Page 70 of Lessons in Love at the Seaside Salon
‘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 busywife.’ 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 profoundlysomething. ‘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.’
