The Hat Shop on the Corner (22 page)

He looked different in an open-necked shirt and a light jacket. Younger, more relaxed. She blushed, remembering the last time they’d met when she’d almost thrown the bucket of water over him.

‘The suit dry-cleaned perfectly,’ he told her, as if reading her mind.

‘I’m sorry, Neil. I took my bad temper out on you.’

‘Anyway,’ he teased, ‘windows aside, the hat business is going well?’

She wondered was he trying to pump information out of her or simply being polite? She just couldn’t tell.

‘Yes.’ She smiled. ‘It’s hard work but I love it.’

‘Well, it suits you. You look even more charming than usual,’ he said, eyeing her up and down.

‘Neil!’ she warned.

‘What I mean is, on a balmy night like this with music and wine, well, it couldn’t be better.’

She laughed despite herself.

‘Let me get you a drink,’ he offered. ‘More champagne?’

‘No, thanks.’

He looked crestfallen.

‘But a glass of white wine would be lovely, please.’

‘The tent is over this way,’ he said, taking her elbow as they fell into step together.

As she sipped her wine and stopped to watch the quartet perform, Ellie expressed her surprise.

‘I wasn’t expecting to meet you here.’

‘I was invited,’ he assured her.

‘And you being a jazz aficionado!’

‘I grew up with it. My father played clarinet and a little sax. On a night like this it comes into its own.’

Ellie had to agree with him, as they sat down to listen to the music and the songs of Miles Davis, Ella Fitzgerald, Peggy Lee and Dizzy Gillespie filled the air. His expression was intense, she saw as she secretly watched him.

When the band took a break they joined the queue for food under the striped awning, the barbecue smoke filling the air. The steaks, sausages and burgers all smelled delicious.

Ellie helped herself to sizzling pieces of tender chicken sprinkled with herbs, a baked potato and a delicious green salad as Neil held her wine glass. They joined a throng of his friends squashed on a long trestle table.

‘Hey, Neil, go get me some more food!’

‘Les, you already had a huge steak and a burger,’ he chided.

Ellie squeezed in beside him as he tucked into a steak and all the trimmings.

‘This is great,’ she said, realizing that she was enjoying herself far more than she had planned and was finding Neil and his friends better company than she’d expected.

Neil was the perfect gentleman, keeping her wine glass topped up and insisting on fetching her a big bowl of strawberries and cream for dessert. It was getting darker, the moon overhead, as the Chinese lanterns swinging from the trees lit up the pathways.

‘Neil, where have you been?’ interrupted a peeved voice. ‘I’ve searched the place for you.’

‘I’ve been here with the guys, Gayle. Where were you?’

‘Some of the photographers wanted to get a few shots for the mags and weekend papers. What could I do?’

Ellie felt uncomfortable, unsure what to do as the blond girl fixed her eyes on her and where she was sitting. The girl looked put out but there was certainly no space on the bench beside Ellie and most of Neil’s friends seemed suddenly to have become very interested in the food on their plates. An awkward few minutes crawled by until Les stood up.

‘Here, princess, you can take my spot. I’m going up to get some more strawberries.’

His seat was at the far end of the table and no one offered to move down to accommodate her.

Neil made a perfunctory introduction.

‘Gayle, this is Ellie, she’s a business acquaintance of mine.’ Ellie nodded towards the girl, who seemed slightly mollified by his description of her.

‘Here, let me move down and then you two can sit together,’ she offered, for she had no intention of playing pig in the middle between two lovebirds.

‘Thanks,’ smiled the blonde as she took her place beside Neil.

Out of the corner of her eye, Ellie watched as Gayle flirted with him. Who would have thought it? Neil Harrington was such a ladies’ man. Fortunately Ryan and Barbara were good company and Ellie relaxed and enjoyed the banter between the friends. Barbara, a buyer for Brown Thomas, gleefully discussed the latest design trends for autumn from Paris and Milan, which would hit the store over the next few weeks.

