Living in the Mansion House in the centre of the city had its advantages. There was lots of space and, although some areas smelled of dust and damp, for the most part they enjoyed large, gracious rooms with marble fireplaces, chandeliers and magnificent plasterwork ceilings. Mo loved the Lady Mayoress’s room and the Blue Drawing Room with their calming pale blue curtains and antique furniture. Joe loved the fact that there was a bar on the premises with Guinness and Carlsberg on tap, even if it was reserved for functions. The Mansion House gardens, though small and overlooked, were well tended and planted with shrubs and roses to impress visitors and dignitaries, not for the benefit of a boisterous young family with a football-obsessed son. Thankfully the kids had St Stephen’s Green on their doorstep and used the park as their back garden. At night the noise of traffic and the hum of the city kept Mo and her husband awake, but they soon got accustomed to the comfort and decadence of the enormous four-poster bed in the Mayor’s bedroom.
For the first two days, overwhelmed by their surroundings, they had gone around speaking in hushed tones, afraid of the place, but then Paul had put on his CD player real loud when the staff had gone home and given them a blast of Thin Lizzy. They had begun to feel more comfortable as the kids shouted, ‘The Bradys are back in town!’
She thanked God there were no neighbours to complain about them and bang on the wall. There was a huge catering kitchen in the basement to prepare food for functions and a serving station on the ground floor, but they all preferred the smaller galley kitchen where Joe cooked his usual chicken curries and Sunday fry-ups. Things didn’t have to change that much.
‘Good morning, Bernadette.’ Mo tried to fix a pleasant smile on her face as her new secretary took out the engagements diary for the day and began to read through it. God in heaven, every hour of the day from ten o’clock onwards was taken up.
‘You have the opening of the Ringsend Community Games, the cutting of the ribbon for the new flats on the South Circular Road, the welcome lunch for the American Librarians’ Society, followed by a photoshoot for the Examiner to go with an interview about how much you enjoy your new position. But the journalist can’t fit it in until tomorrow so I have scheduled him for 10.30 in the morning, before you visit Temple Street Children’s Hospital.’ Bernie drew a breath before running her skinny finger down the rest of the page. ‘At four o’clock there are the Young Violinists’ Awards in the School of Music and then you have that opening for a charity art show down in Temple Bar.’
Mo tried not to give in to a rising sense of panic. ‘And after that?’
‘There was an invitation to the opening of that new play in the Abbey, but the art show is bound to run a bit late and it might be too tight to get to the theatre and into your seats before the performance starts. So I felt it safer to decline.’
‘Thank you,’ Mo said, wondering how in heaven’s name she was going to cope with going to so many events and meeting so many people. She was glad to have at least some spare time to spend with her husband and children after a few gruelling hours of being gracious and pleasant to all around her.
She looked at the list again: community games, a formal lunch, an art show. What the hell was she supposed to wear to all these functions? She possessed two trouser suits, one in black and one in beige, plus a host of skirts and separates but certainly not enough to take her through all these social occasions.
‘Bernadette, you are going to have to clear the decks one day this week as I have to go shopping for a new wardrobe.’
Her secretary looked up from the diary. ‘Clear the decks?’
‘Yes, I have to go shopping, get a few new outfits, otherwise what am I going to wear to all these important shindigs?’
Bernie Conroy pursed her lips. In her twenty years as secretary to the Mayor, she had never once been asked for a day off to go on a shopping spree. It wasn’t professional.
Mo could read the disapproval in her face. ‘What did the others do?’
‘Others?’
‘Yes, my predecessors.’
Bernie reacted as if insulted, remembering a muddled range of men’s suits and ties and tweed sports jackets and perfect black-tie evening suits and bow ties, all of course topped by the important chain of office.
‘It didn’t arise.’
‘Of course it didn’t,’ laughed Mo. ‘The situation didn’t arise because with the exception of a few very organized ladies they were all men.’
The two of them stared at each other for an instant and Mo imagined she saw a glimmer of contempt in the other woman’s face.
‘Just see to it that next Saturday morning is kept free,’ she said suddenly, turning and going back into her study. ‘Excuse me, Bernadette, but I have a few calls to make before I leave for Ringsend.’
Back in her office she closed the door. Bernie Conroy was a wagon. Well, she hadn’t got where she was without dealing with a few wagons on her way. Just because she didn’t wear a pinstripe suit and do a macho strut around the place didn’t give her staff the right to condescend to her. She was the Lady Mayor and if Bernie didn’t like it she might well find herself being transferred out of the cosy surroundings of the Mansion House.
‘Grafton Street, Brown Thomas, Kilkenny Design, the Stephen’s Green Centre, and Arnotts.’ Jessie had made a list of places to shop. Mo was conscious of the demands on her time and the need to be ready for an afternoon reception in Trinity College.
