Regularly on her way to work Ellie stopped at Molly Ryan’s flower stall on the corner of Harry Street and Grafton Street to buy fresh flowers for the shop. She’d known Molly since she was a little girl and enjoyed the chat as she considered two perfect long-stemmed cream lilies for the window.
‘Going to rain,’ remarked Molly. Plagued with rheumatism and, with the exception of a large green brolly, constantly exposed to the elements, the flower seller was always conscious of the weather. ‘Downpour, maybe.’
Ellie looked up at the darkening sky and wished that she had brought an umbrella.
‘How’s the hat business?’ she asked as Ellie paid her and she wrapped bunches of lilac in paper and lifted the lilies from their holder.
‘Getting better. I think people are beginning to get to know where I am.’
‘Remember Rome wasn’t built in a day,’ joked Molly. ‘I’m forty-five years here on this street corner and sure half of them don’t even know my name.’
Ellie didn’t envy the older woman as every morning she went to the early flower markets to buy her supplies for the day, before setting up her stall. The colours and scents of the huge array of seasonal blooms from all over the world were a major attraction in the busy shopping street and Molly was as good a businesswoman as you could meet.
‘I’d better dash,’ Ellie excused herself, keeping hold of her flowers.
She’d walked only a few yards when the heavens opened and the rain began to pour down, soaking her hair and shoes.
‘Stand in under my umbrella and I’ll walk you down the street,’ offered a familiar voice.
She glanced up from under streeling hair, wondering why Neil Harrington was being such a Galahad.
‘I’m going down this way anyway,’ he responded as if reading her mind.
She relaxed, falling into step with him, realizing that he was one of those rather old-fashioned men who were naturally polite and helpful. He’d probably been a boy scout in his time and liked helping old ladies and damsels in distress. She wondered if he considered her a damsel in distress.
‘Ellie!’ He interrupted her thoughts, the umbrella above their heads. ‘We’re here.’
He had come to a standstill outside the shop. She stood there stupidly rummaging for her keys in her handbag while trying to manage the flowers.
‘Here, let me.’
He was doing it again. Taking the flowers off her and holding the big black umbrella while she rooted! A packet of mints, a notepad, her wallet, two feathers. Phew! She had found her keys.
‘Thank you,’ she said, pushing the door open.
He kept standing there.
‘Would you like to see the shop?’ she offered, awkward. ‘It’s been all painted and done up.’
He glanced over her shoulder and around the small space.
‘I’m sorry I missed your opening.’
‘I didn’t really expect you to come,’ she blurted out without thinking.
‘I was in court all day,’ he explained. ‘We ran late.’
‘Oh.’ She didn’t know what to say. She found herself studying his watchstrap and the way dark hairs ran down lightly near his wrist.
‘You could have a cup of coffee, tea, if you’d like,’ she suggested, wondering why she was making such an eejit of herself, inviting him to sit down and lecture her on how foolish she’d been.
‘I’m sorry, I have a meeting,’ he said, stepping back towards the street. ‘And I can’t be late.’
He’d rebuffed her. He hadn’t even bothered to look at all the work she’d carried out or noticed the hats or anything.
‘You’re still annoyed with me.’
He didn’t answer for a minute.
‘Obviously I had misread the situation about this property.’
‘I just changed my mind, Neil. That’s all.’
‘A client is always free to do what they please,’ he said coldly. ‘Obviously Mr Casey was slightly put out we were unable to reach a suitable agreement, but that’s business.’
An awkward silence loomed between them as he handed her the flowers.
‘They’re lovely, aren’t they!’ she prattled on. ‘The shop needs flowers.’
‘It all looks very pretty,’ he said, before turning with his umbrella and disappearing in the rain.
Pretty! Ellie didn’t know if he was being complimentary or facetious or just polite. Why had she wanted him to say it looked great, to notice the work she’d done? He simply wasn’t interested in the shop or her. He plainly considered she’d wasted his time. Anyway she didn’t need his opinions. Guys like Neil Harrington were self-centred chauvinists who thought they were superior to everyone else and she wasn’t going to waste another second of her precious time thinking of him.