The Hat Shop on the Corner (5 page)

Francesca Flaherty and her sisters Louisa and Mimi had just completed a shopping assault on Brown Thomas and a number of exclusive boutiques around the Grafton Street area. They were laden down with bags when they spotted the hat-shop window with its gay display of colours and a ‘Sale’ sign in the window.

‘Look at this, Frannie!’ squealed Louisa, a leggy blonde sporting a geometric print jacket and co-ordinating skirt. She pulled open the door and immediately tried on a red felt slouch with a black leather trim.

Within a few minutes each of the sisters had added to their purchases with a bargain hat and colourful headpieces.

‘Would you have anything to go with this?’ asked Francesca, as she eased an exquisite pale pink suit from a Design Centre bag and laid it across the counter.

Ellie shook her head. ‘No. Nothing that exact shade, and you should try and match it. It deserves something special.’

‘Well, what would you suggest then?’

Before she knew it Ellie found herself chatting about the merits of different styles. The three sisters confided that they were off to the races to support a darling horse called Polly’s Party that Francesca’s horse-mad husband had recently bought.

‘She’s a real chestnut cutey with a blaze on her forehead and good form,’ admitted Francesca.

‘So fingers crossed she’ll be lucky,’ chorused Louisa and Mimi, ‘as we are all putting bets on her.’

‘Would you be able to make something to go with this suit, something a little different?’ asked Francesca. ‘I don’t want anything run-of-the-mill. I want a one-off “wow” of a hat.’

Ellie laughed. At least the customer was being honest: she didn’t want simplicity or classic low-key elegance.

‘Actually, the business is winding down,’ she said softly. ‘That’s why I’m selling off all these.’

‘Just our luck,’ moaned Louisa, pouting her full lips, ‘to find this perfect little shop when it’s closing down.’

‘But would you be able to make me a hat before you do?’ Francesca persisted.

‘I’m not sure,’ she said, being honest. ‘When do you need the hat?’

‘In just under two weeks.’

Ellie took a moment to consider. What would the harm be in accepting a last minute commission? Her mother had always trained her not to turn away business and to grab opportunities whenever they came. Besides, she was already getting an idea in her head. Yes, she agreed and immediately began to show Francesca a range of styles that would create the necessary ‘wow’, though the colour might have to be hand-dyed.

‘If Francesca’s ordering a hat we will too,’ insisted Mimi, ‘but of course they must be very different.’

‘Though we don’t want to clash,’ Louisa reminded the others.

Ellie found herself caught up in their excitement as she enthusiastically agreed and began to show them a range of designs and colours. She watched as the three sisters decided who would wear what. It was another hour and a half of measurements, styles and colours before the trio had finally chosen and in a flurry of high heels and handbags made their farewells.

Upturns, chapeaux, sidesweeps, toppers, down-brim, picture hats, pillboxes, cartwheels – her head was full of millinery styles as she considered the use of straw, sinamay, satin or organza for the three hats she had just been commissioned to make. She had taken down her mother’s order book and written in the orders along with a few simple sketches of what each sister required, relieved that the youngest, Mimi, had opted for a simple straw in lilac.

To tell the truth, she experienced a frisson of excitement as she took out the wooden blocks and began to shape some material. When she was small, these blocks were like dolls to her: she used to call them Jacqueline, Anouk, Brigitte and petite Poppy, and play with them while she did her homework and waited for her mother, telling them her secrets. Now she ran her fingers over the round shape of Anouk, feeling the smooth wood, curving edges as she gently fitted a navy sinamay tip and crown, pinning it into shape with great care. As she smoothed the material into position, she experienced a thrill the same as any artist or sculptor would as they began to create a unique piece.

Neil Harrington had left two messages on her phone and she was embarrassed when he arrived early on Thursday morning at the shop.

‘I see your sale is going well!’ he said. ‘Good to start clearing things out!’

Ellie sucked her lip and took a deep breath. ‘I spoke to my lawyer as you advised, Neil. My mother always valued his wisdom. He told me to take my time and to think about things.’

‘Was he happy with our contract?’

‘Oh yes, of course. The contract and terms were fine. The thing is I haven’t decided yet about selling. I’m still not sure what to do.’

‘If you are looking for a higher offer,’ he warned, ‘I guarantee my client won’t budge.’

‘No, that’s nothing to do with it,’ she insisted. ‘I just want to consider all the options, sell up or keep the shop and continue with the hat-making as my mother did.’

She could see he was most put out by her delaying. He no doubt wanted everything signed, sealed and delivered straight away without any complications.

‘I understand, Miss Matthews,’ he said coldly, ‘but I will await your call.’

Francesca Flaherty tried on the curved navy crown with its stunning brim, a huge ripple of pink curving pleats.

‘Oh, it’s lovely!’ she enthused. ‘It’s so amazing. I can’t believe I’m actually getting to wear it.’

Ellie looked from every angle, checking the size was right and that it wouldn’t fall forward on her client’s head. It had turned out even better than she had imagined, the pink a perfect match for the figure-hugging suit with the detail kick-pleat on the back of the skirt.

Thirty-five-year-old Francesca with her green eyes and flashing smile was certainly going to turn heads at the races.

‘I can’t wait for Paddy to see my new Lucky Hat.’

Her sisters were equally pleased with theirs. Louisa was wearing a jaunty fuchsia-pink disc with a single black feather trim and Mimi’s lilac and cream was the perfect complement to her outfit.

They all thanked her profusely as they paid, Francesca reminding her to put a bet on Polly’s Party.

‘You might be lucky!’

Ellie laughed, watching the three of them pick up their hatboxes and leave. With every day she was realizing that creating hats and headpieces and simple balanced designs that accentuated a woman’s bone structure and lit her face was fun, and something that gave her a unique sense of pleasure and satisfaction.

