utterly charmed by Rod’s arrival on her doorstep. He’d explained his concerns, and told her it wouldn’t take him more than a couple of hours to put it all right. She’d been flummoxed when it finally emerged he was doing it off his own bat, and wouldn’t get paid; that he was giving up his own Saturday because he quite simply couldn’t bear the thought of their shoddy workmanship in her beautiful house.
Lady Pamela tried her very best not to sound patronizing when she asked if he would like to see the main kitchen. She ushered him in and he wasspeechless; it was quite the most breathtaking room he had ever seen. He wandered round it in awe, stroking the smooth golden wood, pulling out the drawers that glided like silk, examining all the clever little cubbyholes, admiring the craftsmanship, the design, the thought that had gone into it. Pamela was fascinated by his enthusiasm. But then, he’d never seen a kitchen like this before. He didn’t move in those circles; didn’t buy those kinds of magazines. And now he’d seen what could be done, he knew that was what he wanted to do.
Two days later a huge parcel arrived at his house, containing a dozen brochures from top-notch kitchen companies and a note in Pamela’s distinctive italics. They were, she said, doing up the gardener’s cottage on the estate, and she wanted to give Rod first option on fitting the kitchen. He could have free rein with the design and she thought he might find inspiration in the enclosed.
He’d taken up the challenge eagerly. It took him three months to complete it, because he had to squeeze it in during his limited spare time, but Pamela had assured him there was no rush. The kitchen was only tiny, but he’d fitted it out using oak from the estate, and it was exquisite. He wasn’t foolish enough to be over-ambitious on his first and clearly most important solo project, so he’d stuck with plain and simple and square.
Pamela was delighted with the result. Not only did she pay Rod handsomely for his work, but shenominated herself as his patron. She had an enormous circle of wealthy friends, to whom she trumpeted Rod’s skills, until he found himself inundated with enquiries. As well as that, she made him an appointment with her own bank manager, who painstakingly talked Rod through the perils and pitfalls of being self-employed. And she insisted on bankrolling his first few freelance commissions, until he had enough of a profit to stand on his own two feet. He repaid her financially as soon as he could, but he knew that as long as he lived he couldn’t repay her generosity of spirit. Lady Pamela, however, was sufficiently gratified by the fact that he was a resounding success, and that she had discovered him.
He had a lot to learn, of course. There was more to fitting a kitchen than making the cupboards match the wall-space. And at this end of the market you had to cater for every whim. Financing it was terrifying. Initially he couldn’t underwrite the enormously expensive appliances a lot of his customers wanted. He didn’t know you could spend three thousand pounds on a fridge. So at first, the customers paid for their appliances direct, which meant of course that he made nothing on them.
But gradually the business grew, until he was able to meet the overheads properly. He learned how to pick and choose clients – spot the ones who were going to be more trouble than they were worth and change things for the sake of it, and go with ones who were as enthusiastic as he was about the end product,but who were happy to trust him and leave him to his own devices.
Now, ten years later, he was well established. He still worked from his parents’ farm, in the shed his father had once used to bring on turkeys and fatten them up for Christmas, until the EEC rules and regulations had become so prohibitive as to make him lose interest. It wasn’t a glamorous setting, and it was freezing in the winter, but he was able to lock the door
Lady Pamela tried her very best not to sound patronizing when she asked if he would like to see the main kitchen. She ushered him in and he wasspeechless; it was quite the most breathtaking room he had ever seen. He wandered round it in awe, stroking the smooth golden wood, pulling out the drawers that glided like silk, examining all the clever little cubbyholes, admiring the craftsmanship, the design, the thought that had gone into it. Pamela was fascinated by his enthusiasm. But then, he’d never seen a kitchen like this before. He didn’t move in those circles; didn’t buy those kinds of magazines. And now he’d seen what could be done, he knew that was what he wanted to do.
Two days later a huge parcel arrived at his house, containing a dozen brochures from top-notch kitchen companies and a note in Pamela’s distinctive italics. They were, she said, doing up the gardener’s cottage on the estate, and she wanted to give Rod first option on fitting the kitchen. He could have free rein with the design and she thought he might find inspiration in the enclosed.
He’d taken up the challenge eagerly. It took him three months to complete it, because he had to squeeze it in during his limited spare time, but Pamela had assured him there was no rush. The kitchen was only tiny, but he’d fitted it out using oak from the estate, and it was exquisite. He wasn’t foolish enough to be over-ambitious on his first and clearly most important solo project, so he’d stuck with plain and simple and square.
Pamela was delighted with the result. Not only did she pay Rod handsomely for his work, but shenominated herself as his patron. She had an enormous circle of wealthy friends, to whom she trumpeted Rod’s skills, until he found himself inundated with enquiries. As well as that, she made him an appointment with her own bank manager, who painstakingly talked Rod through the perils and pitfalls of being self-employed. And she insisted on bankrolling his first few freelance commissions, until he had enough of a profit to stand on his own two feet. He repaid her financially as soon as he could, but he knew that as long as he lived he couldn’t repay her generosity of spirit. Lady Pamela, however, was sufficiently gratified by the fact that he was a resounding success, and that she had discovered him.
He had a lot to learn, of course. There was more to fitting a kitchen than making the cupboards match the wall-space. And at this end of the market you had to cater for every whim. Financing it was terrifying. Initially he couldn’t underwrite the enormously expensive appliances a lot of his customers wanted. He didn’t know you could spend three thousand pounds on a fridge. So at first, the customers paid for their appliances direct, which meant of course that he made nothing on them.
But gradually the business grew, until he was able to meet the overheads properly. He learned how to pick and choose clients – spot the ones who were going to be more trouble than they were worth and change things for the sake of it, and go with ones who were as enthusiastic as he was about the end product,but who were happy to trust him and leave him to his own devices.
Now, ten years later, he was well established. He still worked from his parents’ farm, in the shed his father had once used to bring on turkeys and fatten them up for Christmas, until the EEC rules and regulations had become so prohibitive as to make him lose interest. It wasn’t a glamorous setting, and it was freezing in the winter, but he was able to lock the door
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