He was about to get up and leave, when a very thin middle-aged woman with a helmet of shiny black hair and an immaculate Chanel suit stepped out of the lift and made a beeline for the couch.
‘Ah,’ she said, her thin magenta mouth curving upwards into a smile. ‘Ms Myatt. And Mr Watson. You’re in very good time. Hello, I’m Georgina May.’
She held out a hand, which Jenna took first.
Jason folded his arms and looked at the ceiling, then, when nudged by Jenna, stood up to shake Georgina’s hand.
‘I’ll have coffee brought up,’ she said. ‘Unless you’d prefer tea?’
‘Coffee’s good,’ said Jenna.
‘Or beer,’ said Jason hopefully.
Georgina laughed politely but her mouth settled straight back into its magenta line and she called to the receptionist to bring coffee up.
Georgina’s office was more like the drawing room of a stately home, on a slightly smaller and more comfortable scale. Beautiful works of art lined the walls and the furniture all looked antique.
‘Jenna – do you mind if I call you Jenna?’
‘Please do.’
‘I believe you’re an alumnus of ours.’
‘That’s right. I came here, oh, it must be thirteen years ago. Maybe fourteen. And I was taught by Tiggy Henderson.’
‘Ah, dear Tiggy. She has retired, but she keeps in touch. Exhibits her roses all over the country.’
‘Yes, I remember she was proud of her roses.’
‘And I’m sure she’d be proud of you. You brought a lot of business our way, when you were working in London, I’m told.’
‘Oh, yes, you did wonderful work with a lot of my clients.’
‘Thank you. And now you have made another booking with us.’
Georgina looked pointedly at Jason, who was slumping in his chair like a teenager who’d been told he couldn’t borrow his parents’ car.
‘Yes,’ said Jenna, trying not to feel embarrassed by Jason’s extremely negative body language. ‘This is Jason. He’s a very talented artist who is shortly to have his first gallery exhibition. But he’s not at all familiar with the art world, or the world away from the small town he comes from.’
‘I can say all this for myself, you know,’ he said, coming to hostile life.
‘Please do,’ said Georgina, smiling again.
‘I’m from the same place she is,’ he said, jerking a thumb at Jenna. ‘Same estate, even. This accent is the same as what she once had. But she’s better than all that now apparently.’
‘Don’t you think you are?’ said Jenna.
‘There are good people living there,’ he said fiercely. ‘Don’t tar everyone with the same brush.’
‘You aren’t here for elocution,’ Georgina cut in, welcoming the receptionist with the coffee tray with a smile and a wave at the table. ‘Nobody has any plans to change your accent.’
This winded Jason.
‘Oh,’ he said, looking at Jenna with uncertainty. ‘Don’t they?’
‘No,’ Jenna confirmed. ‘Look, you are you, and I want you to stay that way. All this is about, as I’ve said, is confidence. Knowing your way around the world outside Bledburn. Making friends. Making sure people are interested in you for the right reasons.’
‘Precisely,’ said Georgina, pouring from the cafetière.
‘So no rain in Spain stuff?’ he said, looking between the two women.
‘No rain in Spain stuff,’ said Georgina, smiling up at him. ‘I promise.’
‘So what, then?’
‘We’re going to role-play some social situations, and you’ll learn some very basic body language techniques for looking and sounding confident. Oddly enough, the more confident people think you are, the more at their ease they are with you. And the more people warm to you, the better disposed they’ll be towards your work. Does that make sense?’
‘So, me minding my Ps and Qs will get people to pay for my paintings? Is that what you’re saying?’
‘Something like that.’
‘What about the wild men of rock ’n’ roll? People still buy their records. Deano Diamond, for instance.’ He gave Jenna a hard look.
‘Deano’s wild man image was pretty carefully cultivated,’ admitted Jenna. ‘If he ever trashed a hotel room, we’d always signed a contract with the hotel, promising in advance to pay for all the damage. That interview where he swore at the reporter and made that speech about Iraq? Staged.’
‘You are fucking kidding me?’ Jason’s eyes almost popped.
