From Paris With Love This Christmas

‘I can help out until opening time and then it depends whether Michelle deigns to turn up or not.’

‘Still having problems with her?’

It was unlike Will to put up with that sort of thing from one of his waitresses. The blond ponytail might lull people into the false assumption that his real job was organising a summer music festival, but his was a tight ship. People came from miles around to eat at The Salisbury Arms. The pub itself had won several big food awards and Will had worked in some serious kitchens, with the celebrity chef burns on his arms to prove it.

‘Yeah, if she drops a shift again. I’m going have to sack her. I was hoping to hang on for a couple of weeks to get through Christmas. We’ve got a lot of big dos on. I might have to get you and Ben to pitch in.’

Jason snorted. ‘In your dreams. What went wrong? I thought she was the best waitress you’d ever had.’

‘I might have, er,’ despite being nearly thirty, Will pulled his aw-shucks I’m-so-innocent-face.

‘You didn’t.’ Will had a dreadful habit of being led by his libido. ‘I thought we talked about this.’

‘Come on Jay, she’s hot.’

‘She works for you.’

‘It was late in the evening.’ He launched into the Ed Sheeran song, doing a more than a passable falsetto impersonation.

‘You’re a dick sometimes.’

‘She was all over me, man. And no, I didn’t make any promises.’

‘You’re still a dick.’

‘I know, part of my charm.’

‘Being a dickhead is not a charm in anyone’s book.’

‘Must be my suave good looks then.’

Jason gave up at that point.

‘This week is all under control. Ben knows what he’s got to do. Once the mash is on it’s a question of maintaining the temperature. Ask him every day how it’s going. He’ll soon tell you if there’s a problem.’

‘Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. I don’t know why I keep you around.’

Jason thumped his arm. ‘Because, apart from giving you advice on your love life, which you clearly ignore, me and the bank own fifty per cent of those gorgeous silver tanks. You and the bank own the other fifty per cent, but you don’t know what the fuck to do with them.’

‘OK.’ Will conceded. ‘You stick to the brewery side and I’ll run the pub.’

Go me, thought Siena giving herself a little fist pump as she stood outside the entrance of the Hotel Enigma. She’d successfully negotiated not one but two buses, although how was she to know that five pound notes weren’t acceptable currency on a bus?

‘Hi. Good morning. You here for the training for the canvassing job?’

Siena nodded.

‘Welcome to Johnson Home Improvements. Name please?’

‘Siena.’

He ran a finger down a typed list.

‘Ah yes, Siena. I’ve seen your name on here somewhere. Like the film star Sienna Miller. No relative then?’

‘No,’ she shook her head a little bemused by the question, ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Ah, found you. Siena Browne-Martin.’

‘It’s Browne-Martin,’ she pronounced the tin as tan, ‘it’s French.’

‘Right, whatever. We’re all equals here.’ He peeled off a label and held it out to her.

‘It’s Siena with one ‘n’.’

He shrugged. ‘It’ll do for today.’ He continued to hold out the label.

Siena took it and held it between two fingers, looking down while she tried to decide where to put it.

‘If you could wear the badge, then the trainer knows your name.’

‘Right, it’s … this top is … Gucci. Dry clean only. Do you know what adhesive they use on the labels? Is it water-soluble?

‘Ad-what?’

‘The glue.’

‘Glue?’

‘Tell you what, why don’t I introduce myself to the trainer?’

‘That won’t be necessary.’ He sounded a bit more certain of himself now.

‘Oh?’

‘I’m the trainer.’

‘Right. But you know my name.’

He nodded.

‘So I don’t need to wear the badge.’

His brow crumpled. ‘I suppose not.’ A look of relief crossed his face and he shifted his attention to the person behind her. ‘Ah, good morning, welcome to Johnson Home Improvements. Can I take your name?’ He turned back to her. ‘Do go in. Help yourself to tea and coffee and take a seat.’

‘Thank you.’

