The apartment in Hatch Street was spick and span. Fresh white bedlinen, clean towels, and bright summer flowers in vases and jugs in each room, and every piece of glass she possessed handwashed before Yvette’s eagle eye could spot a speck of dust. While Ellie looked forward to the visit of her mother’s sister, she was also a little nervous about her aunt’s reaction to the changes she had made to her home and the shop since her mother’s death.
‘Don’t worry,’ Kim assured her. ‘She’s coming to see how you are, and how you are doing, not to check on the business.’
Ellie wanted to believe that, but she knew that a perceptive woman like her aunt would be keen to see the shop and discover how her niece was surviving in the world of millinery.
Yvette Renchard was pleased to see her young niece, kissing her twice, French fashion, as they greeted each other. Ellie noticed that despite the journey her aunt looked as elegant as ever in an immaculate Chanel suit with a pale blue cotton shirt underneath, her short grey hair accentuating her eyes and bone structure. She helped her aunt to carry her bag and the simple brown leather valise upstairs, Yvette praising the sun-filled apartment with its welcoming display of tall blue delphiniums and baby’s breath on the sideboard.
‘How are you, Elise chérie, vraiment?’ she asked, patting the cushions on the couch beside her as she settled down for a cup of coffee. ‘You must miss Madeleine terribly.’
Ellie realized how good it was to have someone to talk to about her mother, someone who was not afraid to mention Madeleine’s name.
‘I do get sad and lonely without her,’ she admitted, holding her aunt’s hand, ‘but I have the shop and my friends and so many people I care about here in Dublin.’
‘Then that is a good thing,’ her aunt reassured her. ‘Your maman would not want you to be maudlin or too sad to enjoy your life. You are a beautiful young woman with the world as your lobster.’
Ellie smiled to herself. Although her aunt spoke almost perfect English, she did tend to get sayings mixed up.
‘What would you like to do, Yvette,’ she asked. ‘Would you like to rest after your journey?’
‘Rest?’ protested her aunt. ‘I am an old woman. I will have all the time in the world to rest. No! I did not come to Dublin to rest but to spend time with my sweet girl. Perhaps we could go to the church and have a Mass, say prayers for your mother, then take a little stroll around the city.’
Ellie had forgotten what a devout Catholic her mother’s older sister was, and readily agreed to walk to the nearby church on St Stephen’s Green for Sunday Mass.
The weather was glorious as they strolled to the church. Afterwards she knew her aunt would suggest they pass by the shop. She had brought her keys along so Yvette could sate her curiosity and see the changes she had implemented.
‘C’est très joli!’ her aunt congratulated her, standing enraptured before the brightly painted shopfront, tears filling her eyes when she saw the name change over the door.
Inside she touched the newly painted shelves and the counter, admiring the colour scheme and the simple layout.
‘Ma chère, it is exquisite. I will steal you back to Paris, immédiatement!’
Ellie was so pleased that she liked the décor and explained what she had tried to do, to maintain her mother’s style but to also put her own imprint on it.
‘Well, you have succeeded!’
Then her aunt turned her attention to her work, studying the hats on display in the window, on the hatstands in the shop and on the blocks in the back.
‘You have a lot of work,’ she praised. ‘And I understand why! You have all your mother’s classique training, but you also have the je ne sais quoi. That is the little piece of your soul that goes into every hat you make. Of course you are young and fresh, full of ideas.’
Ellie laughed despite herself as Yvette, her glasses halfway down her nose, peered closely at every stitch.
‘What is this?’
‘It’s a two-tone sinamay. Simple but with a twist. I’ve run a bit of antique ribbon through the edges, to create this sort of twirl effect between the colours. It’s for a charity event to raise funds for the National Maternity Hospital.’
‘A kind heart for a good cause,’ remarked her aunt, patting her hand. ‘And this bonne bouche?’
The pink and red disc with a feather cut and shaped like a paintbrush across the centre had been commissioned by an artist with a studio in Baggot Street. Janna Rowan’s summer exhibition was opening in the Hallward Gallery in a few days’ time.
‘She wanted something to get her noticed!’
‘Well, you tell her she succeeded,’ giggled Yvette. ‘And this?’
Ellie could see her aunt’s delight as she examined the gold spun-silk topper with its whorls of Irish cream linen.
‘It’s to co-ordinate with a beautiful linen dress and jacket that the client got made for her wedding. It’s very intricate but I managed to get some offcuts and shape them, then I sprayed them with a little stiffener.’
‘The gold and the cream is delicious and the Celtic influence with the pattern of the Irish linen, merveilleux!’
‘Do you really like them?’ Ellie could not believe the reaction of such an accomplished hatmaker to her work.
‘Elise, tais-toi! In all my years have I ever lied to you? No, I am always honest, which as you know has caused me problems. These hats of yours are so pretty and stylish and each in its own way contains your joie de vivre, which is as it should be. Madeleine’s business has changed, it is refreshed. You are young with the new ideas and your own designs. A born milliner!’
Ellie felt an overwhelming sense of pride as her aunt definitely did not give praise lightly.