‘No, I’m afraid not. Deano’s as mild-mannered as they come, when he isn’t performing for the cameras. Sorry.’
‘Perhaps that’s something to work on,’ suggested Georgina. ‘Less of the fucking. It’s OK on a late-night show but wouldn’t go down well on Newsround.’
‘I’m not going to be on Newsround.’
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘I’m going to be on Newsround?’ Jason seemed delighted by the idea.
‘It’s possible,’ said Jenna. ‘We need to make sure you have broad appeal. An inspiration for the children as well as an enfant terrible for the art world.’
‘A tall order,’ noted Georgina. ‘But we can try. Now, let’s start with posture, shall we? Would you mind standing up?’
Jason put down his coffee cup and rose to his feet.
‘You don’t quite know what to do with all your height, do you?’ said Georgina, after looking him up and down for a while. ‘You’re slouching. Do you feel awkward, being the tallest person in the room most of the time?’
He shrugged. ‘Dunno. I never really think about it. But yeah, as a teenager I felt a bit weird about it. It all happened too quick. I was a squeaky shortarse one day and this great big thing the next.’
‘So you shot up and weren’t really sure what to do with all the extra bits of arm and leg?’ suggested Georgina.
‘Yeah.’
‘And since then, you’ve compensated for your height by slouching, slumping your shoulders, bowing your head? Well, I’ve got good news for you, Mr Watson. You can stand tall. You just need to get into some good habits.’
He was already putting back his shoulders, a little stung, it seemed, by Georgina’s description of his stance. He unbent his knees, straightened his spine, thrust up his chin.
‘There, now we can see all of you,’ she said. ‘But you’re very stiff. The trick is to find a way of standing and moving that shows off your figure to best advantage, without looking as if you’re on a parade ground. Do you play any sports, Mr Watson?’
‘Call me Jason,’ he said. ‘And no. I do some gym stuff now and again, if I can be arsed.’
‘Gym stuff’s all well and good, but I’m thinking about whether you ought to take up cricket.’
‘Cricket?’ he scoffed. ‘That’s a posh boys’ game.’
‘Don’t let your prejudices blind you,’ cautioned Georgina. ‘Besides, I thought Nottinghamshire had a very good cricket team.’
‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘There is a cricket club in Bledburn,’ said Jenna. ‘Over on the other side of town from the estate. By the lakes.’
‘Well, then, perhaps you could think of joining? You see, cricket is all about good posture. Using every part of your body, making sure you know what you’re doing with your arms and legs. I do recommend it, especially for you. Your height will be handy for spin bowling. Give it a try.’
‘I might,’ he grunted.
‘Now, let’s work on your expression and body language. I’m going to go through a number of role-play situations with you. Number one, you are at a gallery exhibition of your work, and I’m a stranger approaching you to talk about it. Bear in mind, I could be a potential buyer or a journalist or just an interested art student. I could even be a woman trying to get you into bed! You don’t know who I am, or what my agenda is. So. Are you ready?’
‘I think so.’ He picked up his coffee then put it down. ‘Not really. I feel like a dick.
It’s not natural.’
‘No,’ agreed Georgina patiently. ‘It’s not. But pretend. Go and look at one of my paintings and I’ll come up behind you.’
He walked, in an exaggeratedly swaggering fashion, up to a portrait of a rich Georgian man in a powdered wig. Jenna wanted to laugh at his over-zealous examination of it – he wasn’t from the ‘less is more’ school of acting.
‘Oh, are you the artist?’ cried Georgina, slinking up to his shoulder.
‘What if I am?’
She stopped short, hands on hips.
‘Oh, well, I’m sorry I asked!’ she exclaimed. ‘Jason, that was so unnecessarily aggressive. All but the most thick-skinned would have slunk away, feeling rejected.’
‘Perhaps that’s what I want,’ said Jason. ‘Who wants to be pestered at their own party?’
‘Well, if that’s the way you see it . . .’ Georgina turned to Jenna, her eyebrows aloft.
Jenna tried to smooth matters over.
‘But we want buyers, don’t we? And you won’t know any of them until they introduce themselves. I know nicey-nicey isn’t in your nature, and that’s why we’re practising it. Just give it a go, please? For me?’
