The Hat Shop on the Corner Read online

  Ellie loved listening to her aunt’s thoughts on style and fashion.

  ‘Look around us. This town is full now that Catholic Ireland has decided to go shopping on a Sunday!’ Yvette said wryly. ‘At least the small businesses do not have to open on the holy day! That is for the big stores and boutiques.’

  ‘The small businesses are finding it hard,’ explained Ellie, outlining what was happening in their own street, and how so many shops were closing down. ‘We are having a meeting next week about it.’

  ‘They must hold tight, your little shopkeepers,’ insisted Yvette, spearing a juicy prawn on her fork. ‘Naturellement the gallerias and the large department stores bring thousands of people to shop every day but there is still enough bread to go round for everyone. I promise. Just look at Paris. We have the best shopping in the world, huge stores, but many of our finest shops are small, exquisite and individual.’

  Afterwards they strolled along by Trinity College and down to Merrion Square, where artists were bargaining and selling their paintings from the display on the park railings. On a sunny day they always attracted a huge crowd. Back at home her aunt rested for a little while before Ellie cooked a simple chicken and vegetable dish for the two of them. They sat up till late talking about family holidays in the Renchard house in Provence, and the good times they’d both shared with her mother.

  The next three days passed far too quickly as Yvette expressed a wish to visit her sister’s grave in Wicklow and they managed to get tickets for the new Marina Carr play in the Abbey Theatre. Ellie persuaded Rory to join them for supper, though he couldn’t make it to the theatre as he was going on to a music gig in Whelan’s.

  He was chatty and charming and very polite to her aunt, ordering her an aperitif and asking about her shop in Paris and the state of the French economy. For once he had put on a shirt. OK, so it was black, but at least he had made an effort to impress her relative.

  Ellie smiled as he tried to give her aunt a rundown of the Irish music industry and the top bands over their wild salmon served with baby new potatoes. She could see he was charming Yvette just the way he charmed all the women who crossed his path.

  After the play Ellie and Yvette went back to the flat to drink coffee and enjoy a Baileys nightcap before they went to bed.

  ‘Ellie, I hope you don’t think that I am being intrusive but this young man in your life, is he important?’

  ‘We are seeing each other.’ She hesitated. ‘But not for very long.’

  ‘Do you love him?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she admitted, wondering if Rory was the type to fall in love with.

  ‘Then I hope he is good to you,’ said her aunt, staring at her intently. ‘He is not a professional, his career is perhaps erratic, and he is a little dangereux. But love is important, always remember that. Your mother knew it, she followed her heart!’

  Ellie waited for a lecture about the mistake her mother had made in running off with her father and was surprised when her aunt said the opposite.

  ‘Your mother, she fell in love with her Irishman and followed him here. She truly loved your father. Of course you know that. Despite everything I don’t think she ever stopped loving him. Perhaps she hoped that some day Philip would come back to her. She was désolée – devastated, is that the word? – when she heard he’d passed away.’

  ‘I remember,’ said Ellie softly. ‘Uncle Pat phoned to tell us about his heart attack.’

  ‘Madeleine never hesitated in the matters of the heart,’ continued her aunt. ‘And look at what she got in return, a beautiful daughter, so like herself, a business which gave her immense pleasure, along with an income and a life I would say well lived, and she was spared the awful indignities of old age.’

  ‘Thank you,’ whispered Ellie, moved by her aunt’s truth and honesty.

  ‘I on the other hand have my business. I am a wonderful success, so they tell me. I worked so hard I turned my nose up at all the young men who might have made a good match, and even the old men if truth be told. I had no time for romance and love. Then I discovered I’d left it too late – so here I am with only Monique’s two big hulking boys and you, my dear, to enjoy. The fine things of life are all very well but it is nice to have someone to share them with.’

  Ellie had never imagined Yvette having any regrets. Now she realized how solitary her life must be at times.

  ‘I think that you are a lot like your mother. But promise me you will not make the same mistakes as your proud old aunt,’ she joked.

  ‘I’ll try,’ said Ellie, hugging her.

