They buzz me in. ‘My ten o’clock interview,’ I say to myself, touching my locket.
The receptionist greets me again, soaked in Chanel scent. She’s called Nadine and looks as if she’s in her late forties, short honey-blonde dyed hair, top-heavy but great legs, I notice, as she totters in front of me in a skirt and purple suede boots. Sherwoods is based in a private house on two levels. The reception is in the hallway, a wide wooden-floored corridor, big enough to fit a desk, a couple of chairs and a glass coffee table scattered withCountry Lifemagazines. Downstairs is the open-plan office that everyone shares, except for Jeremy who has his own private room upstairs, next to the boardroom. Nadine comments on how quiet it is since everyone is out on apitch.
As I walk into Jeremy North’s spacious office the first things I take in are the tailored suit, silvery-grey hair and old-fashioned spectacles perched precariously close to the end of his nose. I shake his hand firmly before sitting down.
He shuffles some paperwork in front of me. ‘So, January, your name certainly stands out.’
‘I’m often teased. People say to me, “What’s your surname? Let me guess.February?”Or I tell you another one…’ W.A.I.T. I laugh nervously and shut up.
He skims through my CV. I want to tell him I’m a hard worker, that had it not been for Isla’s complications, my qualifications would be more impressive. But I remain quiet. ‘I see you have no actual work experience in property, but obviously you know the difference between when a property is for sale, when it’s under offer and when it’s exchanged contracts?’
‘I do,’ comes my solemn reply, as if answering vows in a church.
‘This role requires someone who is organised. I travel a fair amount, mainly meeting colleagues at the other offices or I’m doing pitches across the country. I need someone here to manage my time and my diary.’
‘Absolutely.’
‘What’s your geography like?’
‘My geography? Very fine.’Very fine?
‘My last PA was charming, but her geography. She didn’t know where Princes Risborough was. Fancy that. She thought it was a person, that I was meeting a Prince Risborough.’
‘Fancy that,’ I say, clocking on the wall behind him a framed print of a map of Britain, but drat, I’m too far away. I didn’t reckon on having to be a geography whizz. My grandfather once asked me the capital of Turkey and I said ‘Bernard Matthews’.
‘You see, if I’m going from Norfolk to Cheshire in a day,’ Jeremy continues, ‘I need more than an hour to get there, unless my name is Obama and I fly by private jet.’ His light blue eyes twinkle. I imagine he had fair hair when he was young. Looking at him now makes me think of my father. They would have been roughly the same age.
‘How long would you give me to travel from Norfolk to Cheshire, January?’
‘Norfolk to Cheshire,’ I repeat, indiscreetly trying to place both on the map. Why isn’t he asking me what my strengths are and all that? ‘Well, that depends on all sorts of things.’ I give him one of my megawatt smiles, hoping that will be enough for him.
‘Such as?’ He peers at me from behind his round-framed glasses.
‘The traffic and… the weather, you know, flooding or, you know, wind…’
‘Wind?’
‘Yes, howling gales that can, you know, rock your car side to side and if your satnav doesn’t send you on, you know, a little detour…’ W.A.I.T. ‘Three hours, maybe a little more,’ I add when I see his face.
‘I’d say at least four to be on the safe side. In this business you cannot afford to be late for pitches.’
‘Yes. Always best to be cautious.’
‘It’s essential to be professional and on time.’
‘Absolutely. Normally I’m far too early. I once turned up at a wedding before the groom, ha ha…’ I stop; fold my hands on to my lap. ‘Anyway, as you were saying…’
‘Yes, right. Some of your work will involve advertising and brochure design, booking photographers and researching the area to get key selling points across in the text. You’ll get the hang of the property blurb.’ He pauses. ‘Lucie mentioned that you have family commitments?’
I nod. ‘I have a little girl, Isla.’ I go on to tell him that I have provisionally made arrangements for her, but without going into the detail of interviewing a Romanian woman called Ruki, who wants to work part-time in between cutting people’s hair from home.
‘I have a dog too,’ I say, glancing at the photograph of two golden Labradors on the bookcase behind his desk.
‘Oh, do you? What kind?’ For the first time Jeremy looks interested, as if a dark room suddenly has light.
‘A Jack Russell. He’s called Spud.’
‘I have two.’ He swings round to pick up the photograph. ‘Albert, named after Albert Bridge, and Elvis because my wife loves…’ He begins to sing ‘I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas’, Elvis Presley-style. ‘I tell you, it’s exceptionally handy to be a dog lover in this job. I was once at a house and happened to know that the woman’s four-legged friend was a Spinone Italiano. That got me the pitch immediately.’