Jason sighed. ‘For you,’ he said. ‘I was just . . . Well, if people are really interested, they’ll work on you, won’t they? If they really like my stuff, they won’t be put off if I’m a little bit mardy.’
‘Mardy?’ Georgina furrowed her brow, as if exposed to a foreign language.
‘Bad tempered,’ Jenna translated. ‘Jason, you can be as mardy as you like when you’re a millionaire in your own right. Until then . . .’
‘OK, OK, I get the picture,’ he grouched.
‘Good,’ approved Georgina. ‘We’ll run through it again, shall we? Now. Are you the artist?’
‘Why, yes, madam, as a matter of fact, I am,’ said Jason, in an exaggerated interpretation of Dramatic Toff.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake,’ said an exasperated Jenna. ‘Now you’re just taking the mickey. Can you please try?’
‘What?’ said Jason. ‘I thought that was what you wanted.’
‘What we want,’ said Georgina, laying a hand on his forearm, ‘is for you to be yourself, but with a cherry on top. And the cherry is good manners and charm.’
Now it was Jason’s turn to look as if he needed an interpreter. He turned his rather hurt gaze to Jenna.
‘Are my manners that bad?’
‘No, but they need polish,’ she reassured him. ‘That’s all it is. Polish.’
‘Well, I give up,’ said Jason. ‘Tell me what to say then. What should I do when a random stranger comes up and starts asking me questions?’
‘Well,’ said Georgina, ‘to the question “are you the artist?” a simple “yes, I am” would suffice. Then the ball’s in your questioner’s court. You can either wait for them to continue the conversation, or, if you suspect they might be a buyer or somebody who can further your career, you can add something yourself – something about the paintings, about yourself, about how excited or nervous you’re feeling. It’s really up to you. But the key is to be calm, to be confident, to be engaging, to be attractive.’
Jason shrugged, still clearly uncomfortable with the situation.
‘OK then,’ he said. ‘Give it another go, I suppose.’
‘I will.’ Georgina cleared her throat. ‘Are you the artist?’
‘Yes.’
There was a slight pause. Georgina was forced into continuing the conversation.
‘This is stunning work,’ she said. ‘I so admire your technique. I wonder, can you tell me a little bit about how you came to develop it?’
‘Er.’ Jason stalled, obviously thinking about how best to answer. ‘Well, that’s quite a difficult question. It sort of developed itself. I mean, I never had lessons or nothing. Just kind of took in everything I saw and tried things out until I was happy with them.’
‘You’re self-taught, then? How extraordinary. Do you have any particular influences?’
‘Well, uh, I like those Where’s Wally books.’
There was a pause.
‘Are you . . . pulling my leg?’ Georgina asked faintly, turning to Jenna. ‘Is he?’
Jenna grinned.
‘I think he might be serious.’
‘I am serious,’ said Jason. ‘I got one as a kid and I looked at it for hours, every night in bed. Then when I started school they had some in the book corner. I wouldn’t let the other kids near ’em. They were mine, as far as I was concerned. Used to get into bother for it, kept in at playtime. But that was good, cos it meant I got to look at them even more. Do you know them?’
‘I’m not familiar, I don’t think.’ Georgina’s smile was as professionally charming as ever, but Jenna got the distinct impression that a kind of shocked fascination at her new client was underlying it.
‘You should get one. They’re like all these different landscapes and backgrounds with tons of people all over them and you have to find this particular little guy in amongst it all. The detail is amazing. I tried to memorise them. When I was a bit older, I used to copy them, hours and hours it took. Then, when I was even older, and I’d looked at a few more art books and got to know a few more different styles, I had this idea. I’d do Where’s Wally, but in my own style, and with my own voice. I mean, not a voice, cos it’s a picture, but do you know what I mean?’
Georgina’s smile was genuine now, Jenna thought. She was really impressed, drawn in by Jason’s sudden flowering of passion and enthusiasm when he spoke of his work. The grumpy so and so of a few minutes back seemed to have disappeared.