  Ellie was surprised at how sad she was to see her aunt return to Paris.

  ‘Promise me you will come in the autumn, when you are not so busy,’ urged Yvette. ‘The apartment is huge and you are welcome to bring some friends or even that charming boyfriend of yours.’

  Ellie promised, imagining Rory and herself walking hand in hand along the Left Bank or exploring the Musée d’Orsay as the autumn leaves fell.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  The meeting of the South Anne Street traders took place after the shops and businesses had closed on Friday evening. Reverend Lewis, the rector of St Anne’s Church, was an affable and easygoing host, making them all feel welcome as they streamed in and helped themselves to tea and coffee. Damien Quinn, who owned the deli, provided sandwiches for everyone. Ellie was delighted to see that Mo Brady and a few of their local councillors were present.

  ‘Work has already begun on the development of the galleria and hotel on our street,’ announced Frank Farrell, first to speak, his face serious. Farrell Antiques was a longstanding family firm and one of the oldest on the street. ‘Some of these buildings have been vacant for years and from looking at the plans and the photomontages, this new scheme could be a big improvement. However, what does concern and worry us is that Casey Coleman Holdings are now seeking to extend their scheme. They seem to be trying to buy up the shops adjacent to their site, and to attain as many properties on the opposite side of the street from the new galleria as possible. There are even rumours that they intend to open a large retail store across from the galleria. They are looking for planning extensions, and all kinds of permissions. Changes on this scale would have huge ramifications for those of us still trading.’

  ‘The thing is,’ said Scottie O’Loughlin, getting to his feet, ‘most of us here tonight want to stay on in the street. We are not interested in relocating, or retiring and closing down. These are our businesses that we have worked hard to build up over the years. We need to let the City Council, Casey Coleman Holdings, the planning department, the government, landlords, whoever it is that matters, know that we are not going anywhere. We are staying.’

  He got huge applause and support. Ellie smiled, knowing that at least they were all united in wanting the same thing.

  ‘We need to show the council and the planning people that we object to what they are doing,’ Damien Quinn added. ‘That we should be involved and consulted about what is going on in the street where we own our properties. Most of us owned our properties long before Casey Coleman Holdings arrived.’

  ‘Hear, hear!’

  ‘But we’ve already written and objected, phoned, done everything we can,’ said Kitty Kavanagh. ‘All to no avail.’

  ‘Maybe we should protest?’ suggested Gary Murphy from the art and print shop. ‘It might get us noticed.’

  ‘We could march on the Dail,’ suggested Leo from the Italian restaurant.

  ‘Please may I say a few words,’ interrupted Mo Brady. ‘I don’t know if you realize how many marches there are on the Dail every month. Unless you have a crowd of thousands that will stop traffic and bring the city to a standstill, there is absolutely no point in a march. I can tell you that.’

  They could all sense the disappointment in the room, as there was no way a few shopkeepers could rally such massive support.

  ‘What about if we staged a protest directly outside the Dail and government buildings?�
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  ‘There are protests almost every day,’ Mo added. ‘Obviously some get more notice and news coverage than others. If you want to save your street, you need to do something different, something newsworthy.’

  ‘We could close up our shops for a day,’ suggested Kitty Kavanagh, ‘in protest.’

  ‘But sure, what good will that do?’ asked Scottie O’Loughlin. ‘People won’t care if we close for a day or go on strike.’

  ‘We need to bring more people into the street, not send them away,’ argued Ellie.

  ‘We need to attract crowds if we want to save our street. Let them know why we want to keep businesses like ours open.’

  ‘The street is closed off to traffic already during opening hours, so maybe we should use that? Think of all the pedestrians who are on our street every day, passing through to get to Grafton Street,’ urged Damien.

  ‘What can we do?’ A rumble of questions went up around the room.

  ‘We can show them what we do,’ said Gary. ‘I spend my day framing pictures, posters, photographs. I already have some displayed outside the door, but I could put my table outside too. Talk to anyone who’s interested about some of the beautiful prints and pieces we have and how I work.’

