Jerome Casey and I were both under the impression that you were prepared to accept our offer.’
‘I changed my mind. I’m sorry,’ she apologized. ‘I didn’t mean to mess you around and waste your time. It’s just that I don’t want to sell the shop.’
‘Please, Ellie, reconsider,’ he remonstrated, standing up and coming to sit on the corner of the desk in front of her. ‘Get some good business advice. My client is making a very generous offer. Think what you could do with the money.’
‘I just want to make hats,’ she said softly.
‘If you are determined to continue with your hat-making, perhaps you could relocate? Find another shop or studio here in the city. I have a number of auctioneering contacts who I’m sure could help.’
Ellie Matthews pulled herself up to her full height of five foot three and stood straight in front of him, dark eyes serious.
‘I’m sorry, Neil, but the business is not for sale.’
‘I am . . . I mean my clients will be very disappointed,’ he said coldly.
‘Thank you for all your work and the advice but I’ve made my decision,’ she said, sensing his annoyance at her for wasting his and his clients’ time.
‘So you are turning down their offer, rejecting it,’ he said dispassionately, facing her squarely. ‘Was it the money?’
‘No.’ She shook her head. Avoiding his eyes and the fact that his legs were almost touching her, she concentrated on the framed photo of his father on the desk. ‘It’s a family business, Neil. My family. I thought you of all people would understand that. I just can’t walk away from it.’
‘What will you do?’
She smiled for a second, thinking about it.
‘I will make hats!’ she said defiantly. ‘Hundreds of them.’
Trying to control herself and not give in to the absurd shakiness that was threatening to overwhelm her, Ellie reached for her handbag on the floor, flustered and nervous, as Neil tried to step out of her way. Shit . . . her beautiful blue willow-pattern handbag burst open on his carpet, spilling everything she possessed on to the floor under his desk. She scrabbled to pick things up – her mirror, keys, wallet, phone, diary, a notepad, her perfume, two pens and a pink highlighter, a mini toothbrush, dental floss, a hairbrush, hairgrip, cotton buds. Neil Harrington looked appalled as her bright pink lipstick lay exposed on the carpet. He bent down to help her, the two of them almost colliding as they both reached to retrieve it. Grabbing the lipstick, Ellie bumped against him and the bright pink tip smeared his pristine laundered shirt. Ellie searched uselessly for a tissue to wipe it. His hand caught hers.
‘It’s OK. I’ll get it cleaned,’ he said politely, surveying the vivid stain.
For one mad minute she pictured herself helping him to unbutton it, discovering if he was really as stuffy and old-fashioned as he seemed.
‘I’m sorry, Neil,’ she apologized. ‘I didn’t mean to.’
‘It’s all right, Ellie, I always keep a spare in the office.’
Embarrassed, she tried to smile, and wished he was ancient like Mr Muldoon instead of actually rather handsome and attractive. She suspected a few items had rolled right under the desk but to get them she would have had to kneel right down on the floor in front of him. No way. They could stay where they were. Hopefully his secretary, Jean, would retrieve them.
‘That’s it.’ She smiled.
The two of them somehow managed to say a polite goodbye, Ellie knowing that despite his good manners he was furious at her change of mind.
Outside on the street she checked her bag. Her raspberry Juicy Tube, her mascara, her lucky old Irish twopenny piece and a Tampax were missing, probably lying somewhere under his desk, at Neil Harrington’s feet.
Chapter Seven
A ragged-looking crew of her friends turned up on Saturday morning in old clothes and grungy boots and trainers, ready to work. Fergus, unshaven, with his red hair
‘I changed my mind. I’m sorry,’ she apologized. ‘I didn’t mean to mess you around and waste your time. It’s just that I don’t want to sell the shop.’
‘Please, Ellie, reconsider,’ he remonstrated, standing up and coming to sit on the corner of the desk in front of her. ‘Get some good business advice. My client is making a very generous offer. Think what you could do with the money.’
‘I just want to make hats,’ she said softly.
‘If you are determined to continue with your hat-making, perhaps you could relocate? Find another shop or studio here in the city. I have a number of auctioneering contacts who I’m sure could help.’
Ellie Matthews pulled herself up to her full height of five foot three and stood straight in front of him, dark eyes serious.
‘I’m sorry, Neil, but the business is not for sale.’
‘I am . . . I mean my clients will be very disappointed,’ he said coldly.
‘Thank you for all your work and the advice but I’ve made my decision,’ she said, sensing his annoyance at her for wasting his and his clients’ time.
‘So you are turning down their offer, rejecting it,’ he said dispassionately, facing her squarely. ‘Was it the money?’
‘No.’ She shook her head. Avoiding his eyes and the fact that his legs were almost touching her, she concentrated on the framed photo of his father on the desk. ‘It’s a family business, Neil. My family. I thought you of all people would understand that. I just can’t walk away from it.’
‘What will you do?’
She smiled for a second, thinking about it.
‘I will make hats!’ she said defiantly. ‘Hundreds of them.’
Trying to control herself and not give in to the absurd shakiness that was threatening to overwhelm her, Ellie reached for her handbag on the floor, flustered and nervous, as Neil tried to step out of her way. Shit . . . her beautiful blue willow-pattern handbag burst open on his carpet, spilling everything she possessed on to the floor under his desk. She scrabbled to pick things up – her mirror, keys, wallet, phone, diary, a notepad, her perfume, two pens and a pink highlighter, a mini toothbrush, dental floss, a hairbrush, hairgrip, cotton buds. Neil Harrington looked appalled as her bright pink lipstick lay exposed on the carpet. He bent down to help her, the two of them almost colliding as they both reached to retrieve it. Grabbing the lipstick, Ellie bumped against him and the bright pink tip smeared his pristine laundered shirt. Ellie searched uselessly for a tissue to wipe it. His hand caught hers.
‘It’s OK. I’ll get it cleaned,’ he said politely, surveying the vivid stain.
For one mad minute she pictured herself helping him to unbutton it, discovering if he was really as stuffy and old-fashioned as he seemed.
‘I’m sorry, Neil,’ she apologized. ‘I didn’t mean to.’
‘It’s all right, Ellie, I always keep a spare in the office.’
Embarrassed, she tried to smile, and wished he was ancient like Mr Muldoon instead of actually rather handsome and attractive. She suspected a few items had rolled right under the desk but to get them she would have had to kneel right down on the floor in front of him. No way. They could stay where they were. Hopefully his secretary, Jean, would retrieve them.
‘That’s it.’ She smiled.
The two of them somehow managed to say a polite goodbye, Ellie knowing that despite his good manners he was furious at her change of mind.
Outside on the street she checked her bag. Her raspberry Juicy Tube, her mascara, her lucky old Irish twopenny piece and a Tampax were missing, probably lying somewhere under his desk, at Neil Harrington’s feet.
Chapter Seven
A ragged-looking crew of her friends turned up on Saturday morning in old clothes and grungy boots and trainers, ready to work. Fergus, unshaven, with his red hair
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