Page 37 of Lessons in Love at the Seaside Salon

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

This is a nice place, looking over Brisbane Water.

Not a venue Trudy has been to before, but Sol offered to pick her up so she didn’t have to know how to get there.

He booked the table, told her a time he’d come for her and he was there on the dot, looking pleased with himself and even more pleased with her.

‘Would you like wine with dinner?’ Sol says as he holds the wine list their waiter gave him.

The waiter was older, and referred to her as Mrs Raymond – Sol is, of course, Mr Raymond – and she didn’t object because the explanation would have been unwieldy and, besides, once she leaves here tonight the waiter won’t remember her.

‘Perhaps a glass,’ she says.

‘White? Red?’

She picks up the menu. ‘I guess it depends on what I’m eating.’

‘The tortellini is good.’ Sol smiles in a way that suggests he doesn’t mind if she doesn’t take up his suggestion.

He’s easy company. He was easy in the car, chatting away, leaving gaps for her to talk if she wanted, asking questions.

She felt comfortable with him. It was pleasant.

That’s all. Pleasant. Not thrilling. Not the start of something.

Not romantic. She didn’t expect that, but she wondered if she’d feel it spontaneously due to the fact he’s taking her out to dinner.

Laurie was romantic.

No, she has to stop comparing them. She has to stop letting her brain bring up Laurie so much, full stop. It’s a habit.

When she was at lunch with Dylan and his family her son had said, with no small amount of irritation, ‘You don’t need to talk about Dad all the time.’ She hadn’t realised she did.

‘It’s only because you’re here,’ she’d protested.

He gave her a look. ‘Mu-um,’ he’d said, and he didn’t have to say anything further. She’d been put on notice.

It’s not as if she can talk to Sol about Laurie, though.

While they were friends, it wouldn’t be polite to go on about her dead husband to a man who has invited her to dinner after waiting a polite amount of time after that husband’s death to approach her.

If Sol had no manners or tact he would have bowled up to her the week after it happened, she supposes.

She’s heard of that happening. A woman from the club even had someone crack onto her at the funeral. Bold.

‘I’m happy for you to order for me,’ she hears herself saying, which is odd because she never said that to Laurie. There’s something in her, though, that wants to have the decision-making taken out of her hands and put into someone else’s, and Sol happens to be the current candidate.

Sol gives her a mysterious smile and sits back. ‘No,’ he says, ‘I don’t think the tortellini is right for you. Something else. Something else …’ He scans the menu.

‘You’ve been here a few times?’

He shrugs. ‘Not many. I don’t go out that often. Eating alone is not as much fun.’

The waiter reapproaches and Sol glances up.

‘For the lady, please, the veal scaloppini and a glass of Chablis, and I’ll have the ragu and a glass of the Bordeaux.’

The waiter bows his head, takes the menus and wine list and leaves them to it.

‘Thank you,’ Trudy says.

‘You’ve very welcome.’

There’s that mysterious smile again.

‘How is your son?’ Sol says.

Trudy is momentarily confused – she hasn’t mentioned Dylan much to Sol – then remembers that Laurie would have talked about Dylan to his friends.

‘He called me a few days ago.’

‘Mm?’ Sol is looking at her as if what she’s said is unremarkable – which it should be.

‘It doesn’t happen that often,’ she says lightly, as if she doesn’t mind.

There’s no reason to not let Sol know that she minds, really – except it protects her.

She doesn’t want him thinking she’s the sort of mother whose son contacts her rarely, even though she’s on her own now and for all he knows she’s fallen on her head somewhere.

‘That doesn’t sound right,’ Sol says, his brows knitting.

‘He’s busy.’

‘As are you.’ He gives her a meaningful look.

‘I’m sure Laurie told you that Dylan has a very busy job.

’ Dylan works for some agricultural business that he’s always a little vague about.

Or maybe it’s the government and that’s why he’s vague.

He has told her. She just can’t remember the name of it.

Remembering so many clients’ names has meant that she doesn’t retain other details.

It’s always been the case, so she doesn’t think her inability to remember the company Dylan works for is of concern.

Although perhaps she should. She’s only fifty-seven years old so she can’t be losing her mind.