  ‘People are always interested in antiques,’ mused Frank Farrell. ‘Finding out how old things are, if they are antique and of course if they are valuable.’

  ‘Like that programme on the TV,’ joked Sissy Kavanagh. ‘Kitty and I love it.’

  ‘I suppose I’d be prepared to sit at a table outside the shop for a day and people could bring their pieces for me to look at, no valuation charge for getting my expert opinion.’

  ‘And I could demonstrate how to trim a summer hat,’ offered Ellie.

  ‘Well, this certainly sounds a bit different,’ applauded Mo. ‘Think of the crowds and the publicity it would get!’

  ‘I have those kites you put together and those lovely new blue sailboats that need a bit of work,’ joked Scottie, getting into the swing of things. ‘And a few of those free bubble-blowers should go down a treat with the kids.’

  ‘We could demonstrate how to make proper pasta. Make a perfect pizza, give some free samples,’ offered Leo and his wife Andrea.

  Nearly everyone on the street agreed that they had something they could do.

  ‘Will we be closing for the day?’ asked Noel Hanratty, who ran the small jeweller’s.

  ‘Yes,’ said Frank firmly.

  ‘So we have to close up and have no sales?’

  ‘Better no sales and goodwill for a day than closed up for good,’ said Scottie seriously. ‘We have to give this a shot.’

  Noel had no intention of putting his precious stones and valuable diamonds on display but did agree to show how to clean and polish jewellery and advise on redesigning old, outdated pieces.

  Councillor Richard Doyle took the floor. ‘I promise, along with my colleagues here, to raise your concerns about these important issues with the council.’

  They agreed that their South Anne Street Day would be held on a busy August Saturday. Newspapers and TV and radio programmes would be informed of the traders’ attempt to highlight what small businesses like theirs did to keep the streets of the city alive.

  ‘What will we do if it rains?’ asked Sissy.

  ‘We need sunshine and blue skies,’ insisted Frank as they began to talk about hiring tables and maybe some parasols.

  ‘We shall all pray for clement weather,’ added the Revd Lewis as the meeting broke up.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Just like the song, Ellie didn’t like Mondays. First and foremost because Rory had only told her last night, while they were at a party, that he would be away in England for the next few weeks.

  ‘The lads are playing double dates in London, Manchester, Liverpool, Birmingham and Newcastle. If they are going to get noticed and pick up some publicity,’ he predicted confidently, ‘England is the place to be.’

  ‘I’m going to miss you,’ she said shyly, wondering if he would miss her too.

  ‘Listen, Ellie, when the band go on tour, I do too,’ he explained. ‘You have to understand that. Next year, if we get lucky and get some gigs in the States, we could be gone for six or seven months. That’s just the way it works.’

  She hadn’t meant to put pressure on him and cuddled up in his arms for a fond farewell.

  ‘Hey, beautiful, we’ll have fun when I get back,’ he promised, stroking her hair.

  Ellie said nothing, knowing that if she was going to have any sort of relationship with Rory she must get used to his way of living and learn to accept it.

  Reaching the shop, she noticed in dismay that the last remaining buildings opposite had been demolished over the weekend. Only their narrow redbrick façades had been left standing as the serious building work began. Overnight dust and debris had blown everywhere. All her lovely paintwork, the front step and the windows were covered in a dirty layer of dust.

  Ria Roberts was standing in the street, shaking her head.

  ‘Look at the state of the place,’ she whispered. ‘How can I open?’

  Scottie O’Loughlin had left his toy shop and marched up to the site to look for the foreman.

  ‘You keep out of the way,’ Ellie warned Minouche, the black cat, as she got out the mop and bucket of water and began to wash the outside step of the shop, ‘or you’ll bring dust everywhere on your paws.’

  Rinsing out the bucket, she decided to wipe the paintwork round the door and then do the windows. Her mother had never tolerated dirt or mess and she wasn’t about to start. She’d clean up the place quickly before the town got busy.

