The Undomestic Goddess by Sophie Kinsella

the woman in the next seat. Then he disappears from view, just as the train starts
pulling out of the station.

I can’t move, or even breathe. All I can do is stare at the departing train, moving
past carriage by carriage, speeding up, faster and faster… until finally it’s gone.

And Nathaniel is standing on the platform. He’s there.

Without moving my eyes from his I begin to walk along the platform, speeding
up as I reach the footbridge. On the opposite side he does the same. We reach the
top of the steps, walk forward a way, and both come to a halt, a few feet apart. I
feel shell-shocked and exhilarated and uncertain all at the same time.

“I thought you were going down toCornwall ,” I say at last. “To buy your
nursery.”

“I changed my mind.” Nathaniel looks pretty shell-shocked himself. “Thought I
might…

visit a friend inLondon instead.” He glances at my suitcase. “Where were you
going?”

I clear my throat. “I was thinking…Cornwall .”

“Cornwall?” He stares at me.

“Uh-huh.” I show him my timetable, suddenly wanting to laugh at the
ridiculousness of it all.

Nathaniel leans against the barricade, his thumbs in his pockets, and surveys the
wooden slats of the bridge. “So… where are your friends?”

“Dunno. Gone. And they’re not my friends. I hit Guy,” I add proudly.

Nathaniel throws back his head and laughs. “So they fired you.”

“I fired them,” I correct him.

“You did?” says Nathaniel in amazement. He reaches out for my hand but I don’t
take it.

Underneath my joy I’m still feeling unsettled. The hurt of this morning hasn’t
gone. I can’t pretend everything’s OK.

“I got your note.” I lift my eyes to his and Nathaniel flinches.

“Samantha… I wrote you a different one on the train. In case you wouldn’t see
me inLondon .”

He fishes awkwardly in his pocket and pulls out a letter several sheets long, both
sides of the paper covered in writing. I hold it for a few moments without
reading it.

“What—what does it say?” I raise my eyes.

“It’s… long and boring.” His gaze burns into mine. “And badly put.”

I turn the pages slowly over in my fingers. Here and there I glimpse words that
make my eyes fill instantly.

“So,” I manage.

“So.” Nathaniel’s arms come round my waist; his warm mouth is on mine. As he
holds me tight I can feel the tears spilling onto my cheeks. This is where I
belong. This is where I fit. I finally draw away and look up at him, wiping my
eyes.

“Where now?” He looks down over the bridge and I follow his gaze. The
railway track extends in both directions, far into the distance. “Which way?”

I look along the endless line, squinting in the sunshine. I’m twenty-nine years
old. I can go anywhere. Do anything. Be anyone I like.

“There’s no rush,” I say at last, and reach up to kiss him again.



Acknowledgments



I am incredibly grateful to the many people who have gone out of their way to

help me with this book. To Emily Stokely, domestic goddess extraordinaire, for
teaching me how to bake bread. To Roger Barron for being so generous with his
time and giving me a wonderful insight into the world of corporate law (not to
mention his Jo Malone expertise!). And especially to Abigail Townley, for acting
as legal plot consultant, allowing me to shadow her, and patiently answering a
million dumb questions.

A special thank-you to Susan Kamil for so much support and understanding.
Many thanks also to Irwyn Applebaum, Nita Taublib, Barb Burg, Sharon
Propson, Susan Corcoran, Carolyn Schwartz, Betsy Hulsebosch, Cathy Paine,
and Noah Eaker. To the wonderful Araminta Whitley, whose enthusiasm for this
book has known no bounds, to Kim Witherspoon as Rebecca Watson, and Brian
Siberell. Thanks as ever to the members of the Board and to all my boys, big and
small.

These acknowledgments would not be complete, of course, without a mention of
Nigella Lawson, whom I’ve never met—but whose books should be required
reading for all undomestic goddesses.