The Diva Serves Forbidden Fruit

On our honeymoon, my husband and I went to Paris. I took so many great photographs and I’d love to put up a photo display over our sofa. How do I go about doing that?

Parisian Memories in London, Kentucky

Dear Parisian Memories,

Select the photos you want to use. Matt and frame them all exactly the same way. It’s easiest if they are all the same size. If they’re not, lay them out on the floor and rearrange them until you are happy with the way they look. Then hang them.

I had little hope that Mrs. McElhaney’s sketch would resemble a living person. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to look. “I would love to see it.”

She clapped her hands together, then picked up her watering can. “Do come in.”

“May the dogs go inside?” I asked.

“Of course. My cat, Murphy, may not approve, but he’ll get over it.”

She led me into a narrow hallway, where she had wisely hung an oversized mirror to make it feel larger. We walked through a sweet living room, tidy, but with all the comforts of life. Magazines, remote control, books, a bottle of lotion. I could imagine her lounging on the chintz sofa in the evening. It matched the fabric of the curtains with large roses in various shades of red and pink. It felt like an English garden room.

A stunning still life painting of lush peonies in a blue and white vase hung over the fireplace. Other paintings adorned the walls, but the one that caught my eye was of a young bride. The top of her dress had a round neckline and short sleeves made of lace. At the waist, the lace gave way to satin and billowed out behind her. She wore short white gloves and a short veil attached to a floral tiara. The girl wore her hair up in a French twist and had a stunningly beautiful face.

“Is that you?” I asked.

“Hard to believe, isn’t it? My husband insisted we hang it there. For many years I thought we should replace it with something else. It seemed sort of pompous to have a painting of myself hanging in the living room like I thought I was some kind of princess. But I don’t get much company these days and I don’t mind looking at my past anymore. It reminds me what a wonderful life I’ve had.”

She continued to the kitchen, where all the cabinets were painted a soft green. Through French doors, I could see her garden and immediately knew where she spent her days. Unlike most people, she hadn’t bothered to separate flowers from vegetables. It was a curious mix of blooms and vines, but it worked. Not a single weed dared invade.

“You have a lovely house and your garden is amazing!”

She was thanking me when we heard a yowl and a flash of fur shot to the top of a kitchen cabinet. Murphy the cat looked to be larger than Muppet. Long-haired and clearly annoyed, his tail hung over the cabinet swishing and twitching.

“Murphy! You be nice to our guests.”

From deep inside his throat, he issued an angry murmur.

“May I offer you a cup of coffee?” she asked. “I had just put on a pot when I went out to water the plants. I’m afraid I haven’t any croissants, though.”

“Coffee would be nice, thank you,” I said, taking a seat at a small table covered by a cloth in a purple and blue wisteria pattern.

Mrs. McElhaney brought sugar and a small pitcher of cream to the table. I looked around while she poured the coffee into Roy Kirkham fine china mugs with roses on them. I recognized his style immediately.

On the wall behind the kitchen table was a collection of framed pen-and-ink sketches of Old Town. They were incredibly precise and captured the quaint beauty. I squinted at the signature in the corner of one, A. McElhaney.

Mrs. McElhaney set the mugs on the table, along with spoons and crisp white napkins. “It’s such fun to have a visitor,” she said. She stirred the sugar in her tea. “Especially one who isn’t extolling the virtues of assisted living.” She winked at me.

“Who is the artist in your family?” I asked, gesturing at the sketches.

“I’m afraid it’s me, dear. My children make fun of mom’s drawings,” she said snarkily with a smile. “I never appreciated my father’s hobby of carving wood until I was an adult. One day, I hope they’ll look at my drawings and be glad to have them. How we change as we go through life!” She sipped her tea and said, “I almost forgot the reason you came.” She stood up and retrieved a sketchpad. “This is the man I saw coming out of Lark’s house the morning she died.” Mrs. McElhaney handed it to me.

I very nearly spilled my coffee.