Eddie and Trish look like all their Christmases have come at once.
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. What’s going on? My sheets don’t sound anything like that.
But of course. They’re the Geigers’ sheets.
I sink comfortably back into my pillows—until another thought strikes me.
Who are the Geigers?
I screw up my face, trying to remember. I feel as though I’m both hungover and still drunk. Snatches of yesterday are vivid in my mind, amid a dense fog. I’m not sure what’s real and what’s a dream. I came on the train … yes … I had a headache … Paddington Station … walking out of the office …
Oh, God. Oh, please, no.
With a sickening whoosh the whole nightmare comes rushing back. The memo. Third Union Bank. Fifty million pounds. Asking Guy if I had a job left …
His silence …
My career is wrecked. My life as I knew it is over.
At last I push back the covers and get out of bed, feeling weak and spacey. This time yesterday I was in my kitchen, getting ready for work, blissfully unaware of what was about to happen. In another world—in a parallel universe to this one—I would be waking up today a partner of Carter Spink. I’d be surrounded by messages of congratulation.
I squeeze my eyes tight, trying to escape the sickening if-only thoughts. If I’d seen the memo earlier—if I had a tidier desk—if Arnold hadn’t given me that loan agreement—
But there’s no point. I walk to the window and take deep gulps of fresh air. What happened happened. All I can do is deal with it. Until this moment in time my whole life has been mapped out to the hour. Through exams, through holiday internships, the rungs of the career ladder … I thought I knew exactly where I was headed. And now I find myself in a strange room in the middle of the countryside, my career in ruins.
Plus … there’s something else. Something’s nagging at me. A final piece of the jigsaw still missing in my dazed brain. It’ll come to me in a minute.
I lean against the windowsill and watch a man on the distant horizon walking his dog. Maybe things are salvageable. Maybe it’s not all as bad as I thought. Guy didn’t actually say I’d lost my job. I have to call him—and find out just how bad it is. I take a deep breath and run my hands through my tangled hair. God, I flipped out yesterday. When I consider the way I acted, running out of the office, jumping on a train … I was really on another planet. If it weren’t for the Geigers being so understanding—
My train of thought halts abruptly.
The Geigers.
Something about the Geigers. Something I’m not remembering … something that’s ringing slight alarm bells …
I turn round and focus on a blue dress hanging on the wardrobe door. Some kind of uniform, with piping. Why would there be a—
The alarm bells are getting louder. They’re starting to clang wildly. It’s coming back to me like some kind of terrible, drunken dream.
Did I take a job as a housekeeper?
For a few instants I cannot move. Oh, God. What have I done? What have I done?
My heart starts to thump as I take in my situation properly for the first time. I am staying in a strange couple’s house under completely false pretenses. I’ve slept in their bed. I’m wearing one of Trish’s old T-shirts. They even gave me a toothbrush, after I invented a suitcase-stolen-on-the-train story. The last thing I remember is hearing Trish gloating on the phone. “She’s English!” she was saying. “Yes, speaks English perfectly! Super girl. Cordon Bleu trained!”
I’ll have to tell them it was all lies.
There’s a rapping at my bedroom door and I jump in fright.
“Samantha?” Trish’s voice comes through the door. “May I come in?”
“Oh! Um … yes!”
The door opens and Trish appears, wearing pale pink exercise clothes with a diamanté logo.
“I’ve made you a cup of tea,” she says, handing me the mug with a formal smile. “Mr. Geiger and I would like you to feel very welcome in our house.”
“Oh!” I swallow nervously. “Thanks.”
Mrs. Geiger, there’s something I need to tell you. I’m not a housekeeper.
Somehow the words don’t make it out of my mouth.
Trish’s eyes have narrowed as though she’s already regretting her kind gesture. “Don’t think you’ll be getting this every day, of course! But since you weren’t feeling well last night …” She taps her watch. “Now you’d better get dressed. We’ll expect you down in ten minutes. We only have a light breakfast as a rule. Toast and coffee. Then we can discuss the menu for the week.”
