‘Good for you darlin’. No preconceptions then. That could be in your favour. The punters like a bit of honesty now and then. You need to be good cop and bad cop. Come on let’s get started and Uncle Gareth will show you how it’s done. I’m not sure Alan here could sell his own grandmother a box of biscuits.’
Siena turned the page and cleared her throat. This could be fun. She’d always rather liked drama at school.
‘Good morning sir, can I interest you in—’
Gareth held up a hand, palm towards her.
‘No, no, no, girly. Do you know the first thing I’m gonna do, if you turn up on my doorstep saying that?’
Siena shook her head.
‘Slam the door in your face, missy. No matter how good-looking you are, and excuse me for saying, but you are one attractive young lady. Now you can use those looks to your advantage. Me, I don’t have that advantage.’
Siena tried to pull a non-committal kind of face.
‘Don’t worry, I use my looks.’ He pulled a hangdog expression, his mouth turning down and his eyes sad. ‘Everyone loves an underdog. My patter is very much apology. “Hey I’m really, really sorry to bother you. It’s my job, it’s a lousy job but …”’
Siena stared at him, uncomprehending.
He patted her leg again, this time on the knee. ‘You gotta start by pulling them in, building empathy with them. Build rapport before you even go near the sales patter. Who wrote this crap?’ He shook his head. ‘Get your pen out. You need your own hook. You need to bat those baby blues. Flirt a little. Be supremely confident. A good-looking girl doing this job because she believes in the product. She don’t have no other job, not because she can’t get one, but because this is a good one. A good product. I tell you young lady, you have got a serious advantage here.’
Over the next hour, gorgeous Gareth as she renamed him in her head, shared every last scrap of wile and guile that he had with her and by the end of it, she felt she knew what she was doing.
Alan came to check up on their progress.
‘So Siena, with one ‘n’. Pretend you’re knocking on my front door.’
Gareth winked at her. ‘You go girl.’
‘Hi, sorry to disturb you, can I say this is a lovely house. I love what you’ve done with the garden. Have you ever thought of selling?’
‘No,’ said Alan with a smug smile on his face.
‘See, there’s that close down the question, the one I told you about,’ piped up Gareth. ‘Now remember what you do.’
‘And I don’t blame you,’ Siena was enjoying herself, blossoming under Gareth’s paternal gaze, ‘this is a lovely house. Although, if you don’t mind me saying so, you could make it even more appealing. I see next door is looking a bit tired. Their front door could do with a lick of paint, don’t you think?’
‘No, Siena remember. Open questions. Don’t ever give them the chance to say no.’
‘Sorry.’
‘And don’t apologise. You’re in charge here, if they don’t choose to buy your product, it’s their loss.’
Siena nodded, thinking fast.
‘Their front door could do with a lick of paint. If you were going to paint yours, what colour would you go for?’
‘Much better,’ said Gareth nodding at Alan, encouraging him to join in.
‘A door says such a lot about you. Creates first impressions. Says the people who live here care. Now if you paint your door, you’ve got to maintain it. Johnson’s Doors are virtually maintenance free. Guaranteed for twenty-five years. Now I think you could probably do a lot more with this lovely house. Show people in the neighbourhood that you care, unlike the neighbours who don’t or maybe they can’t afford to invest in what’s important. Now with a bit of TLC, you could really show your neighbours, friends, that you’ve got pride, dignity and money. People respect that.’
Alan straightened. ‘Hell yeah. Where do I sign on the dotted line?’
Gareth held up a hand and Siena high-fived him.
‘You go girl. You are ready to go out on the road.’
Alan nodded. ‘Yeah, I think you are. Do you know what, I think I can see a very long and successful relationship with Johnson Home Improvements for you, Siena.’
Jason returned as Siena was grating cheese, dancing around the kitchen and melting butter in the frying pan.
‘What the fu—’ Jason stumbled to a halt in the kitchen doorway.
‘Hi,’ Siena turned, pushing unruly hair away from her face.
Jason looked pained.
‘What’s wrong?’ She followed his eyes as he scanned the table, the kitchen counters and the sink which was piled high with saucepans.
‘It looks like Armageddon in here. What are you cooking?’
‘Omelette. I’m celebrating.’ Now she had a job, she’d been food shopping and treated herself to a bottle of wine.
‘Omelette? For five thousand? You must have used every utensil in the kitchen.’
Siena looked around. Surely he was exaggerating. She’d used a few plates, a couple of bowls, two chopping boards, several knives and one cast iron pan. ‘It’s not so bad.’
He came closer. ‘Have you ever cooked an omelette before?’
‘Yes.’ Typical English man, no clue about cooking.
‘Really? I’ve never seen it cooked like that before.’
Of course he hadn’t. Judging from the contents of the kitchen, he didn’t know one end of a frying pan from the other. He was used to eating meals from plastic trays in sleeves of cardboard. He was no judge.
‘Wait until you taste it. Have you eaten?’
He hesitated.
‘Go on, try it. What have you got to lose?’
He still looked reluctant, until she tossed the pancetta into a Le Creuset frying pan with a sizzle, the scent quickly filing the air. She saw his hesitancy fade as the red peppers and slices of new potatoes went in. She let them cook for a minute. Much as she loved to cook, she didn’t get the chance very much. A lot of what she did was trial and error but she certainly wasn’t going to admit that to Mr Superior. It would have been nice to impress him but a basic dish like this was hardly going to hit the mark.
Even though she did think that perhaps he might be coming around, when she saw his nose lifting in appreciation of the warm cooking smells.
As the vegetables and bacon softened in the butter, she folded in frothy whipped
