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Authors: Sophie Kinsella
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ourselves, Trish interrupts pointedly. We have had quite a few promising applicants for this post, Samantha. Several quite dazzling. One girl even
had a diploma in French Cordon Bleu cookery!
Something inside me stiffens, like an automatic reflex. Is she suggesting Is she implying
that I might not get this job?
I regard Trish silently. Somewhere, down inside my bruised state of shock, I can feel a
tiny flicker of the old Samantha returning. I can beat some French Cordon Bleu cookery
girl.
I have never failed an interview in my life.
Im not about to start now.
So. Trish consults her list. Youre experienced in all forms of laundry?
Naturally. I nod.
And are you Cordon Bleu trained? Its clear from her expression that nothing less will pass
the test.
I trained under Michel dela Roux dela Blanc.Ipause. His name obviously speaks for itself.
Absolutely! says Trish, glancing uncertainly at Eddie.
Were sitting in the conservatory again, ten minutes later, and Im sipping a cup of coffee,
which Eddie made for me. Trish is firing a series of questions at me that sound
like they come from a how-to-hire-your-housekeeper pamphlet. And Im answering every single
one with total confidence.
Deep down in my brain I can hear a little voice calling out, What are you doing? Samantha, what the hell are you DOING ?
But Im not listening. I dont want to listen. Somehow Ive managed to block out real life,
the mistake, my ruined career, the whole nightmare of a dayeverything else in the world
except this interview.
Could you give us a sample menu? Trish lights another cigarette. For a dinner party, say?
Food... impressive food...
Suddenly I remember Maxims last night. The souvenir birthday menu.
Ill just consult my... notes. I unzip my bag and surreptitiously scan the Maxims menu. For
a formal dinner, I would serve... er... seared foie gras with an apricot glaze... lamb
with minted hummus... followed by orange-chocolate souffle with two homemade sorbets.
Take that , Cordon Bleu girl.
Well! Trish looks astounded. I must say, thats... very impressive.
Marvelous! Eddie looks like hes salivating. Seared foie gras! You couldnt knock some up
for us now?
Trish shoots him an annoyed look. Im assuming you have a reference, Samantha? A reference?
We will need a reference... Trish begins to frown. My reference is Lady Freya Edgerly, I say, in
sudden inspiration.
Lady Edgerly? Trishs eyebrows rise and a pink flush starts slowly creeping up her neck.
I have been associated with Lord and Lady Edgerly for many years, I reply gravely. I know
Lady Edgerly will vouch for me.
Trish and Eddie are both staring at me, agog. You cooked for them, did you? inquires
Eddie. Breakfasts and so forth?
Naturally. Lord Edgerly was very fond of my signature dish, eggs Benedict. I take a sip of
water.
I can see Trish pulling what she clearly imagines are cryptic faces at Eddie, who is
surreptitiously nodding back. They might as well have Lets Have Her ! tattooed on their foreheads.
One final thing. Trish takes a deep drag on her cigarette. You will be answering the phone
when Mr. Geiger and myself are out. Our image in society is very important. Please, would
you demonstrate how you will do it? She nods at a phone on a nearby table.
They cannot be serious. Except... I think they are.
You should say, Good afternoon, the Geiger residence, prompts Eddie.
Obediently I get up, walk across the room, and lift the receiver.
Good afternoon, I say in my most charming, head-school-prefect tones. The Geiger
residence. How may I help?
Eddie and Trish look like all their Christmases have come at once.
The Undomestic Goddess
Chapter Seven
I wake the next morning to an unfamiliar, smooth white ceiling above me. I frown in
puzzlement, then lift my head a little. The sheets make a strange rumpling sound as I
move. Whats going on? My sheets dont sound anything like that.
But of course. Theyre the Geigers
had a diploma in French Cordon Bleu cookery!
Something inside me stiffens, like an automatic reflex. Is she suggesting Is she implying
that I might not get this job?
I regard Trish silently. Somewhere, down inside my bruised state of shock, I can feel a
tiny flicker of the old Samantha returning. I can beat some French Cordon Bleu cookery
girl.
I have never failed an interview in my life.
Im not about to start now.
So. Trish consults her list. Youre experienced in all forms of laundry?
Naturally. I nod.
And are you Cordon Bleu trained? Its clear from her expression that nothing less will pass
the test.
I trained under Michel dela Roux dela Blanc.Ipause. His name obviously speaks for itself.
Absolutely! says Trish, glancing uncertainly at Eddie.
Were sitting in the conservatory again, ten minutes later, and Im sipping a cup of coffee,
which Eddie made for me. Trish is firing a series of questions at me that sound
like they come from a how-to-hire-your-housekeeper pamphlet. And Im answering every single
one with total confidence.
Deep down in my brain I can hear a little voice calling out, What are you doing? Samantha, what the hell are you DOING ?
But Im not listening. I dont want to listen. Somehow Ive managed to block out real life,
the mistake, my ruined career, the whole nightmare of a dayeverything else in the world
except this interview.
Could you give us a sample menu? Trish lights another cigarette. For a dinner party, say?
Food... impressive food...
Suddenly I remember Maxims last night. The souvenir birthday menu.
Ill just consult my... notes. I unzip my bag and surreptitiously scan the Maxims menu. For
a formal dinner, I would serve... er... seared foie gras with an apricot glaze... lamb
with minted hummus... followed by orange-chocolate souffle with two homemade sorbets.
Take that , Cordon Bleu girl.
Well! Trish looks astounded. I must say, thats... very impressive.
Marvelous! Eddie looks like hes salivating. Seared foie gras! You couldnt knock some up
for us now?
Trish shoots him an annoyed look. Im assuming you have a reference, Samantha? A reference?
We will need a reference... Trish begins to frown. My reference is Lady Freya Edgerly, I say, in
sudden inspiration.
Lady Edgerly? Trishs eyebrows rise and a pink flush starts slowly creeping up her neck.
I have been associated with Lord and Lady Edgerly for many years, I reply gravely. I know
Lady Edgerly will vouch for me.
Trish and Eddie are both staring at me, agog. You cooked for them, did you? inquires
Eddie. Breakfasts and so forth?
Naturally. Lord Edgerly was very fond of my signature dish, eggs Benedict. I take a sip of
water.
I can see Trish pulling what she clearly imagines are cryptic faces at Eddie, who is
surreptitiously nodding back. They might as well have Lets Have Her ! tattooed on their foreheads.
One final thing. Trish takes a deep drag on her cigarette. You will be answering the phone
when Mr. Geiger and myself are out. Our image in society is very important. Please, would
you demonstrate how you will do it? She nods at a phone on a nearby table.
They cannot be serious. Except... I think they are.
You should say, Good afternoon, the Geiger residence, prompts Eddie.
Obediently I get up, walk across the room, and lift the receiver.
Good afternoon, I say in my most charming, head-school-prefect tones. The Geiger
residence. How may I help?
Eddie and Trish look like all their Christmases have come at once.
The Undomestic Goddess
Chapter Seven
I wake the next morning to an unfamiliar, smooth white ceiling above me. I frown in
puzzlement, then lift my head a little. The sheets make a strange rumpling sound as I
move. Whats going on? My sheets dont sound anything like that.
But of course. Theyre the Geigers
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