Taking a seat, she took a sip and almost choked. The brown liquid bore limited relation to coffee, in fact the only relation she could successfully conclude was that it was wet.

She’d spent considerable time worrying about what to wear and had aimed for smart and professional. You couldn’t go far wrong with a pair of Joseph trousers, Gucci shirt and a cashmere cardie, especially when you only had a capsule wardrobe to choose from. The Missoni scarf added that jaunty look that stopped her looking really serious like a banker or a doctor.

The poor woman next to her seemed terribly nervous. She kept picking at a loose thread on her black dress, the fingers with nails bitten down to the quick, worrying at the seam with repeated staccato attacks.

‘Hi, I’m Siena. Are you here for the training too?’ asked Siena when the woman looked up.

‘I’m not here for a bleedin’ massage lovie. The Jobcentre sent me. That’s a laugh. I come to these things once every six months, to get them off my back.’

‘Oh.’ Siena nodded as if she understood but the woman had lost interest already and had gone back to picking at the seam of her dress.

‘Hello, earth to airhead.’ Siena looked up at the newcomer. ‘Can you move your bag so I can sit down?’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Siena swept her handbag onto her own knee.

‘’S’alright, darlin’.’ He leaned forward in his chair, legs wide open so that one knee nudged her leg. She shifted and he promptly took up the fresh space.

Shifting again, she perched on the edge of her seat. He seemed completely oblivious. She turned her head away slightly to get away from the pungent smell of stale tobacco. A couple more people shuffled in, helping themselves to the tea and coffee and sat down. No one said a word to each other. It felt a bit like detention at school except without the nuns.

After a painful fifteen minutes of silent fidgeting, Alan Johnson finally strode in.

‘Morning everyone. Just waiting for a few stragglers. There are always a few and quite a few no shows. It’s difficult to get the staff, you know.’ He grinned to show he’d made a joke, which elicited some weak laughter.

He stood at the table, looking down at a folder he’d brought in for another five blank minutes. Finally he looked up.

‘I think we’ll make a start. My name is Alan Johnson, Staff Training Director and I’ll be introducing you to Johnson’s Home Improvements today. I’ll be telling you about our fantastic product range. Some USPs. Promotional tools you can use. Discounts and the like.’

‘It’s bloody door-to-door sales, mate. Just tell us what the fucking commission rate is,’ muttered the guy next to Siena.

‘Sorry sir, did you want to contribute?’

‘Nah, carry on mate.’

Alan nodded. ‘I want to emphasise we’re a family run company, not one of these big conglom corpalates. Family run. We care.’ He slammed his fist into the palm of his other hand. ‘We want to give our customers the opportunity to make significant improvements to their homes. Improve energy efficiency. Saleability of their property. I can’t begin to list the pros, they’re endless. And that, ladies and gentlemen, makes these products really easy to sell. Seriously they walk off the shelf. Walk off the shelf, I say. No hard sell needed. Although today I’m going to run through some handy tips for clinching that sale. We don’t want to hear those death of a salesman words, ‘I’ll think about it’. No, we want signatures on dotted lines. What do we want? Signatures on dotted lines. Deposits upfront. Commitment. So we’ll be doing some role-playing exercises. And developing some handy tips for clinching that sale. Overcoming objections. And in exchange we can offer you a fantastic commission on every sale.’

A hand shot up further along the row. ‘Excuse me. Is there a salary? I was led to believe this wasn’t commission only.’

Alan gave a non-jocular laugh. ‘It’s not commission only. We’re giving you training, free of charge, your own patch. Committed individuals, who stay with the company for six months, can achieve a monthly salary. Before lunch I’m going to teach you some of our trigger phrases. Keep you on-message.’

He stepped towards a flip chart and turned over the blank page to reveal a list of words.

Siena began to scribble in her notebook.

‘First is ‘Quality’. Customers love quality. And a good deal.’

Lunch came and went, and when he strode into the afternoon session, Alan seemed to think it was a virtue that half his audience had departed.

