I say casually as I put cling wrap over the salad dish and place it in the fridge. “But of course she kept busy with her charity work.”
“Charity work?” echoes Trish after a pause. “What sort of charity work?”
“All sorts! Fund-raisers … charity lunches … She said if she hadn’t had those to occupy her, she would have gone stir-crazy, doing nothing all day except filing her nails and having her hair done—although obviously that’s nothing like you!” I backtrack as Trish turns around. “You’ve got … er … loads going on!”
“Absolutely.” Trish lifts her chin defensively. “I have many interests and … and … occupations. People envy me my full life, you know, Samantha.”
“I’m … sure they do, madam. It was just a thought.” I bob a curtsy and head out of the kitchen. At the door I glance back. Trish is still standing in exactly the same place.
Fifteen
By seven o’clock that evening, Trish’s mood has unaccountably transformed. Or maybe not so unaccountably. I arrive downstairs in the hall to see her wandering out of the living room with a cocktail glass, bloodshot eyes, and a high color.
“So!” she says benevolently. “You’re going out with Nathaniel tonight.”
“That’s right.” I glance at myself in the mirror. I’ve gone for a fairly informal outfit. Jeans, nice simple top, sandals.
“He’s a very attractive young man.” She eyes me inquisitively over the top of her glass. “Very muscular.”
“Er … yes. I suppose so.”
“Is that what you’re wearing?” She runs her eyes over my outfit. “It’s not very jazzy, is it? Let me lend you a little something.”
“I don’t mind not being jazzy—” I begin, feeling a few qualms, but Trish has already disappeared up the stairs. A few moments later she appears, holding a jewel box.
“Here we are. You need a bit of glitz.” She produces a diamanté clip in the shape of a sea horse. “I got this in Monte Carlo!”
“Er … lovely!” I say, eyeing it in horror. Before I can stop her, she sweeps my hair to one side and plonks it on. She looks at me appraisingly. “No … I think you need something larger. Here.” She fishes out a large jeweled beetle and clips it to my hair. “Now. You see how the emerald brings out your eyes?”
I gaze at myself speechlessly. I cannot go out with a sparkly beetle on my head.
“And this is very glam!” Now she’s garlanding a gilt chain around my waist. “Let me just hang the charms on …”
Charms?
“Mrs. Geiger …” I begin, flustered, as Eddie appears out of the study.
“Just got the quote in for the bathroom,” he says to Trish.
She definitely looks out of sorts, standing there, running her finger up and down the windowpane. Maybe I should make conversation.
“Nathaniel told me that you used to run a business, Mrs. Geiger,” I say, carving strips off a huge chunk of Parmesan. “Road haulage? That must have been interesting.”
“Oh, yes. It was our life.”
“You must have worked hard,” I prompt.
“We built it up from scratch, you know. Mr. Geiger and I.” She suddenly looks animated. “By the end we had a staff of thirty. Contracts with every major supermarket chain in the country. You’ll have seen our lorries on the road. Red with a black flash.”
“Those are yours?” I feel a flash of genuine interest. “I’ve seen them on the motorway!”
“They were ours,” corrects Trish. “We were made an extremely generous offer a few years ago. Which naturally … we took.” All the animation has waned from her voice.
As I sprinkle torn basil over the plate, she gazes out the window again, her face rigid.
“And you don’t ever think about … doing another job?” I venture.
“Samantha,” says Trish, in her explaining-things-to-a-three-year-old voice. “Mr. Geiger and I have made our money. I am fortunate enough not to need to work.”
“No, of course not,” I say deferentially.
I grind black pepper onto the salad, remembering Trish’s tears that day by the washing machine. I can’t help feeling a bit sorry for her. She obviously has no idea what to do with all her time. And Eddie doesn’t help, being out on the golf course all day.
“You know, Lady Edgerly didn’t have a job either,” I say casually as I put cling wrap over the salad dish and place it in the fridge. “But of course she kept busy with her charity work.”
“Charity work?” echoes Trish after a pause. “What sort of charity work?”
“All sorts! Fund-raisers … charity lunches … She said if she hadn’t had those to occupy her, she would have gone stir-crazy, doing nothing all day except filing her nails and having her hair done—although obviously that’s nothing like you!” I backtrack as Trish turns around. “You’ve got … er … loads going on!”
“Absolutely.” Trish lifts her chin defensively. “I have many interests and … and … occupations. People envy me my full life, you know, Samantha.”
“I’m … sure they do, madam. It was just a thought.” I bob a curtsy and head out of the kitchen. At the door I glance back. Trish is still standing in exactly the same place.
Fifteen
By seven o’clock that evening, Trish’s mood has unaccountably transformed. Or maybe not so unaccountably. I arrive downstairs in the hall to see her wandering out of the living room with a cocktail glass, bloodshot eyes, and a high color.
“So!” she says benevolently. “You’re going out with Nathaniel tonight.”
“That’s right.” I glance at myself in the mirror. I’ve gone for a fairly informal outfit. Jeans, nice simple top, sandals.
“He’s a very attractive young man.” She eyes me inquisitively over the top of her glass. “Very muscular.”
“Er … yes. I suppose so.”
“Is that what you’re wearing?” She runs her eyes over my outfit. “It’s not very jazzy, is it? Let me lend you a little something.”
“I don’t mind not being jazzy—” I begin, feeling a few qualms, but Trish has already disappeared up the stairs. A few moments later she appears, holding a jewel box.
“Here we are. You need a bit of glitz.” She produces a diamanté clip in the shape of a sea horse. “I got this in Monte Carlo!”
“Er … lovely!” I say, eyeing it in horror. Before I can stop her, she sweeps my hair to one side and plonks it on. She looks at me appraisingly. “No … I think you need something larger. Here.” She fishes out a large jeweled beetle and clips it to my hair. “Now. You see how the emerald brings out your eyes?”
I gaze at myself speechlessly. I cannot go out with a sparkly beetle on my head.
“And this is very glam!” Now she’s garlanding a gilt chain around my waist. “Let me just hang the charms on …”
Charms?
“Mrs. Geiger …” I begin, flustered, as Eddie appears out of the study.
“Just got the quote in for the bathroom,” he says to Trish.
