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.