All her life Mo Brady had been used to bargain hunting, buying in the sales, making do, but now it was different: she was expected to look good, classic and expensive.
Joe and herself had talked long and hard about it.
‘There is enough money in the bank account,’ he’d told her firmly. ‘So use it!’
Mo had never felt so guilty.
‘Listen, we’ll be saving on gas and electricity and the like,’ he cajoled, kissing her before he set off for a job in Killiney, rewiring an old house.
‘Mammy, will you hurry up,’ called Jessie, leading her inside the doors of Brown Thomas and up the escalator to the second floor. Jessie had it all worked out. Her mother needed some basics: a black dress, some good shirts and a coat plus shoes and two knee-length skirts, one in beige and one black. Recognizing the Lady Mayor, the staff were discreet, and in less than two hours everything she sought had been found, tried on and purchased. Then the two of them raced up to Nassau Street, to where the modern glass shopfront of Kilkenny Design displayed the best of Irish fashion and crafts and glass.
‘Mammy, look here.’
Mo couldn’t believe the exquisite clothes, exactly what she was looking for. A heather-coloured suit caught her eye, and a cream linen two-piece. They fitted. Staring at herself in the mirror, she wished she was one of those tall thin elegant women you see in magazines instead of being short and stocky – but in beautiful clothes like these she too felt attractive.
‘You look gorgeous!’ declared Jessie loyally, totally deserving of the vegetable lasagne and carrot cake and juice she’d have in the shop’s café afterwards.
Walking back, Mo mentally checked she had everything she required. The small, black hand-finished leather bag she’d just discovered was another definite. Now all she needed was a hat.
Joe and herself had both spotted the hat shop literally round the corner from their new home. She’d try there first as it was so close and the hats in the window seemed very appealing. Jessie had abandoned her and gone off to meet her friends in the big music store. She supposed there was only so much a mother could ask a teenage girl to put up with.
The bell tinkled lightly as she stepped inside the hat shop. It had been done up recently, you could tell. It sparkled, the glass and mirrors gleaming, fresh paint, pots of violets and trailing lobelia round the door and fresh flowers adorning the counter. Why, it even smelled good.
‘Hello, may I help you?’ asked the young woman sitting on the stool behind the counter as she looked up under a fringe of dark hair.
‘Actually, yes! I need to buy a hat.’
The girl stood up straight away and came over to her. ‘Have you seen anything you like?’
‘They’re all lovely. It’s just I’m not sure exactly what I want. For the moment I need a hat that will go with lots of things, be suitable for a number of different functions.’
The girl frowned. Most hats were purchased for a special occasion, so this was a rather unusual request.
‘What kind of functions?’
‘All kinds. You wouldn’t believe the list of things I’m expected to do, and the places I have to visit . . .’
The young woman suddenly looked embarrassed.
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ she apologized. ‘I didn’t recognize you at first. You’re the new Mayor.’
‘Yes,’ laughed Mo. ‘I’m your new neighbour.’
‘It’s an honour to meet you,’ said Ellie, laughing, as they introduced themselves.
‘Do you think you might have anything that would be suitable?’
Ellie looked around. Two of the hats on the stands were already sold and the pink and the oyster-coloured ones in the window were much too fancy and distinctive.
‘I’m not sure I have anything in stock right now that would fit the bill for so many events,’ she admitted. ‘You are probably going to need something fairly classic and simple that will co-ordinate easily with your wardrobe.’
Mo looked at the beautiful hats and little feathered headpieces, all samples of this young woman’s craft, and considered. She had never had anything made for her in her life. It seemed so extravagant and wasteful. And yet the demands of her position were such that to look good was essential.
‘Would you be able to make something that would suit someone like me?’ she asked bluntly. ‘I’m hardly a clothes horse!’
‘Of course,’ replied the girl.
‘Though I’m not even sure what I want,’ the Mayor admitted.
Mo made no resistance as a number of styles were proffered, trying on each in turn and studying her reflection in the mirror.
‘Shape and style are very important,’ said the young hatmaker, helping to place another hat on her head. ‘Nothing too tall as when you are small like myself you have to watch that the hat isn’t emphasizing your lack of height. Here, let me show you. Try this one!’
‘Oh, that’s much better,’ agreed Mo, studying the pale yellow hat that seemed to have an upward sweep.
‘When you have a round face, a biggish hat with a brim or sidesweep usually works well. See how it balances the face and actually adds a little height.’
‘I love the shape but I’d never wear this colour.’
‘Then maybe we could make this style or a variation on it in one of the colours you do wear or you use for going to functions,’ suggested the serious young woman.
Mo thought about it. She didn’t want to spend a fortune she didn’t have – but a hat made specifically for her, that would be something.
Before she knew it she was sitting in the chair to be measured, as Ellie Matthews took out her notepad and began to sketch her ideas for the Mayor’s hat.