At the Drop of a Hat Read Free

asked as she joined us on the mat in front of the front door.
    â€œYes, it’s an old one that belonged to my mother,” the woman answered.
    She pushed back the hood on her raincoat and I was struck by how dark her hair was. It was an inky black color, thick and lustrous, the type you’d expect to see on a model. After I recovered from my spurt of hair envy, I noted that she was quite pretty with big brown eyes and an upturned nose. Mercifully, she was spared from being perfect as her lips were on the thin side and she wore glasses, a nerdy rectangular pair with thick black frames.
    â€œI don’t want to drip all over your shop,” the woman said.
    â€œNo worries,” I said. “Here, I’ll take the bag and your coat.”
    She handed me the dripping bag and shrugged out of her coat, freeing one arm at a time as if afraid to let go of her hatbox. I hung her coat and the bag on our coatrack by the door. Usually we kept it in the back room, but so many people had been coming in with wet coats that we’d moved it out front for the interminable rainfest we had going.
    I hurried after them as Viv led the woman over to the counter, where Fee and Harrison were watching the happenings with curious expressions.
    â€œAriana, is that you?” Harrison asked. He looked delighted to see the young woman, and I felt the prick of something sharp, like the spiny point of jealousy, stab me in the backside.
    She looked up at him in surprise and then laughed. “Harrison, fancy meeting you here!”
    He stepped around the counter and swept her into a friendly embrace. “I wondered why Stephen asked me about this place. Was it for you?”
    This place?
I turned to exchange a dark look with Viv, but neither she nor Fee was looking in my direction. Did they not see that Harrison had just insulted our shop?
    â€œYes, I knew you did the books for a hat shop on Portobello and was so hoping it was the same one, and then Stephen said that you bragged that it was the best in the city and that the girls who owned were—”
    â€œYes, well.” Harrison interrupted her by coughing loudly into his fist.
    He glanced at me and I narrowed my eyes at him. What had he said about us? I opened my mouth to demand to hear it when Viv spoke first.
    â€œDo you know what year your mother purchased the hat?” Viv asked Ariana.
    â€œI do. It was 1983, in fact,” she said. “The hat was a bridal hat for her wedding.”
    â€œOh, 1983 was a very good hat year. John Boyd was designing for Princess Diana. I loved the turquoise hat he made for her first foreign tour to Australia. It was a cap framed by matching ropes of silk with a net over the top and a matching flower at the back. I tried to re-create it during my apprenticeship but I could never match his artistry.”
    â€œHe is a genius,” Fee agreed. “I adore the red boater that she wore perched to the side with the matching jacket.”
    â€œNone of us were even born in 1983,” I said. “How is it you know what the hats looked like back then?”
    â€œEvery milliner studies John Boyd and Princess Diana,” Fee said.
    â€œThat and I did an apprenticeship in his Knightsbridge shop,” Viv said. “Mim loved his work. They were friends, you know.”
    I didn’t, but I didn’t say as much, mostly because I was too embarrassed to admit that although the name “John Boyd” sounded familiar, I wasn’t really up to speed on his work. The truth was I didn’t know much about the millinery business. I had studied the hospitality industry in college and my gift was more with people, which brought my attention back to the woman in our shop.
    â€œI’m sorry, Ariana, I didn’t catch your last name,” I said. I glanced meaningfully at Harrison but he didn’t look embarrassed in the least.
    â€œOh, of course, forgive me,” he said. “Ariana Jackson, these are the