Or can she? There’s probably no minimum age for that.

‘Actually, he used to say that Dylan had a very busy wife .’ Sol’s eyes are twinkling.

Trudy gasps then laughs. ‘Did he?’ It sounds like something her Laurie would say. He could be quite feisty about certain things – and Annemarie was one of them. Spent too much time with her friends and going to boutiques, he always thought.

‘He did. So, Dylan – how often do you see him?’

This time Trudy decides not to make light of it. ‘Not enough.’

The waiter deposits their glasses of wine, to their murmured thanks.

‘It’s been months since the last time,’ she goes on, staring at the cold glass of white wine in front of her, almost wishing it to be a crystal ball so she could tell when Dylan would have time for her again.

‘I can’t get to Sydney easily, which he knows,’ she says. ‘But he doesn’t want to come up here. Or maybe his wife doesn’t.’ She waves a hand as if it’s nothing, even though it is profoundly something . ‘His children probably forget what I look like in between times.’

‘You don’t go to Sydney?’

‘Not if I can avoid it.’ Trudy smiles weakly. ‘The freeway … I’m not mad on it.’

‘It can be a speedway,’ Sol says lightly. ‘What if I were to drive you?’

‘Oh.’ It’s a holding response because she’s so surprised, first that he would offer something so generous, second that he would want to spend all that time in the car with her, third that this may mean he’d meet Dylan, and she’s not sure if she’s ready for that.

‘Perhaps that’s too audacious an offer.’ Sol stares at his glass of wine.

‘It’s not,’ she says, because she doesn’t want to hurt his feelings. ‘It’s very kind. Just … unexpected.’

‘And it does not require a response tonight.’

Their eyes meet and he lifts his glass.

‘A toast – to pleasant evenings.’

She responds to his toast and they each sip their wine.

‘Now,’ he says, ‘Laurie used to tell me which books you were reading.’

‘Did he?’

‘I love reading too, so he’d let me know if you enjoyed a particular book, then I’d go and buy it. So you see – you have been recommending books to me. We have been connected before this. You just didn’t know it.’ His smile is broad, and genuine.

For a second – maybe two – she feels as if he is deeply familiar.

But he isn’t, and she can’t let herself indulge in such a flight of fancy.

However, she notes that he’s not only kind but adept at steering conversations.

Quite the skill. Not one she believes she has needed, because her clients tend to talk at her rather than with her, but she appreciates it in others.

‘Now I can ask you in person,’ he says. ‘Do you have anything to recommend?’

‘That depends.’

‘On?’ There’s mischief in his eyes and she quite likes it.

‘On what you thought of the books Laurie told you about.’

He laughs. ‘Some I liked. Some I didn’t. But that’s how it should be. And I can tell you for sure that I have missed having the recommendations these two years.’

At the mention of time passing, Trudy’s face grows tight.

Two years. Yes. No time at all. And such an aeon.

It will always be both, because time is not as she used to understand it.

Which means she can let the two years stop her – because it’s not enough time to mourn her husband – or spur her on.

To stagnate no longer. To actually connect with someone else.

To get out of her head. To live. To feel.

‘ The Prince of Tides ,’ she says, naming a new book she bought because the bookseller told her it was good.

‘A grand title.’

‘It’s good. Thought provoking. A novel.’

Sol nods slowly. ‘Go on.’

‘ Perfume. ’

His eyebrows shoot up.

‘It’s not what you’d think,’ Trudy adds quickly. ‘It’s a novel too. About a killer who likes … scents, shall we say. Very unusual. But good. Absorbing.’

‘I shall look them up,’ he says.

‘I’ll lend them to you,’ she blurts, surprising herself.

At that, he picks up his glass. ‘Let’s drink to that.’

They have a perfectly nice dinner, and chat about books and hairdressing and places he’s been and she hasn’t.

When Sol drops her home she pops inside to retrieve the books, for which he is grateful.

He does not mention driving to Sydney, and nor does she, but he shows her to her door, and kisses her hand, then waits for her to go safely back inside.

An hour later, as she drifts off to sleep, she doesn’t think of him, but she doesn’t think of Laurie either, and for once her mind is quite empty and she does not resist the pull of dreams.