Read Online The Hat Shop on the Corner by Marita Conlon-Mckenna - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Marita Conlon-Mckenna
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helping me to fix up the shop so that I can reopen it – well, that’s the best ever. So thank you, and Polo, thank you to you and your dad for doing the floor.’
‘No problem, my dear,’ responded Mick O’Leary, who truth to tell was beginning to enjoy this new career he’d fallen into.
‘And here’s to Ellie and her beautiful new shop,’ interrupted Kim, raising her glass to toast her. ‘From tomorrow the whole of Dublin will be flocking to her to buy their hats.’
‘I do hope so,’ said Ellie as she glanced round the table, choked up by the goodness of these people whom she was lucky enough to be able to call friends and who had insisted on not charging her for all their hard work and time.
‘To the shop,’ they all chorused. ‘Ellie’s hat shop!’
Chapter Eight
Creating her first collection of hats was a daunting prospect but a trip to the millinery wholesaler’s in South William Street and a delivery of essential materials from the Milliner Warehouse in London and Beauvoir’s in Paris had ensured that she had everything she needed to begin. Despite the shop renovations and the sanding and the wiring of the new lighting, she had worked night and day to design and make hats that she hoped women would consider both irresistible and delicious.
The city was awash with cherry and apple blossom, the countryside and gardens covered with white hawthorn blooms and with every breeze the drifting petals covered the pavements and paths. She herself was nervous, adrenalin flowing as she covered reams of white paper with sketches and rough drawings of what she wanted. A Japanese print of a cherry tree on her mother’s noticeboard – thin trunk and slightly curved branches reaching skywards, its starkness softened by a spray of blossom – inspired her, made her giddy with excitement, as she too strove like the unknown Japanese artist to create simple shapes, black, white, red, jade green and a pale pink. She put each design up on the block, taking her time, as the materials stretched and developed the shapes and curves and lines she wanted. She held her breath as she took them off. Checking how each would sit on a head, she added brims to some and painstakingly worked with fine wire and silk to fashion each individual petal of blossom, perfect orbs of white and pink and black and a creamy rose to contrast with and soften the crowns and brims. Each hat was different, and the eight headpieces with their simple wraparound wire-covered shapes that clung neatly to the head, all with a bold dash of colour, had also somehow managed to retain the Japanese influence that had inspired them. Overcome with sheer joy as she finished her ‘White Blossom’ collection, knowing that each hat was as individual as she could make it, Ellie was nonetheless filled with trepidation as she put five of the pieces on hatstands in the window.
The opening of the little hat shop was a great success. The place was packed out with well-wishers, wine and champagne flowing as journalists and fashion stylists chatted and good-naturedly admired her work. Two of Ireland’s newer designers vowed to remember her when they were showing their next collection. Her ears were red with all the praise and flattery bestowed by Dominic Dunne on her work and the refreshing new look of the hat shop perched on the corner of South Anne Street.
‘I can’t thank you enough,’ she said afterwards, ‘for all your kind words and for taking the time to come tonight and do the opening.’
‘Ellie, it’s a pleasure and the very least that I could do,’ he said, kissing her cheek. ‘I just wish Madeleine was here with us both to enjoy it.’
‘Maybe in some way she is,’ whispered Ellie, conscious of a reassuring sense of her mother’s presence at this time when she needed it most.
It wasn’t a large collection – but Ellie had put her own stamp on each piece. The hats were original, beautiful, each a small, delicious individual work of art.
‘No problem, my dear,’ responded Mick O’Leary, who truth to tell was beginning to enjoy this new career he’d fallen into.
‘And here’s to Ellie and her beautiful new shop,’ interrupted Kim, raising her glass to toast her. ‘From tomorrow the whole of Dublin will be flocking to her to buy their hats.’
‘I do hope so,’ said Ellie as she glanced round the table, choked up by the goodness of these people whom she was lucky enough to be able to call friends and who had insisted on not charging her for all their hard work and time.
‘To the shop,’ they all chorused. ‘Ellie’s hat shop!’
Chapter Eight
Creating her first collection of hats was a daunting prospect but a trip to the millinery wholesaler’s in South William Street and a delivery of essential materials from the Milliner Warehouse in London and Beauvoir’s in Paris had ensured that she had everything she needed to begin. Despite the shop renovations and the sanding and the wiring of the new lighting, she had worked night and day to design and make hats that she hoped women would consider both irresistible and delicious.
The city was awash with cherry and apple blossom, the countryside and gardens covered with white hawthorn blooms and with every breeze the drifting petals covered the pavements and paths. She herself was nervous, adrenalin flowing as she covered reams of white paper with sketches and rough drawings of what she wanted. A Japanese print of a cherry tree on her mother’s noticeboard – thin trunk and slightly curved branches reaching skywards, its starkness softened by a spray of blossom – inspired her, made her giddy with excitement, as she too strove like the unknown Japanese artist to create simple shapes, black, white, red, jade green and a pale pink. She put each design up on the block, taking her time, as the materials stretched and developed the shapes and curves and lines she wanted. She held her breath as she took them off. Checking how each would sit on a head, she added brims to some and painstakingly worked with fine wire and silk to fashion each individual petal of blossom, perfect orbs of white and pink and black and a creamy rose to contrast with and soften the crowns and brims. Each hat was different, and the eight headpieces with their simple wraparound wire-covered shapes that clung neatly to the head, all with a bold dash of colour, had also somehow managed to retain the Japanese influence that had inspired them. Overcome with sheer joy as she finished her ‘White Blossom’ collection, knowing that each hat was as individual as she could make it, Ellie was nonetheless filled with trepidation as she put five of the pieces on hatstands in the window.
The opening of the little hat shop was a great success. The place was packed out with well-wishers, wine and champagne flowing as journalists and fashion stylists chatted and good-naturedly admired her work. Two of Ireland’s newer designers vowed to remember her when they were showing their next collection. Her ears were red with all the praise and flattery bestowed by Dominic Dunne on her work and the refreshing new look of the hat shop perched on the corner of South Anne Street.
‘I can’t thank you enough,’ she said afterwards, ‘for all your kind words and for taking the time to come tonight and do the opening.’
‘Ellie, it’s a pleasure and the very least that I could do,’ he said, kissing her cheek. ‘I just wish Madeleine was here with us both to enjoy it.’
‘Maybe in some way she is,’ whispered Ellie, conscious of a reassuring sense of her mother’s presence at this time when she needed it most.
It wasn’t a large collection – but Ellie had put her own stamp on each piece. The hats were original, beautiful, each a small, delicious individual work of art.
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