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with the bright fabrics and interesting pieces she and his father had collected over the years, some pre-Columbian, others European antiques, some from India, and a number of paintings and sculptures by her artist friends. His father had thrived on the eclectic people she drew to them, and had enjoyed meeting most of them. He had called it a “modern-day salon,” like those in Paris in the twenties and thirties, or the entourage around Picasso, Matisse, Cocteau, and Hemingway or Sartre. She also collected playwrights and writers, anyone who was steeped in the arts, or creative in some way.
    “I’m sure you’ll solve it,” he said, referring to the painting. She always did. She put a great deal of thought into her work. They chatted easily while she spread out all his favorite food on the kitchen table. One of her greatest joys in life was spoiling him, in whatever way she could, even with a simple dinner in her kitchen. He was touched by the effort she made.
    He complained about the jewelry department at Christie’s again, and she reminded him that it was up to him to make a change, and not just sit there stagnating, waiting for fate to take a hand. And then he told her about the collection of jewels he was going to see that week, and how impressive they appeared to be from the photographs he had seen.
    “Who did they belong to?” she asked with an interested look.
    “Some countess who died penniless with a fortune in jewels, and no heirs,” he said, summing it up for her from the little he knew himself.
    “How sad for her,” Valerie said, sympathetic for a woman she didn’t know, as she pushed her mane of white hair back with a graceful hand, and they sat down to dinner together. And eventually she got around to asking him if he was dating anyone special at the moment. He shook his head.
    “Not since the last one I broke up with almost a year ago. I’ve just had casual dates since then. She hated my boat. I think she was jealous of it.” His mother grinned at what he said.
    “I think I would be too. You spend more time on that boat than with anyone you’ve gone out with. Women are funny about things like that – they expect you to spend time with them too.”
    “Oh, that,” Phillip said, and laughed. “I will spend more time when I meet the right one.” His mother gave him a cynical glance, and he looked sheepish for a minute. “What’s wrong with spending weekends on a sailboat on Long Island Sound?”
    “A lot, in freezing weather in the winter. You have to do other things too, or you’ll wind up alone on that boat forever. I was talking to your aunt Winnie about going to Europe together next summer, by the way,” she said, as she handed him a platter of tomatoes and mozzarella with fresh basil leaves on it. “But she’s not an easy person to travel with,” Valerie said about her older sister.
    “Are you going?” Phillip was curious.
    “I don’t know. I love Winnie, but she worries about everything and complains all the time. And everything is scheduled down to the last second. I like trips to be more free form, and make decisions as I go along. That drives Winnie nuts, and makes her anxious. We have to stick to her schedule at all times. It’s a bit like enlisting in the army. I think I’m getting too old for that,” she said, smiling.
    “Or too young. I wouldn’t enjoy that either. I don’t know how she doesn’t drive you insane.” Phillip had kept his distance from his dour old aunt for years.
    “I love her. That helps make her more tolerable. But traveling in Europe with her might be too much to ask.” She had done it before, but always swore she wouldn’t do it again, and then she did, mostly out of pity for Winnie, who had no one else to travel with. Both women were widowed, but Valerie had a much larger circle of friends, many of them artists, and in a wide variety of ages. Some of her friends were Phillip’s age, and others were even older than she was. Valerie