‘I think I do,’ she said. ‘The books were your original inspiration, and you’ve taken that and made it your own.’
‘Yeah. Cos I wanted to say something with my art, not just “can you find this little dude?” Good though that was. I wanted to say something about my world, where I live, what I see.’
Georgina nodded and turned to Jenna.
‘I do think you must retain this unpretentiousness of his. It has a real charm of its own. It would be a shame to lose that.’
Jenna nodded.
Jason scowled.
‘Were you listening to me?’ he demanded. ‘I’m pouring out my heart here and you’re just . . . Well, I thought you were supposed to be the expert on manners. It seems a bit rude to talk about me as if I’m not here.’
Georgina was instantly contrite.
‘Of course, you’re absolutely right. Do excuse me. I’m not used to having a client and a referrer at a session together. It’s rather made me unsure which of you I should be addressing. But of course, it must be both, to the detriment of neither.’
‘Right,’ said Jason, flicking a look at Jenna.
‘What I meant to say, Jason,’ Georgina continued, ‘was that, once you embark on a discussion of your work, you don’t need any kind of polish at all. And that’s as it should be. You need to sound as sincere as you are. What we’re dealing with is small talk. So may I try another scenario with you?’
‘All right.’
‘You’re at a reception or drinks party of some kind. Jenna here introduces you to a friend of hers. I will play the friend.’
The three players convened in the centre of the room, pretending their coffee cups were champagne coupes.
‘Jenna, how marvellous to see you again,’ cried Georgina, air-kissing with a will.
‘Georgina, it’s been such a long time. And you’re looking fabulous. I’d like to introduce you to Jason Watson – you may have heard of him? He’s one of our foremost Young British Artists. Jason – Georgina May. Georgina – Jason.’
Georgina gave Jason a significant look down to his free hand.
He seemed to cotton on all at once, and thrust the hand abruptly towards Georgina.
‘Yes, but a little stiff,’ she said. ‘Try again. Just make it look easy and natural.’
His second attempt was more to Georgina’s liking, and she took his hand
and shook it.
‘What’s all that kissing thing though?’ he wanted to know. ‘Do I have to do that?’
‘It’s more for established friends,’ said Georgina. ‘Especially female friends. If you don’t know the woman well, it’s best to stick to a handshake.’
‘Good. Because it’d make me feel a right ponce.’
Georgina’s smile was tight at the corners.
‘Shall we make some more polite conversation?’ she suggested, launching into her next gambit without waiting for consensus. ‘Oh, yes, of course I’ve read all about you in the arts pages,’ she said. ‘I tried to get tickets for your show but, dear me – gold dust!’ She smiled with practised warmth.
‘Oh. That’s a shame,’ said Jason awkwardly. ‘Maybe next time I can get you on the guest list.’
‘That would be wonderful. I hear this marvellous new talent was a discovery of yours, Jenna, is that right?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Jenna. ‘And I thank my lucky stars our paths crossed.’
‘So . . .’ There was a glint in Georgina’s eye that made Jenna suddenly wary. ‘How did that happen then?’
Oh, she knew, of course, Jenna thought, annoyed at the sudden burst of heat on her face. Everybody did – everybody who read the papers or took the slightest notice of tabloid gossip.
‘I was kipping in her attic,’ Jason said matter-of-factly. ‘Dossing, like. She found me there, and saw my paintings on the wall.’
‘You were homeless?’
‘Do I have to go through the whole story?’ He turned to Jenna. ‘I mean, everyone knows. It were in all the papers.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Georgina. ‘But I knew that your situation was . . . unusual. I thought it best that you should be prepared for people’s perhaps excessive curiosity. Sometimes, when a story is as juicy as yours, people can forget your right to a private life.’
‘Juicy,’ said Jason contemplatively. ‘Yeah. It’s that all right.’
‘People may well pretend to know less than they actually do, just to hear it from the horse’s mouth, so to speak,’ said Georgina. ‘And perhaps get a nice titbit that hasn’t been in the papers, to gossip over with their friends.’
‘Can’t I just tell them to fuck off, if that’s their game?’ said Jason.
Hearts and Diamonds Page 15
