or an hour-and-a-half’s drive away in Fitchburg.
To complete her attire for the evening, she’d decided on black stockings and—although she knew she’d regret it by the end of the evening—stiletto-heeled black pumps. Rather than using mousse to get her favored spiky look, she’d styled her hair straight and sleek that morning, parted on the side and tucked behind her ears. Because she opted for a lighter shade than she usually wore, her lips were a more natural-looking shimmery rose.
She studied herself in the washroom mirror with a critical eye, much as she’d assessed the showroom earlier.
Elegant wasn’t a word she usually associated with herself nor, frankly, was it something she normally strove for. But tonight? She thought she’d hit the mark.
It was important to her to set the right tone. Not just because she’d put so much personal effort into the event, but because of her goal to be the next curator. She wanted to ensure that Mrs. Sinclair found absolutely no fault with the evening...or her.
Soon after she reentered the showroom, the guests started to trickle in. By seven thirty, the gallery was packed. There were so many people, Chelsea worried that they’d run out of hors d’oeuvres. Or even more concerning, champagne.
Finding a moment to herself, she hurried to the kitchen to see how the supplies were holding up and passed several reporters along the way. She’d hoped there’d be a strong media presence, even though that fell in Joel’s area of responsibility. Getting excellent earned-media coverage was an important side benefit of the event. In her wildest dreams, she wouldn’t have imagined that arts reporters for two Boston media outlets and one from Cambridge would be there, along with all the locals.
Assuring herself that everything was fine in the food and beverages area, she circulated through the room, much like a conscientious hostess. She engaged guests while leaving the media to Mr. Hadley until Mrs. Sinclair and Joel arrived. When she noticed Mr. and Mrs. Rochester, from All That Glitters and Shines, she excused herself from the couple she’d been speaking with and went to greet them. Placing kisses on their cheeks, she stepped back to scrutinize Mr. Rochester. Although they’d spoken on the phone, she hadn’t seen him since the robbery, because the store was closed while repairs were being made under Adam’s supervision.
Chelsea was relieved that the only indication of the trauma Mr. Rochester had suffered was the small bandage he sported on his temple. “How are you feeling?” she asked him with genuine concern.
“I’m fine. As well as can be expected, at my age.” He looked at his wife lovingly. “Between Carla’s fussing and Adam’s, I can hardly wait for the store to open so I can feel useful again.”
“Now, Arnold, don’t start complaining. We have every right to worry about you. It’s part of our job descriptions,” his wife said with a smile, slipping her arm through his.
He patted her hand. “I know, dear, but I really am okay. And speaking of Adam...” He turned back to Chelsea. “He’s here somewhere if you’d like to say hello. I’m afraid Carla and I won’t be staying long. I need my rest.”
“I understand perfectly, and I’m grateful all three of you could make it, especially under the circumstances.” She glanced around the room and saw Adam in conversation with someone in front of a Jose Royo painting. “Can I get you anything before I go see Adam? A glass of champagne?”
“Oh, we’re fine, thank you,” Mrs. Rochester replied.
“Well, then, I hope you’ll enjoy yourselves,” Chelsea added, before wishing them a good night.
She kept working the room and waited until Adam was alone before going to him. She’d known him for as long as she’d been at the Sinclair Gallery. They got on well enough, but with him she’d never felt the mutual affection she did with his aunt and uncle. She’d gotten to know him a little better while she and Joel had dated. Joel and Adam had been friends since they’d gone to school together. Although not as close as they used to be, they were still on good terms. Considering the hardships Adam had endured as a child, she understood why he was reserved. She told herself she should be more accepting, but their personalities were so different—Adam, being more of a loner and introspective—they’d never gotten close. Maybe part of it was that Adam didn’t seem to show an appreciation for art, one of her great loves.
No matter. He was a guest, and she’d make sure he was having a nice time.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” she asked, walking up to him.
“Yeah.” Adam motioned to the crowd behind them. “Impressive turnout. With deep pockets, I’ll bet,” he added.
“We have a good mix of people who appreciate art,” was Chelsea’s diplomatic response.
“As an example, how much is this piece?” he asked, turning back to the painting.
For the higher-valued works, they didn’t display the asking prices. They wanted to have the opportunity to discuss the paintings with anyone who might be interested, rather than immediately scaring them off with the price. Chelsea studied the Royo, too. “It’s a classic example of a contemporary artist whose work is favorably compared to old masters. The best we’ve had in some time. It’s valued at a hundred and thirty thousand dollars.”
“That’s a substantial amount of money, even for the wealthy. We don’t have anything in that price range at All That Glitters and Shines.”
“Trust me. We don’t sell many pieces in this price range, either,” she said and left as soon as she felt she could do so politely.
A quick perusal of the room indicated there were even more people present now. For her own peace of mind, she decided to pop into the kitchen to satisfy herself that they still weren’t running low on anything.
As she exited the kitchen, relieved that they had plenty of everything, she saw Joel with his grandmother. He was guiding her protectively into the room. One thing she’d always liked about Joel was how considerate and loving he was to his grandmother. Family was important to Chelsea, and the way Joel treated his grandmother had endeared him to her when they’d first met.
As usual, Mrs. Sinclair was elegantly dressed. Unless Chelsea was mistaken, today she was wearing a Chanel evening suit in rose, a perfect color to complement her pale and remarkably unlined skin and silver-white hair. Chelsea signaled one of the waitstaff to prepare a cup of the herbal tea Mrs. Sinclair preferred, before heading over to the entrance to greet the owner.
Chelsea was pleased by the smile that appeared on Mrs. Sinclair’s face when she reached her. “Mrs. Sinclair, it’s wonderful to see you. I hope you find everything at tonight’s event to your liking.”
Mrs. Sinclair took Chelsea’s hands in her own. Her grasp was cool and unexpectedly firm. “It’s all lovely, my dear. I’m certain our gala will be a success.”
“I hope so,” Chelsea murmured. “I’ve positioned your chair next to the Angelo bronze,” she said, gesturing. “Oh, and here comes Sandra with your tea.”
“Thank you,” Mrs. Sinclair said, as she accepted the cup from the waitress. “That’s very sweet of you, but enough worrying about me.”
“I’ll keep Grandmother company,” Joel assured Chelsea. “Why don’t you go mingle and sell some art,” he said, not unkindly.
“I’ll
