Tom Muldoon, the balding seventy-seven-year-old lawyer, had enjoyed a long friendship with Ellie’s mother, and was delighted to be of help to her daughter. He insisted on studying the contract in great detail and reading aloud every line of the legal document for the proposed sale of the shop.
‘Everything seems to be in order, Elise,’ he said, polishing his gold-rimmed glasses. ‘There is a pretty standard six-week closing period when you have to remove all stock and clear shop fittings from the premises. The amount they are offering, while not substantial, is very generous, as the shop is not being sold as a going concern but more as a vacant property.’
‘Mr Muldoon, what is your advice?’ she asked, honestly.
‘This is exactly the question your mother asked me a few months ago,’ he admitted, ‘and I am afraid I will have to give you the same response as I gave Madeleine. If you are happy to sell, see your little hat shop closed down and hand over the keys to these big property people, then do it. I don’t believe you will get a better offer. However, if you want to keep trading and making those beautiful hats of yours that my late wife used to yearn for so much, then you should sit tight. Legally there is nothing they can do. You own the building. They can build their big fancy stores and malls around you while you keep trading, and perhaps some of those new shoppers they attract will find their way to your shop also.’
She listened carefully to what he was saying, asking him, ‘What did my mother think?’
‘Madeleine was unwell and hadn’t the energy to continue,’ he explained. ‘She didn’t want to burden you with the business or force you to stay in Dublin.’
‘I do travel overseas a bit with my job,’ Ellie admitted, ‘but Dublin is my home.’
‘Madeleine thought that if the proceeds from the sale of the shop were put on deposit, they would give you a very secure income and provision for the future,’ said the old man, staring at her kindly. ‘You know she always had your well-being at heart.’
‘I know she did,’ admitted Ellie, ‘but I’m still not sure what to do. My mother loved that shop and I guess I do too.’
‘Then take your time,’ he advised. ‘You young people always think you have to rush into everything. Believe me, time is one thing you still have on your side.’
The elderly solicitor was right. Ellie phoned her boss, John Hyland, a few days later and told him about the shop and asked for a period of unpaid leave of absence.
‘Are you sure I can’t tempt you with this buying trip to China in a few weeks?’
‘I don’t want to let you down, John,’ she explained reluctantly, ‘but I do need the time.’
Ellie decided to clear the shop’s remaining stock, for if she wanted to sell the business the shop needed to be empty and if she decided to keep it she would have to make space for a new hat collection. She placed the last of her mother’s marvellous creations in an enticing window display with pink and yellow tulips she had purchased from the flower seller at the end of the street.
To untrimmed straws and brims she had added ribbon and flowers and feathers, even edging a boring brown felt with pink ribbon trim. The remaining feathers and flowers had been pulled together in a rather eclectic mix of headpieces in wispy styles that would suit most women. She was pleased with the results and the constant trickle of customers who were happily buying and depleting the remainder.
‘Are you selling up?’ they asked. ‘Moving somewhere else?’
Ellie maintained a sphinx-like smile, not knowing the answer herself.
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.