A.J. and Elysia quickly vetoed this. “It will do you good to get out, petal,” Elysia said cheerfully. “No point hanging about brooding about the long-lost past or where to find replacements for brass keyhole covers.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Medea muttered, clearly unconvinced of any such thing. “Now if we were going for a game of golf-”

But Elysia ruthlessly overrode any possibility of golf, and in the end Medea allowed herself to be persuaded. Leaving Morag to guard the house, they drove into the town of Newton in Medea’s giant old black Bentley.

The historic town of Newton, or “the Pearl of Kittatinny,” was a lovely old town located in the Northwest Skylands. Granted, it was a little limited as far as arts and entertainment day-tripping went. There was the Snow-mobile Barn Museum, which all three women agreed to give a wide miss to, and the Newton Fire Museum. The town boasted no fewer than four terrific golf courses. A.J. and Elysia again had to overrule Medea, who opted they skip the hair appointments for a few rounds. There were a number of cute shops and boutiques, and some charming cafés and restaurants.

After a leisurely lunch at Andre’s Restaurant and Wine Boutique, they drove to The Salon, a large white building with ionic pillars lining the front like a Greek temple. It wasn’t an ugly building, but it stuck out like a sore thumb amidst the historic architecture of Newton.

Medea and Elysia were greeted like old friends by the salon owner, Gloria Sunday.

“Elysia, darling.” Gloria was so exquisite she could have been made out of porcelain. Her makeup was flawless and her champagne-colored hair was so shiny and perfect it could have been a wig. Maybe it was. No concession had been made to her age, which was probably in her seventies. “So lovely to see you.”

Elysia and Gloria air-kissed and then Gloria turned to Medea.

“Medea, darling.” Gloria’s smile faltered, but then recovered. “At least you haven’t gone to a competitor. That’s a mercy. Tim awaits you.” She gestured to a slim young man with a goatee and a gold earring.

“Och,” Medea said, “I wasnae going to-”

She was whisked away, still feebly protesting. Gloria smiled a tiny, satisfied smile.

“My daughter, Anna,” Elysia said.

“Anna.” Sherry-colored eyes flicked over A.J. appraisingly, lingering on her hair. Gloria’s smile stayed firmly in place, but it seemed to require effort.

Elysia added, “She inherited my late sister’s studio.”

The sherry-colored gaze sharpened. “Ah. Of course, of course. Welcome, my dear. We have you down for the Athenian.”

Hopefully the Athenian was a “what” and not a “who.” A.J. said, “I just wanted a trim, really.”

Elysia and Gloria laughed gaily at the very idea. Gloria appeared to consider and then she gestured like a sorceress summoning a genie. “Alessandro, I think.”

Alessandro turned out to be a very handsome young Latino from Brooklyn. He had a sultry smile and a short ponytail. When he shook A.J.’s hand he clasped it warmly in both of his.

“This is a treat for me,” he told A.J. as he settled her in the reclining chair next to a shampoo basin shaped like a golden shell. “I can’t think of the last time I worked with someone who wasn’t suffering hot flashes.”

A.J. couldn’t help wondering what charming lies he told the menopausal someones. That it was a relief to work with someone mature?

“You don’t have many male clients?”

“We don’t have any.” Alessandro sounded definite. A.J. glanced around the salon. All the patrons were indeed female. And all the stylists were male. Young, handsome males. Gloria seemed to have isolated and identified her target market, and, judging by appearances, business was booming.

Alessandro certainly seemed worth his weight in gold. He had magical fingers, and as he skillfully massaged A.J.’s neck and scalp, she began to toy with the notion of hiring a masseuse for Sacred Balance. They had recently hired a physician for their Sitka Yoga program, so why not a masseuse? Especially since Mara Allen had one for Yoga Meridian.

Not that A.J. wanted to fall into her old competitive mind-set. Yoga wasn’t just about stretching the body; surely she had managed to stretch her mind a little over the last year? Still, she had no intention of lying there in Corpse Pose while Mara Allen took over her business.

After the shampoo, Alessandro painted a purple glaze on A.J.’s hair and left her browsing a copy of Vogue under a dryer. She turned the magazine pages and surreptitiously studied the busy salon. Nearly every chair was full this Saturday afternoon. And every chair was manned-no pun intended-by an enthusiastic young sir chatting and charming his client. Alessandro was correct. With the exception of herself, none of the clients looked under forty-five.

A.J. spotted Medea beneath a veil of black hair. A few stations down she spied her mother; recognized the expression and the moving lips: Elysia was interrogating her smiling stylist.

Over by the elegant front desk-seemingly designed to look like a marble and gold sacrificial altar-Gloria was speaking earnestly to a tall, thin, courtly-looking older man.

Alessandro returned and escorted A.J. to the “styling pavilion.” Here A.J. was given a flute glass of champagne to sip while Alessandro asked her a variety of questions about her job, morning routine, and exercise habits in order to determine the best possible haircut for her.

Back when A.J. had been an up-and-coming freelance marketing consultant she had paid major dollars to have her long, chestnut hair highlighted at the John Barrett Salon on Fifth Avenue. She really hadn’t taken time to get a serious cut and color since she’d moved to New Jersey. Maybe it was time for a new look.

Alessandro certainly seemed to think so and made numerous suggestions-most of them good. One thing for sure, he wasn’t just a pretty face. He did know his craft, and in between the amiable third degree he snipped and trimmed, eyes narrowed as he measured one side of A.J.’s hair against the other.

“So you’re just having a girls’ day out, Anna?”

“Yes. Call me A.J.” She watched the silver flash of scissors. “How long have you worked at the salon?”

“Just about a year. And your mom used to be a movie star?”

“In Britain, yes.” A.J. preferred not to go there. Elysia had a startlingly large cult following among young males. Her gaze fell on Gloria who was still talking to the handsome, but increasingly restive-looking, older man. “Who is Gloria talking to?”

“That’s her partner Stewie Cabot. Are you married, A.J.?”

“Nope. Not anymore.” She smilingly batted the ball back in Alessandro’s court. “Are Gloria and Stewie involved?”

“Nah. No way. Stewie’s gay.” Alessandro chuckled. “You’re engaged, I bet?”

And so it went. Alessandro was charming and attentive and never shut up. No, that wasn’t true. He listened very carefully to all of A.J.’s answers to his questions-and he had many questions. Somehow his interrogation managed to skirt the line of actually being intrusive; Alessandro seemed merely young and guileless. Maybe A.J. was conscious of how many questions he was asking because she was doing her best to question him.

While they fenced, Alessandro snipped and styled. At the end of two and a half hours A.J. had a short, feathery cut that was stylish but wouldn’t require too much work with her active lifestyle.

“It’s lovely,” she admitted, holding a hand mirror to examine the close cropped back of her head.

Alessandro handed her his card. “My pleasure. I would love to see you again, A.J. Anytime.”

A.J. thanked him. When they shook hands, Alessandro gently, meaningfully squeezed her hand.

Elysia stood at the front waiting for her. Her eyes widened at A.J.’s approach. “You look absolutely fabulous, pet.” She bade A.J. turn, which A.J. did.