A sharp, derisive laugh slipped from Elena as she looked Celestine up and down. “You haven’t even shown us your gift, and you’re already trying to wheedle something out of our birthday boy?”
Celestine ignored her, sitting with perfect poise just below Alistair’s place of honor. She winked at him playfully. “May I, Grandpa?”
Chester stepped in, unable to hold back. “Celestine, this is Grandpa’s birthday party. Show some respect.”
He glanced uneasily around at the guests. The last thing they needed was for outsiders to see the Fordhams behaving like this.
Alistair, however, simply chuckled. He’d rarely seen Celestine so spirited and paid no mind to Elena’s barbs. “Of course you may.”
He shot Chester a wry look. “Chester, since when did you become more
old–fashioned than me?”
Chester ducked his head. “Yes, Grandpa. You’re right.”
He remembered their long conversation the night before, when Alistair had woken early and summoned him for a private talk. The old man had issued an ultimatum: if Chester didn’t take charge of his own household and restore his relationship with Celestine, the Fordham inheritance might well be revoked.
Chester pressed his hand to the table, his expression turning thoughtful. Celestine was already pregnant. If all went well, she’d be back with him within a month. Until then, it was best not to provoke her and to give her what she wanted.
Three servants carried out the gift Celestine had prepared.
The guests craned their necks, curiosity piqued by the spectacle.
The present was tightly wrapped in violet silk, nearly sixteen feet long and three feet wide.
Alistair’s eyes sparkled with anticipation.
“Come now, open it up! Let me see what you’ve brought me.”
He hardly needed to guess–it could only be a painting.
Mr. Selwyn’s health had been declining for years; new works from his own hand
were rare, and authentic pieces even rarer. Such a grand painting must have taken
1/2
20:22
tremendous effort.
Celestine stepped forward and carefully unwrapped the canvas.
A riot of color burst forth: a luminous oil painting of a vineyard in full bloom, breathtaking in its beauty and scale. The scene depicted the daily workings of the vineyard–dozens upon dozens of figures, each uniquely rendered and alive with movement. The workers wore clothing from the 1920s and ‘30s, their gestures and expressions so vivid and distinct that not a single face could be overlooked.
Alistair was speechless, but the joy on his face said it all.
“It’s beautiful. Absolutely beautiful!”
Celestine smiled softly. “So, do you like it, Grandpa?”
But before Alistair could answer, an angry voice sliced through the gathering.
“Celestine! As a Fordham, how dare you do something so shameless! That painting is clearly a fake!”
Celestine’s eyes flicked toward the source of the outburst–Elena again, her voice trembling with outrage.
“Miss Langley, what makes you so sure my painting’s a fake?”
Elena scoffed. “You really want to know? The original of this piece–painted by Mr. Caffrey in the 1980s–is hanging in my family’s studio right now! Yours is an obvious forgery, and you have the gall to parade it in front of Alistair? Honestly, have you no shame?”
She jabbed a finger at the vineyard scene, her indignation boiling over.
A wave of shock swept through the room.
“Unbelievable–Mrs. Fordham really brought a fake to the party? What a way to
show off.”
“Tsk, let’s wait and see. Maybe there’s more drama to come.”
Celestine met Elena’s glare with calm, utterly unruffled.
Elena shifted uneasily under the steady gaze. “Why aren’t you saying any hit the mark?”
Alistair frowned, about to speak on Celestine’s behalf.
g? Did I
But Serena, anxious to defend her friend, quickly interjected. “Sister–in–law, you weren’t tricked, were you? I’ve seen the original painting at Elena’s house myself.
apter 150
She’d never lie about it–theirs is the real one. Besides, Grandpa, I heard this was supposed to be a new piece by Mr. Selwyn. But as far as I know, he’s always painted watercolors–since when did he start working in oils?”