That evening Ellie phoned her aunt Yvette Renchard in Paris, her instinct telling her to talk to a woman who knew more about the millinery business than anyone she knew.

‘Are you OK,
cherie
?’ her aunt asked worriedly.

Ellie reassured her before telling her all about the little hat shop and what was happening.

‘What do you want to do?’ Yvette asked, direct as always. ‘Is this little shop just bricks and mortar and money to you or is it more? Your home, your soul, the place you work and feel true to yourself?
Ma petite
Elise, you must decide what makes you happy. You work for someone else, do a good job, come home at night and put your feet up, watch the television and forget about it, or you have your own business, a little shop, you work far too long, sometimes with crazy people who make you want to tear your hair out, but it is yours and you never forget that.’

Ellie smiled: that was exactly how her mother had felt about the shop.

‘But what about hats?’

‘Hats are hats. Things of beauty to enhance and charm and disguise if need be. You know about hats, you have been making
les jolies chapeaux
since you were small. Madeleine and I used always to say that you had the great combination, “the eye” and “the touch”!’

Ellie giggled, knowing that her aunt was paying her a huge compliment.

‘I am a fussy old French woman,’ said Yvette candidly, ‘but much as I adore you, I cannot make this choice for you.’

‘I know,’ said Ellie softly, ‘I know.’

‘But I will come and visit you soon,’ promised her aunt.

Ellie sat in the dark afterwards, mind buzzing. She was beginning to wish that somehow the little hat shop on South Anne Street could stay open.

             

Francesca Flaherty surveyed the crowds gathering to watch as the racehorses were led round the parade ring. Paddy was deep in conversation with Terry Sullivan, his trainer. She smiled and tried to look relaxed, knowing that this little horse was Paddy’s main chance to make some money and get them out of the precarious position their accountant kept on talking about. In her high heels and her pink suit with the magnificent hat that she’d had made by that new young milliner, she felt a little like a racehorse herself.

Before they left for the Curragh racetrack, Paddy had kissed her and told her she was the most beautiful young thing he had ever seen. Looking over at him with his grey hair and intense expression, his mouth taut, Francesca realized how serious he was. She knew that over the past few days he had put a number of very large bets on their horse, spreading the money. Gambling was serious business and not for fools, Paddy had explained to her often enough. It was about working the odds, interpreting the horse’s form and having the contacts within the industry, jockeys, apprentices, stable lads. She herself had put a fifty-euro bet on just for luck and had the ticket stashed in her neat navy handbag.

She watched as the other horses were led around. Firelady and Mercurio, both huge brown horses, were nervous of the noise and the crowd. Polly’s Party looked smaller and calmer as she tossed her brown mane from side to side. Paddy was right: she was a real cutey. She longed to pet her but Jackie, the stable girl, had told her to wait until after the race was run.

‘We don’t want anything to spook her.’

Mimi and Louisa appeared back from the champagne bar with their men in tow, giving her a thumbs-up as she posed for a photographer. The pink had been a perfect choice – and the hat! She just loved the way the pink pleats rippled as she moved her head for the camera. Minutes later they left the ring as the horses began the long canter down to the starting line, with Timmy Young, their jockey, in Paddy’s orange and black racing colours. Paddy came and slipped his arm around her, Francesca urging him not to worry.

‘How can I not worry!’ he almost shouted. ‘You have no idea how much money is riding on that horse.’

Francesca swallowed hard. There was no need for her husband to be so tetchy with her. It wasn’t her fault that Paddy wanted to treat her like a doll and not involve her in any serious aspect of their lives. How could she have any idea of the money involved if he deliberately chose not to tell her!

‘Paddy, she’s going to win.’

He threw her a despairing look. ‘If she doesn’t, I’m broke.’

Francesca could see he was serious. For once there was no mask of joking or wisecracks – Paddy was telling the truth.

‘Almost every penny we have is riding on her.’

Francesca was speechless. Broke? How could they be? Paddy had always been successful, a winner. Hard work and business savvy had turned his small photocopying business in Talbot Street into a chain of budget computer stores across the country. Following the sale of the company five years ago he’d invested his money, moved it around, bought property, shares, horses, hotels, even a stake in a basement nightclub. She knew that a year ago he’d been refused planning permission for an apartment block on a site he’d paid a fortune for in the hope of doubling his money. But surely he still had his other investments and interests? She knew that her husband, one of life’s movers and shakers, had over the years tended to sail close to the wind, trading shares, dabbling in investments, playing the stock market – but to gamble so much on a horse? She couldn’t believe it.

Lately there had been letters from the bank, problems with credit cards, even talk about downsizing to a smaller house. She didn’t want to think about it. Not today. Paddy would sort things out.

She looked over at Louisa and her sensible husband Matt, a dentist from Celbridge who spent all day fixing up kids’ fillings, and Mimi with her big heart stuck on her boyfriend Don. He lectured in Irish studies at Maynooth College and after eight years together he wouldn’t even commit to buying her beautiful sister a ring. And there was Paddy, whom she had fallen for the minute she’d laid eyes on him.

They’d met literally by accident, on Camden Street, when Paddy had shifted the automatic gears of his Jaguar into reverse instead of drive and hit her precious green Mini. Shocked and outraged, she’d intended giving him a piece of her mind but had burst out crying instead. Paddy had soothed her and wrapped her in the cosy warmth of his navy cashmere coat. Three months later he had asked her to marry him and replaced the battered Mini with a sleek silver BMW.

The thirty-year gap between them had never mattered, as Paddy was the most interesting man she had ever met. Taking a gamble and marrying him had been the wisest decision she had ever made. Some said she had married him for his money but they were wrong. Even if he hadn’t a penny to his name she would still adore him and fancy him like mad.