  Ellie got the stool and her cloth and a bucket of clean water and stretched as high as she could to wash the windows. The dust was everywhere, she thought, annoyed, as she sloshed the water around. She wished she had a higher stool or a chair to stand on or was a little bit taller herself: it was a much harder job than she had imagined. Minouche sat on the step and stared at her balefully, avoiding the drips of water.

  ‘Cleaning again, I see, Miss Matthews.’

  Ellie froze. Why did he always catch her at her worst!

  Neil Harrington was standing a foot away from her as Ellie perched like an eejit trying to manage the bucket and cloth and water and not wobble on the narrow stool.

  ‘Unfortunately I am trying to clean up the mess that your clients made when they demolished the shop across the way,’ she replied sarcastically. ‘The dust is everywhere.’

  ‘I’m sure it was not intentional,’ he replied pleasantly, ‘and that they will do their best to rectify the situation.’

  ‘Well, I hope they do,’ she said as the stool gave an alarming tilt.

  He caught her neatly and steadied her, his hands around her waist.

  ‘Got you!’

  He certainly had got her. He was clasping her firmly in his large hands, his fingers on her bare skin.

  ‘Ellie, please come down off there before you fall!’ he said, taking hold of the water bucket as she flung the cloth into it, the water sloshing everywhere, the stool wobbling again. Neil almost tripped over the cat, who’d jumped for cover. As she suspected, he’d got splashes of dirty water on his good suit and white shirt.

  ‘If you could just pass me up the dry polishing cloth,’ she asked sweetly, ‘that would be very useful.’

  ‘So you are staying up there?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll finish it off.’ She hoped he wasn’t going to stand there watching her as the window was smeared in places and still wet.

  ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ he said, ‘I have an appointment.’

  She watched open-mouthed as he turned and walked three doors up from her to Ria’s shop.

  ‘I hope that you are not trying to browbeat poor Ria into signing one of your contracts!’ Ellie called. ‘Because that wouldn’t be fair.’

  He looked offended. ‘I have a meeting with Mrs Roberts,’ he said firmly, ‘but the matter that we are discussing
is none of your business.’

  Well, that was her put in her place, thought Ellie, as she tried to tackle the window.

  Just before lunchtime a team of window cleaners appeared in the street and went from shop to shop cleaning up, compliments of Casey Coleman Holdings.

  The shop was quiet, windows sparkling, when one of her mother’s regular customers appeared wanting to order a classic navy felt hat for the winter without any trims. Beatrice O’Reilly, or Lady Bea as she was better known, was a large and forthright woman adored by children and dogs, given to wearing navy or red, who lived in a shabby old country house in Kildare and ran a kennels. Ellie remembered going to visit her a few times with her mother to see the puppies and play with the ‘hounds’ as she called them.

  ‘Binky, my spaniel, ate my last one,’ she’d confided, ‘and I have to have something good to wear to funerals and to church, especially if I don’t make it to the hairdresser’s.’

  Ellie had nodded in agreement, trying to keep a serious face, for Lady Beatrice had been a loyal customer for years and had been taken aback when she’d seen the changes in the shop.

  ‘You have done wonders, my dear,’ she said, looking around her, ‘but thank heaven it’s still got the same atmosphere it always had. Poor Madeleine would be pleased.’

  Ellie had shown her the felt colour choices in navy, promising to have the hat ready in less than two weeks.

  ‘I’ll be back up to Dublin then as I have an appointment with a chiropodist. I’ll call in and collect it afterwards.’

  Ellie smiled and walked her to the door, her good humour restored. Did other milliners have clients whose dogs ate their creations and who regaled them with stories of their bunions and corns?

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Rosemary Harrington stared out of the tall window of the morning room in her Georgian home on Merrion Square, and prayed that the rain would hold off and the sun would shine for the annual fund-raising garden party for Holles Street Maternity Hospital. She had been on the committee for ten years and she still quaked at the memory of the sudden deluge one summer when guests had to run for cover under the trees as food and wine, chairs and tables were abandoned. She studied the sky above and agreed with the meteorologist on Sky News, who had predicted perfect weather.