That was how all his paintings were—an otherwise utterly normal moment, with otherworldly danger lurking just out of view. Tess had never known her grandfather, but she couldn’t help but wonder what kind of man he was if that was how he saw the world.
The art gallery in town, WhartonScapes, featured prints and framed fine-art reproductions of his works, but the originals hung in museums all over the country, and indeed the world. The previous year, one of his more famous paintings, Angry Inland Sea, which captured the lake in all its fury on an especially stormy night, had fetched more than $7 million at auction.
Only part of that money came to the family. Tess’s grandmother had established the Sebastian Bell Foundation for the Arts, which provided arts scholarships to aspiring young （or any age） painters, some years after Sebastian had passed away. For the past year or so, Eli had been working with Tess’s father in administering the foundation and would take over one day soon after Indigo finally relinquished the reins and retired. He had taught his grandson well. Eli was up to the job and enthusiastic about it.
Indigo, who had inherited his parents’ fortune after his brother, Grey, disappeared after Wharton’s annual Fourth of July celebration decades earlier, had put part of the proceeds of that massive sale, and others over the years, into the foundation, and the rest into a trust for Tess and, when her son was born, for Eli, accessible only if they worked for a living. Some of it went into a retirement account that Tess couldn’t access until she was sixty-five.
Tess looked upon it as a cushion that she would dip into only when necessary. It allowed her and Eli, as it had allowed Indigo, to pursue careers they really enjoyed, rather than having to work at a job they didn’t like in order to simply live. Tess knew how fortunate she was, and she made sure Eli knew it, too.
That was what was paying for Tess’s renovations to La Belle Vie, which, she reasoned, would’ve pleased Sebastian Bell a great deal. She liked to think so, anyway.
“It’s amazing to see this up close,” Jane mused, studying the painting. “The brushstrokes. Do you have others?”
Tess shook her head. “This one came with the house. It’s always been here. Apparently, my grandfather loved it a great deal and never wanted to sell it. My parents have another one in their home in Florida, but that’s it. We don’t keep many of his works lying around.”
“No, they’re lying around in MoMA,” Jim piped up, gazing at the painting. “He really was remarkable, wasn’t he?”
“I wish I had inherited some of his talent,” Tess said. “But, alas.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Jim said. “The dinner you just served us was a work of art in itself.”
This warmed Tess from the inside out. How nice of him to say that. And, she had to admit, he was right, in a way. Cooking was creative. Finding just the right dish to serve at the right time, taking care to select foods that she knew her guests would love, preparing them in her own way. Making sure everyone was happy. Hospitality was an art. Her canvas was a table. She guessed it wasn’t so different, after all.
Jane turned to her, pulling her out of her own thoughts. “Do you have some sort of security system? I mean, for when you open the house up to guests. You don’t want one of them walking away with this masterpiece.”
Tess nodded. “Since nobody was living here full time when my parents moved to Florida a couple of years back, my dad put in the same kind of security system that museums use. The frame is bolted to the wall, so it’s not going anywhere easily. But if anyone touches it, or even gets too close, an alarm goes off, and the police are called immediately.”
That painting had hung above the fireplace at La Belle Vie for as long as Tess could remember. But, security or no security, she’d talk to her father about moving it before the first guest arrived.
CHAPTER FIVE
After Jane and Jim had gone, Tess bundled up to take the dog outside for a walk. At first, he was reluctant to step through the doorway, thinking perhaps that he wouldn’t be allowed back inside. But Tess coaxed him, tugged a bit on the leash that Jim had brought with him, and soon the dog gingerly stepped across the threshold and into the night.
At first, he pulled and tugged at the leash, but then he settled into the rhythm of the walk, trotting at Tess’s side. They walked through the snowy streets, which by that time had all been plowed. Snowbanks were piled high on the curbs. She had never seen Wharton blanketed like this. It looked like a winter wonderland, a totally different town. Lights burned brightly from many of the houses, and Tess could see families around their own dinner tables or in their living rooms. It was a cozy feeling, watching the domestic tableaux through their windows.