From Paris With Love This Christmas. Jules Wake
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Название: From Paris With Love This Christmas

Автор: Jules Wake

Издательство: HarperCollins

Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература

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isbn: 9780008164317

isbn:

СКАЧАТЬ 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. СКАЧАТЬ