The Hat Shop on the Corner (12 page)

             

Ellie pushed through the crowded bar in the Clarence, relieved when she spotted Rory at a table in the corner, on his mobile, waiting for her. He looked even better than she remembered in an expensive black jacket and jeans. His eyes lit up when he saw her and Ellie was glad she’d made the effort to dress up too and was wearing an exquisite Kenzo wrap dress she’d bought in Tokyo. They automatically reached for each other and hugged.

‘Let me get you a drink?’ he offered.

Ellie ordered a glass of chilled white wine and they chatted easily. He was such good company. Although a few of his friends came over to talk to him she noticed he didn’t invite them to sit down.

‘Come on, let’s get out of here,’ he suggested. ‘I’m starving.’

They walked through Temple Bar, which was already buzzing. Music blared from every doorway, rock, traditional, jazz and soul. The bars and restaurants were filling up, people already spilling out on to the streets with glasses and cigarettes in hand. Ellie was careful of her heels on the cobblestones in one of the city’s oldest districts.

‘This is the best place in the world to break new bands,’ said Rory proudly as they turned into Meeting House Square. ‘There’s venues and a great dedication. That’s what it’s about. All the music scouts come here because the place has got an energy.’

He had booked at Eden, one of her favourite restaurants, and the waitress led them to a table overlooking the square. Ellie ordered a cocktail as they studied the menu. She still felt a little nervous of spending an evening alone with him.

However, once they had ordered and the waiter had opened a bottle of red wine she could feel herself beginning to relax and unwind. She was surprised at how Rory made her feel so completely at ease.

‘This is my stomping ground,’ he explained. ‘I’ve an office nearby. Well, part of an office, I share it with two other guys, and my place is over near Custom House Quay.’

‘Living in town or close to town is great,’ she agreed. ‘You only have to walk out the door and you’ve got everything.’

‘I used to wait tables in the place down the road,’ he laughed. ‘They fired me when I dropped a tray of spaghetti in someone’s lap. It wasn’t pretty!’

‘Was that while you were in college?’

‘Never made it to college,’ he admitted, ‘too busy making a prat of myself trying to get a record deal with a bunch of useless eejits who thought they were the hottest band in town. The record companies ran a mile.’

‘But that’s changed now.’

‘Yeah, with Rothko and one or two of the new acts I look after, I guess I’m beginning to build up the business. I try and get the best for them, promote and yet protect their talent.’

‘They’re a great band,’ she agreed.

‘What about you?’ he asked, turning the tables on her as the waitress served their main courses. ‘How did you get into all this feathers and bows and hat stuff?’

‘I grew up with it. My mother was French. She trained as a milliner in Paris and served her apprenticeship with her sister. They worked with all the top designers. I suppose she would have stayed working with her except that she fell in love with an Irishman.’

‘Your father?’

‘Yes. Maman was so in love with him that she came to live in his city.’

‘And they lived happily ever after?’

‘Not quite!’ she admitted. ‘My dad got bored, unsettled. The marriage didn’t last and they broke up when I was three. I don’t really remember him. My mother stayed on here. She worked in Brown Thomas’s and then began making hats for clients. I was quite small when she opened the hat shop. So it’s what I’ve grown up with.’

‘She sounds a remarkable woman.’

‘She was. She died a few months ago and I still really miss her.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said sympathetically. ‘I didn’t mean to make you feel sad.’

‘I suppose it’s good to talk about her, even if it does make me sad,’ she admitted.

‘What about you?’ he asked a few seconds later, trying to rescue the conversation. ‘You went to college and all that jazz, I bet!’

‘Yep! Up the road to the College of Art! I studied fashion.’

‘Hence the great style,’ he teased.

‘Then a stint in Paris. Not as grand as it seems as I was staying with my aunt and studying like crazy all day. After six months I got a job with a lunatic of a designer but I learned a lot from him. Then back here, working with Mum, and then I got a great offer from Hyland’s and a chance to design and source fabrics for the fashion trade. It’s strange but making hats . . . I guess it’s in the blood.’

‘Like music and madness.’

‘Maybe,’ she laughed.

They had a perfect meal, the conversation entertaining and fun as Rory described the trials and tribulations and hairy existence of the music business. When they had finished neither of them wanted to part.

‘The River Club and Lillie’s are both close by,’ he suggested, taking her hand as they walked along the boardwalk by the Liffey. The tide was full in, the lights of the city reflected on the water, the moon a dappled path along the dark river’s way.

Rory stopped and pulled her into his arms, Ellie responding to his warm kisses. He tasted of wine and his skin smelled so good as she nuzzled against him.

‘I’ve been wanting to do that all night,’ he confessed, ‘since the minute I saw you.’

She giggled, because the thought had equally crossed her mind. They walked slowly, talking and kissing all the time, crossing O’Connell Bridge, neither of them interested in clubbing. Rory hailed a taxi outside Trinity College. She gave the driver her address and leaned back against Rory’s shoulder.

The driver let them off outside her door. Ellie pulled Rory into her arms as they stood on the steps saying goodnight.

‘I don’t want to let you go,’ he admitted, candidly.

Ellie took a sharp breath. She had never met anyone like him, dated anyone like him, kissed or wanted anyone like him.

‘But I don’t want to push things, Ellie,’ he said softly.

