Nathaniel is leaning against the counter, his arms folded. His wary frown has eased a little. He reaches into his rucksack and takes out a bottle of beer. He offers it to me and I shake my head.
“What were you running from?” he says, cracking the bottle open.
I feel a painful wrench inside. I cannot face telling the whole dreadful story.
“It was … a situation.” I look down.
He takes a drink of beer. “A bad relationship?”
For a moment I’m silenced. I think back over all my years at Carter Spink. All the hours I gave them, everything I sacrificed. Finished in a three-minute phone call.
“Yes,” I say slowly. “A bad relationship.”
“How long were you in it?”
“Seven years.” To my horror I can feel tears seeping out of the corners of my eyes. I have no idea where they came from. “I’m sorry,” I gulp. “It’s been quite a stressful day.”
Nathaniel tears off a piece of kitchen towel from the wall-mounted roll behind him and hands it to me. “If it was a bad relationship, you’re well out of it,” he says in calm tones. “No point staying. No point looking back.”
“You’re right.” I wipe my eyes. “Yes. I just have to decide what to do with my life. I can’t stay here.” I reach for the bottle of Cointreau, which was supposed to go in the chocolate-orange soufflé, pour some into a handy eggcup, and take a gulp.
“The Geigers are good employers,” says Nathaniel with a tiny shrug. “You could do worse.”
“Yeah.” I raise a half smile. “Unfortunately, I can’t cook.”
He puts his bottle of beer down and wipes his mouth. His hands look scrubbed clean, but I can still see the traces of earth ingrained around his nails, in the seams of his weather-beaten skin.
“I could speak to my mum. She can cook. She could teach you the basics.”
I look at him in astonishment, almost laughing. “You think I should stay? I thought I was supposed to be a confidence trickster.” I shake my head, wincing at the taste of the Cointreau. “I have to go.”
“Shame.” He shrugs. “It would have been nice to have someone around who speaks English. And makes such great sandwiches,” he adds, totally deadpan.
I can’t help smiling back. “Caterers.”
“Ah. I wondered.”
A faint rapping at the door makes us both look up.
“Samantha?” Trish’s voice outside is hushed and urgent. “Can you hear me?”
“Er … yes?”
“Don’t worry, I won’t come in. I don’t want to disturb anything! You’re probably at a very crucial stage.”
“Kind of …”
I catch Nathaniel’s eye and a sudden wave of hysteria rises through me.
“I just wanted to ask,” Trish’s voice continues, “if you will be serving any kind of sorbet between the courses?”
I look at Nathaniel. His shoulders are shaking with silent laughter. I can’t stop a tiny snort escaping. I clamp my hand over my mouth, trying to get control of myself.
“Samantha?”
“Er … no,” I manage at last. “There won’t be any sorbet.”
Nathaniel has picked up one of my pans of burned onions. He mimes taking a spoonful and eating it. Yummy, he mouths.
“Well! See you later!”
Trish tip-taps away and I collapse into helpless laughter. I’ve never laughed so hard in my life. My ribs hurt; I’m coughing; I almost feel like I’ll be sick.
At last I wipe my eyes and blow my runny nose on the kitchen towel. Nathaniel’s stopped laughing too and is looking around the bombshelled kitchen.
“Seriously,” he says. “What are you going to do about this? They’re expecting a fancy dinner.”
“I know. I know they are. I’ll just have to … think of something.”
There’s silence in the kitchen. Nathaniel is curiously eyeing the white splodges of meringue on the floor. I cast my mind back to all the times I’ve had to go into a room at Carter Spink and bluff my way out of a tricky spot. There has to be a way.
“OK.” I take a deep breath and push back my damp hair. “I’m going to rescue the situation.”
“You’re going to rescue the situation?” He looks skeptical.
“In fact, I think this might solve everyone’s problems.” I get to my feet and start busily sweeping packets into the bin. “First I need to clear up the kitchen a bit.…”
“I’ll help.” Nathaniel stands up. “This I have to see.”