A dark comedy.Colin’s mother’s party was being held in a gallery in the Place des Vosges, just two houses down from the building that would have once held Antoine Daubier’s studio. The clear plate glass of the windows looked very incongruous between the heavy stone arches. Inside, the gallery space had been entirely gutted, the walls painted a glaring white against which the jewel tones of Colin’s mother’s paintings showed to even greater effect.Colin led me up to his mother, Serena following quietly behind. Mrs. Selwick-Selwick-Alderly was talking to someone, a champagne glass already in one hand, but she turned as we approached, letting out a little cry of greeting as Colin approached.Like Serena, she was thin, but her skin sat comfortably on her bones, making her slenderness a pleasant thing rather than a sickly one.I hadn’t realized, looking at old pictures, just how tall she was. In heels, she was nearly as tall as her son. He scarcely had to bend to brush her cheek with his lips.“Mum,”