‘Most of the stuff is to die for but some is just pure awful but we know it will sell.’

She watched as Gayle and Neil got up to dance.

‘She sure can move,’ sighed Barbara. ‘Drives them all crazy!’

‘Come on, ladies, your turn to dance in the moonlight!’ offered Ryan, jumping to his feet. Barbara excused herself and Ellie found herself almost lifted off the ground as he pulled her up. Ryan might be large but he was nimble and could sure pound to the beat as the music got faster and faster and he swung her round and round. Ellie laughed aloud as he got crazier and crazier. She was out of breath as Ryan went in search of water and the tempo slowed.

She had just sat down when Neil asked her to dance. Things were a little less frantic as people slipped up to the bar and off to sit in the moonlight, and Ellie to her surprise found herself agreeing to dance with him. There was no sign or mention of Gayle and she relaxed as he slipped his arm round her waist.

‘Enjoying yourself?’

‘Oh yes. It’s been a perfect night.’

‘I’m glad.’

‘Your friends are very nice,’ she found herself saying.

‘You seem surprised that I have friends,’ he mocked.

‘A little,’ she admitted. ‘I thought that work was all you thought about.’

‘I’m sorry if you were insulted by the way I introduced you to Gayle . . .’

‘No, not at all! Anyway it’s true. We are business acquaintances.’

‘It’s just that it makes things less complicated for someone like her.’

The dance area began to fill up again and he drew her closer into his arms, her cheek against his shoulder. He smelled good, a mixture of expensive aftershave, male sweat and the fresh air. Surprised, Ellie found it hard to resist the temptation to touch his skin with her lips or fingertips as they moved together. The night air was so warm and heavy it made her almost drowsy as the blues music filled the park.

‘You look lovely,’ he said, slowly moving a tendril of hair that was tumbling across her face. ‘Beautiful.’

She didn’t know what to say, what to make of him. Twenty minutes ago he had been dancing with his sexy girlfriend and now he was trying to sweet-talk her. She should never have had two glasses of champagne and got so wrapped up in that woman’s romantic love story. They were only business acquaintances and that was a good thing for them both to remember.

‘I think I had better get going,’ she said suddenly, breaking the spell and pulling apart from him. ‘I have work tomorrow.’

‘Saturday?’

‘My shop opens on Saturdays.’

‘We’re thinking of going to Leeson Street in a while. You are welcome to join us.’

‘I’m sorry, Neil, but I have to go.’

‘Stay,’ he pleaded, gripping her wrist and pulling her closer to him.

‘I can’t.’

‘Then let me walk you home?’ he offered, reaching for her hand, his fingers clasping hers.

Ellie felt torn, all mixed up. What was she doing? Tempting and all as his offer was, she’d met him with a girlfriend, Rachel, and now there was this Gayle. And she already had a boyfriend. It was just too complicated. Ellie shook her head vehemently.

‘No, thanks, Neil,’ she said, disentangling herself. ‘I like walking and I live only a few minutes away – I’ll be fine. You stay and enjoy yourself.’

She bade a hasty goodnight to his friends, noticing as she made her way towards the park entrance that Gayle had detached herself from one of the government ministers and was back wrapped in Neil’s arms, dancing cheek to cheek with him, sporting the hat he’d bought in the auction. Neil must have given it to her.

Expensive tastes, she thought, lightly tossing her wrap round her shoulder as she left the confines of Merrion Square, trying her best to put Neil Harrington out of her mind as she made her way back home.

             

Constance O’Kelly sat in the corner of the kitchen in her house on Cross Avenue and almost wept. Today was the anniversary of the day her life had ended, the day Shay had told her he was packing up his things and moving out. At first she had thought he’d gone mad, had a bump on the head or was suffering from male menopause or midlife crisis or whatever those American experts liked to call it. Maybe it was stress? Working too hard. God knows, he rarely took a break and worked night and day in the busy quantity surveying business he had built up. There were always new jobs to tender for, and he constantly ignored her requests to take some time off to spend with his family.

