With the keyboard ready, she took in her mother’s paintings, one to four on her right and five to nine on her left.
The paintings looked different in a row. For her CD cover she had arranged photos of the works to form a perfect square. She thought back to last Monday and the moment Harriet swept into the kitchen and declared her paintings finished. After the congratulatory hug and celebratory talk, Ginny had gone to the studio with her camera to photograph each one, then on to the printers, returning an hour later with nine neatly guillotined prints.
By then it was lunchtime and Harriet busy making coffee and bruschetta. Ginny laid out the prints on the table and asked her to take a look. Her mother was always more amenable in the middle of the day, or rather, more easily inveigled. Har