‘See, this job is for the bold, the fearless. You guys are up for the challenge. You want to do well. So, you will do well. And if you do well, you can earn a lot of money.’

‘Now, we’re going to do some role-play. Team up into pairs.’

Siena’s partner was an older black guy with the drooping jowls of a bloodhound and pudgy hands which gave her an enthusiastic, clammy handshake.

‘Don’t you worry darlin’,’ He patted her thigh and she flinched. He withdrew it smartly. ‘Sorry my love. Didn’t mean to be over familiar. I do apologise.’

‘It’s OK,’ she said, realising it had been an unconscious friendly gesture. She relaxed, letting the sudden tension dissipate. She realised it felt completely different to that stomach clenching sensation when someone kept deliberately touching when they knew you didn’t want to be touched.

‘I was trying to say, I’m an old hand at this. You look a bit green. Done much in the way of sales before?’

Siena shook her head. ‘Nothing. In fact,’ she lowered her voice to a whisper, ‘I’ve never even had a job.’

‘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 egg whites into beaten egg yolks.

Jason frowned. ‘Do you know you can beat the eggs and put them in? I’ve never heard of anyone separating them and then putting back together.’

Siena shrugged. ‘Your loss then.’ She winked at him. ‘I suggest you withhold judgement until you’ve tried it. Would you like a glass of wine?’

She asked him to pour as she concentrated on pouring the omelette batter into the pan. The trick was to cook the bottom and then slide it under the grill to cook the top.

When she whisked the fluffy omelettes onto warm plates with a side salad of leaves and popped one in front of Jason, she smiled at the look of pleasure on his face when he tasted them.

‘Wow, this is amazing.’

She smiled and took a happy slug of red wine. ‘Told you I knew what I was doing.’

‘I take it all back.’ There was a silence between them and then as if he’d suddenly remembered his manners, Jason asked, ‘So how did you get on today?’

‘It was great. I met some really nice people,’ she pulled a face, ‘and some not so nice people. But I’m all trained and ready to go out on the road.’

‘Trained?’

‘Yes.’ Siena felt rather pleased with herself. ‘Apparently I’m an active seller.’

‘And what’s one of those when they’re at home?’

She ignored his scepticism. What did he know? He hadn’t been there today. She was looking forward to going out, helping people improve their homes. Help them reduce and eradicate unnecessary maintenance.

‘An active seller is proactive. Forward thinking. Takes charge. We make the best sellers.’

‘You mean you’re pushy and don’t take no for an answer.’

‘No,’ Siena drew herself up. ‘We develop empathy with the customer and build a relationship.’

‘Good luck with that, you’re going to need it.’

Siena rolled her eyes. What did he know?

‘How’s the red wine?’

‘Good. No, great. I guess if you’re French you know a bit about wines.’

Siena shrugged. She knew what she knew. She’d never really thought about it before. ‘I’m not really French. I’m English. I just grew up there.’ Neither one thing nor the other.

‘I really like this one. What is it?’

‘It’s a Bordeaux Supérieur.’ The best the supermarket had to offer.

‘What’s that when it’s at home?’

‘A wine from the Bordeaux region obviously; but the grapes, mainly Cabernet Sauvignon and Merlot, come from the older plots.’

‘It’s very nice.’ He toasted her and took a long sip and then spoilt it by adding with a naughty grin, ‘Would you usually serve this with omelettes?’

‘But of course,’ she toasted him back with a wry smile. ‘Eggs and red wine, always. Haven’t you heard of nouvelle vin? Forget all those stuffy principles of white wine with fish and red wine with beef. That’s all terribly vintage chapeau.’

‘Really?’ Jason looked half convinced until she gave a gurgle of laughter.

‘No,’ she raised her glass and took an appreciative slurp. ‘I thought I deserved a treat after today.’

‘So it went well, did it?’

Half an hour later they were still chatting as Siena emptied the last of the bottle into the two glasses. She was rather grateful that he got up to do the washing up. There did seem to be an awful lot of it.

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