For the previous six months he had seemed exhausted, distracted, locking himself away in the study late at night, cancelling their annual trip on the Shannon and pleading he had to meet clients in Frankfurt. He had even been rude to their friends, saying that Rob and Kevin and even his oldest friend, Tadhg, were turning into a shower of bores only interested in playing golf and talking about their kids. Constance had blushed as she had just spent an hour on the phone talking about Sally and her boyfriend Chris to Tadhg’s wife Catriona.

For weeks he had turned his back to her in bed or pretended to be asleep when she lay down beside him. Chilling thoughts of some serious illness or mysterious complaint nagged at her as she studied his long thin face and wary eyes. Then out of the blue he had told her he was leaving the house, moving somewhere else, that he didn’t want to live with her any more.

At first she had said nothing, too shocked to take it all in – then she had begged, begged him to sit down, talk to her, tell her about whatever it was that had driven this wedge between them.

‘We can fix it,’ she pleaded, ‘whatever is wrong we can fix it. We’ve been together for thirty years, raised three children – you don’t just go and throw away a marriage like ours for no good reason!’ she argued.

‘It’s over, Constance,’ he’d said, refusing even to go through the motions of rescuing their sinking marriage. ‘I’m moving out. There’s absolutely no point me staying as we have nothing to say to each other.’

She had watched flabbergasted as he took his shirts and trousers from the wardrobe and folded them neatly into the suitcase, before turning his attention to his drawer filled with socks she’d freshly laundered and matched and his boxer shorts. Funny, she had noticed a change lately: the ditching of his traditional white Y-fronts for navy blue and checks and patterned boxers. She had read in a magazine that this was one of the biggest warnings of infidelity but had stupidly imagined that in Shay’s case it was to do with personal comfort rather than his desire to attract a younger member of the opposite sex.

Shay had at first tried to imply that their marriage breakup was due to the gradual disintegration of their relationship and the fact they had grown apart and were bored with each other. She had screamed and nagged and howled at him until he had finally admitted, two weeks after he left, that there was someone else.

Another woman. Constance felt like he had taken out a knife and stabbed her. She had never dreamed that her reliable, strait-laced husband Shay was capable of infidelity.

The younger member of the opposite sex was called Anne-Marie and Shay had met her at the bridge classes they had both started last autumn, in an attempt to discover a hobby of mutual interest. She had dropped out after only four visits, bored out of her brain as she struggled to remember about bidding and aces and clubs. Working out what card to lead with had given her a headache. Shay had continued learning to play and, needing a partner, had discovered Anne-Marie, who had fitted the bill perfectly. Sometimes when Constance pictured Anne-Marie, visions appeared in her head of being led away in handcuffs for what she had planned to do to the other woman!

Three hundred and sixty-five days, twelve months, a year had passed since it had happened and, despite what her friends and neighbours and family said, it hadn’t got any easier. The hardest part, she found, was the loneliness of sitting in at night with only the TV for company. She went to the odd dinner party, cinema or theatre visit but for the most part she was left to her own devices, which after thirty years of marriage took some getting used to. Their elder boy, Brendan, was married to Miriam and lived down in Meath. A busy GP, he did his best to keep in touch but since the arrival of little Max, he had barely a minute to himself. Their younger son, Jack, was off in New Zealand, working in an Irish bar, and showed no sign of wanting to return home, and Sally and Chris had moved in together after only six months.

Her mothering skills almost obsolete, she now had to learn to accept her new role as a discarded wife. Her twenty-five-year-old daughter had just announced her engagement and forthcoming marriage to Chris.

‘I know it’s hard for you, Mum, with Chris and me deciding to get married when you and Dad’s marriage has just fallen apart,’ Sally had confided. ‘But you know how much we love each other. Now that we have made up our minds we don’t see the point of hanging around for years. We just want to get married straight away.’