‘Now I have seen the shop I can rest easy,’ Yvette admitted. ‘It is a great success and I am so proud of you, ma petite Elise.’
Ellie hugged her aunt and was enveloped in a cloud of perfume.
‘So let us go for lunch!’ suggested Yvette.
They got a table in Fitzers café on Dawson Street, her aunt remarking on all the changes in the area as they ate.
‘Years ago when we were young, women wore hats, they dressed up, took care of themselves coming into town, going to work, going out, socializing. Good coats to keep them warm and hats to keep their heads warm also and protect their hairstyles and hide those bad hair days. They walked, took the tram, the metro, the bus. Then it all changed. They wore leggings and tracksuits and those awful headbands and jogged or took their cars everywhere. Now it is come full circle again, I think. Style is back. Women want to look good again.’
Ellie loved listening to her aunt’s thoughts on style and fashion.
‘Look around us. This town is full now that Catholic Ireland has decided to go shopping on a Sunday!’ Yvette said wryly. ‘At least the small businesses do not have to open on the holy day! That is for the big stores and boutiques.’
‘The small businesses are finding it hard,’ explained Ellie, outlining what was happening in their own street, and how so many shops were closing down. ‘We are having a meeting next week about it.’
‘They must hold tight, your little shopkeepers,’ insisted Yvette, spearing a juicy prawn on her fork. ‘Naturellement the gallerias and the large department stores bring thousands of people to shop every day but there is still enough bread to go round for everyone. I promise. Just look at Paris. We have the best shopping in the world, huge stores, but many of our finest shops are small, exquisite and individual.’
Afterwards they strolled along by Trinity College and down to Merrion Square, where artists were bargaining and selling their paintings from the display on the park railings. On a sunny day they always attracted a huge crowd. Back at home her aunt rested for a little while before Ellie cooked a simple chicken and vegetable dish for the two of them. They sat up till late talking about family holidays in the Renchard house in Provence, and the good times they’d both shared with her mother.
The next three days passed far too quickly as Yvette expressed a wish to visit her sister’s grave in Wicklow and they managed to get tickets for the new Marina Carr play in the Abbey Theatre. Ellie persuaded Rory to join them for supper, though he couldn’t make it to the theatre as he was going on to a music gig in Whelan’s.
He was chatty and charming and very polite to her aunt, ordering her an aperitif and asking about her shop in Paris and the state of the French economy. For once he had put on a shirt. OK, so it was black, but at least he had made an effort to impress her relative.
Ellie smiled as he tried to give her aunt a rundown of the Irish music industry and the top bands over their wild salmon served with baby new potatoes. She could see he was charming Yvette just the way he charmed all the women who crossed his path.
After the play Ellie and Yvette went back to the flat to drink coffee and enjoy a Baileys nightcap before they went to bed.
‘Ellie, I hope you don’t think that I am being intrusive but this young man in your life, is he important?’
‘We are seeing each other.’ She hesitated. ‘But not for very long.’
‘Do you love him?’
‘I’m not sure,’ she admitted, wondering if Rory was the type to fall in love with.
‘Then I hope he is good to you,’ said her aunt, staring at her intently. ‘He is not a professional, his career is perhaps erratic, and he is a little dangereux. But love is important, always remember that. Your mother knew it, she followed her heart!’
Ellie waited for a lecture about the mistake her mother had made in running off with her father and was surprised when her aunt said the opposite.
‘Your mother, she fell in love with her Irishman and followed him here. She truly loved your father. Of course you know that. Despite everything I don’t think she ever stopped loving him. Perhaps she hoped that some day Philip would come back to her. She was désolée – devastated, is that the word? – when she heard he’d passed away.’
‘I remember,’ said Ellie softly. ‘Uncle Pat phoned to tell us about his heart attack.’
‘Madeleine never hesitated in the matters of the heart,’ continued her aunt. ‘And look at what she got in return, a beautiful daughter, so like herself, a business which gave her immense pleasure, along with an income and a life I would say well lived, and she was spared the awful indignities of old age.’
‘Thank you,’ whispered Ellie, moved by her aunt’s truth and honesty.
‘I on the other hand have my business. I am a wonderful success, so they tell me. I worked so hard I turned my nose up at all the young men who might have made a good match, and even the old men if truth be told. I had no time for romance and love. Then I discovered I’d left it too late – so here I am with only Monique’s two big hulking boys and you, my dear, to enjoy. The fine things of life are all very well but it is nice to have someone to share them with.’
Ellie had never imagined Yvette having any regrets. Now she realized how solitary her life must be at times.
‘I think that you are a lot like your mother. But promise me you will not make the same mistakes as your proud old aunt,’ she joked.
‘I’ll try,’ said Ellie, hugging her.
Ellie was surprised at how sad she was to see her aunt return to Paris.
‘Promise me you will come in the autumn, when you are not so busy,’ urged Yvette. ‘The apartment is huge and you are welcome to bring some friends or even that charming boyfriend of yours.’
Ellie promised, imagining Rory and herself walking hand in hand along the Left Bank or exploring the Musée d’Orsay as the autumn leaves fell.