busy job to help her.
‘Actually I’ll show you.’
She got up from the couch and rooted around for Colm’s plans plus a folder with ideas and rough sketches that she had put together. She produced the pad with her drawings of what the shop could look like, interior and exterior sketches with the shopfront and walls painted in various colours and with slightly different treatments.
‘Wow, Ellie! These look great. It’s going to be beautiful – the kind of place anyone would want to shop.’
‘I’m still not sure what colour scheme to use but definitely nothing too harsh or strident. What would you think of a cream or ivory or primrose yellow?’
‘What you need to do is get some of those testers and try them out on the walls to see what works best. That’s what Brian and I did when we were doing up our apartment. Remember how the place looked like a rainbow for months?’ Kim stopped.
Ellie automatically stroked her friend’s arm and shoulder. It had been so hard for Kim when Brian and herself had broken up after two years. Kim had accepted their incompatibility but she still really missed him.
‘And I thought if we took up the carpet we could either sand or bleach the floorboards,’ continued Ellie.
‘Yeah, that awful old grey carpet of your mother’s has got to go.’
Ellie hadn’t the nerve to tell Kim that the carpet was meant to be a pale blue and it hadn’t been changed for twenty years.
‘And what about the counters and the shelves?’
That was Ellie’s quandary. The fittings had been specially made years ago and were still in perfect condition. It was just that the dark wood managed to make the shop seem cramped and old-fashioned. New fittings would cost a small fortune, something she definitely didn’t have.
‘I have to think about that,’ she admitted.
‘Anyway, the little hat shop is here to stay,’ said Kim, fixing them a refill.
‘Yes,’ Ellie said triumphantly. ‘It’s going to be Hats! Hats! Hats!’
The next day she phoned Neil Harrington. He was away but his secretary gave her an appointment for early on Thursday morning at his offices on Lower Fitzwilliam Street.
Ellie put on a simple pale blue suit for the meeting. Sitting in the waiting room, she noticed the wonderful Louis le Brocquy and Donald Teskey paintings on the wall. They were two of her favourite Irish artists; he was obviously a collector.
‘Miss Matthews, he’ll see you now.’ His middle-aged secretary led her into a beautiful room with magnificently decorated plasterwork on the ceiling, and tall sash windows overlooking the long narrow stretch of garden at the rear of the building.
Neil was wearing a white shirt, tie loose, collar open. Freshly showered and shaved, he looked good.
‘So you’ve come with the contracts.’ He smiled, indicating the chair in front of his cherrywood desk.
She glanced nervously at the bookshelves beside him – law books, Irish law, international law, reams of them. Photos in polished silver frames on his desk, and on the wall more art, Markey Robinson, O’Connor and a Yeats etching.
‘Yes, I’m returning them.’
‘Your signature needs to be witnessed on each copy,’ he said affably, lifting the brown envelope off the desk. ‘I can ask Jean to do it if you wish.’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Ellie cheerfully.
‘Good, then they are signed and witnessed already.’ Neil had spread the papers on his desk and was looking at the blank part at the end of the contract. ‘But it’s not signed?’
‘No. I’m not signing it,’ she said softly, almost afraid to look at him, ‘because I’m not going ahead.’
‘But I thought we had agreed, that you understood everything,’ he said slowly, ‘that it had all been explained to you?’
‘I do understand,’ she retorted. ‘It’s just that I’m not selling.’
‘Not selling?’ His voice rose, annoyed. ‘I thought you were going to honour what was discussed and agreed with your mother?
‘Actually I’ll show you.’
She got up from the couch and rooted around for Colm’s plans plus a folder with ideas and rough sketches that she had put together. She produced the pad with her drawings of what the shop could look like, interior and exterior sketches with the shopfront and walls painted in various colours and with slightly different treatments.
‘Wow, Ellie! These look great. It’s going to be beautiful – the kind of place anyone would want to shop.’
‘I’m still not sure what colour scheme to use but definitely nothing too harsh or strident. What would you think of a cream or ivory or primrose yellow?’
‘What you need to do is get some of those testers and try them out on the walls to see what works best. That’s what Brian and I did when we were doing up our apartment. Remember how the place looked like a rainbow for months?’ Kim stopped.
Ellie automatically stroked her friend’s arm and shoulder. It had been so hard for Kim when Brian and herself had broken up after two years. Kim had accepted their incompatibility but she still really missed him.
‘And I thought if we took up the carpet we could either sand or bleach the floorboards,’ continued Ellie.
‘Yeah, that awful old grey carpet of your mother’s has got to go.’
Ellie hadn’t the nerve to tell Kim that the carpet was meant to be a pale blue and it hadn’t been changed for twenty years.
‘And what about the counters and the shelves?’
That was Ellie’s quandary. The fittings had been specially made years ago and were still in perfect condition. It was just that the dark wood managed to make the shop seem cramped and old-fashioned. New fittings would cost a small fortune, something she definitely didn’t have.
‘I have to think about that,’ she admitted.
‘Anyway, the little hat shop is here to stay,’ said Kim, fixing them a refill.
‘Yes,’ Ellie said triumphantly. ‘It’s going to be Hats! Hats! Hats!’
The next day she phoned Neil Harrington. He was away but his secretary gave her an appointment for early on Thursday morning at his offices on Lower Fitzwilliam Street.
Ellie put on a simple pale blue suit for the meeting. Sitting in the waiting room, she noticed the wonderful Louis le Brocquy and Donald Teskey paintings on the wall. They were two of her favourite Irish artists; he was obviously a collector.
‘Miss Matthews, he’ll see you now.’ His middle-aged secretary led her into a beautiful room with magnificently decorated plasterwork on the ceiling, and tall sash windows overlooking the long narrow stretch of garden at the rear of the building.
Neil was wearing a white shirt, tie loose, collar open. Freshly showered and shaved, he looked good.
‘So you’ve come with the contracts.’ He smiled, indicating the chair in front of his cherrywood desk.
She glanced nervously at the bookshelves beside him – law books, Irish law, international law, reams of them. Photos in polished silver frames on his desk, and on the wall more art, Markey Robinson, O’Connor and a Yeats etching.
‘Yes, I’m returning them.’
‘Your signature needs to be witnessed on each copy,’ he said affably, lifting the brown envelope off the desk. ‘I can ask Jean to do it if you wish.’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ said Ellie cheerfully.
‘Good, then they are signed and witnessed already.’ Neil had spread the papers on his desk and was looking at the blank part at the end of the contract. ‘But it’s not signed?’
‘No. I’m not signing it,’ she said softly, almost afraid to look at him, ‘because I’m not going ahead.’
‘But I thought we had agreed, that you understood everything,’ he said slowly, ‘that it had all been explained to you?’
‘I do understand,’ she retorted. ‘It’s just that I’m not selling.’
‘Not selling?’ His voice rose, annoyed. ‘I thought you were going to honour what was discussed and agreed with your mother?
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