She considered. It had been so long since she had let anyone touch her or be close to her. He was charming and witty and made her smile and she found him so damned attractive it was unbelievable.

‘There’s good French brandy and whiskey and chocolate if you’d like to come in,’ she said, knowing that she didn’t want this perfect night to end either.

He kissed her again.

‘You got me on the chocolate,’ he teased as they walked up the stairs.

Mo Brady took a deep breath as she entered the splendour of Dublin’s City Hall and welcomed guests to the Lord Mayor’s Lunch. There was the Taoiseach and his ministers along with a mixture of TDs and ambassadors. Those who had contributed much to the city in terms of art and business, sport and science had also been invited. Mo, grateful for Joe’s supportive squeeze of her hand, stepped in front of the cameras and smiled. Her speech, neatly printed out, was in her handbag. For once she didn’t feel small and stout but stylish and confident as she turned round in her immaculate linen suit and tilted her head, showing off her Ellie Matthews cream-coloured hat with its fancy beige spiral. She felt great as she began welcoming everyone. Putting on the style sometimes was worth it!

The meal was a great success and the menu of Dublin Bay prawns, good Wicklow lamb and summer pudding was one of her favourites. Mo pushed the cream and ice cream to the side of her plate. She’d noticed after only a few weeks in office that she was putting on more weight. She cursed her slow metabolism and all the lunches, dinners and cocktail parties she was expected to attend. Exercise was needed, so she had built a walk twice round the park into her daily routine. Two hours later, standing on the steps of the hall, she breathed a sigh of relief as the last of the dignitaries said their goodbyes.

She had never entertained so much in her life. The Mansion House was constantly filled with strangers attending receptions, and herself and Joe often had to dress up to go out to some event or other. Joe and the kids were stars as far as she was concerned. After much discussion Wednesday nights had been declared family nights. No receptions or events were permitted and the kids would order in pizza and get a video.

‘This is just like being back in Carney Close,’ Lisa confided, snuggling up on the expensive damask-covered couch in her pyjamas as they watched
The Incredibles
.

Mo felt guilty thinking of all their neighbours and friends in the old estate, which now seemed a million miles away.

The next morning she couldn’t disguise a grin as Bernadette laid out the daily papers for her. There it was in full colour: ‘Mayor Mo puts on the Style! Dublin’s Elegant New Mayor.’

‘Is everything to your satisfaction,’ asked Bernadette, ‘or is there anything else?’

‘Actually, there is something, Bernie. I want to organize a function for forty people in about two weeks’ time. I will give you the invitation list with the names and addresses.’

‘Very well, what will I list it under?’

‘Carney Close.’

‘Sorry, did you say Carney?’

‘Yes,’ she beamed. ‘It’s our old neighbourhood. It’s high time I entertained some people I actually know.’

‘But the Mayor’s office should be—’

‘Don’t you fret about it, Bernadette, I promise that they are all good citizens of Dublin!’

She couldn’t stop herself from baiting the sixty-year-old woman, who, with her neat perm and stuck-up attitude, seemed to question everything she did, and had no idea about the ramifications of family life under the gaze of the council staff.

The kids had given a huge cheer when she told them they were throwing a party in the Mansion House for their old neighbours.

‘Plenty of Coca-Cola and crisps, Mammy,’ warned Lisa. ‘They mightn’t like some of those fancy canopies you are always giving everyone.’

Mo herself was looking forward to a chance to sit down and unwind with her old friends without having to be all polite and Lady Mayorish, and this was the perfect house for a party.

Her car was waiting outside at four o’clock. After a whirlwind visit to a day care centre for Alzheimer’s patients in the inner city she just about made it for the council meeting, telling driver Larry Flynn that she would phone him to collect her when she was finished.

There was a huge list of items to be covered, she noticed as she scanned the printed agenda. She sat in beside Richard Doyle, who represented the Green Party. He had a wad of notes and files with him. It looked as if it was going to be one of those marathon sessions. She took out her black folder and began to scribble notes. She voted for a grant to the children’s playground in Sheriff Street, against the decision to extend paid parking in the inner city and for the compulsory purchase of a derelict Georgian house that could be restored and converted into flats or offices.

She listened to an interminable speech from Councillor Reynolds about the hazards of the City Council overextending themselves in terms of social housing, almost dozing off at the boring tones of his voice.

‘Now we come to South Anne Street,’ announced the chairman. ‘There have been various hold-ups in this planned development in terms of renewing leases, completing property sales, etc. Casey Coleman Holdings, the developers, have applied for an extension to the plan. They have acquired more properties on the street and are hopeful that the remaining tenants and landlords will accept generous offers and vacate premises within the next twenty weeks so that work on the project can begin. There will be significant income for the council from this development.’

‘I object to any extension of this development,’ interrupted Richard. ‘There is no need for it in what is already a heavily developed area of the city.’

‘Hear! Hear!’ added one or two voices.

Mo looked up. Richard caught her eye. That was the street where she’d bought her hat only recently. It was a lovely old street full of Dublin character.

‘Are the sales on all these premises agreed?’ She stood up to ask her question, noticing Councillor Des King’s annoyance with her.

‘Well, that is the problem,’ he admitted tetchily. ‘Some tenants and shopowners – only a few – have failed to close their agreements and are said to be reconsidering. This delay could put the whole project at risk.’