In truth, the images Henry had chosen held no special significance for Mrs. Mellon. They weren't particularly private photographs, either. After all, they had originally appeared in reputable magazines or other media, so he'd naturally played it safe when selecting them.
Yet presenting these ordinary photographs in such an extraordinary way stirred up a flood of emotions in the already sentimental Rachel Lambert Mellon. Before long, tears were streaming uncontrollably from her eyes.
However, no one was worried about her crying. If anything, they were more concerned that she might be unable to cry at all. A healthy emotional release was far more effective than other people trying desperately to talk someone out of their grief.
The clearest indication of this was the marked improvement in how Henry and Katherine Hepburn were treated after Mrs. Mellon had finished crying. Even the previously aloof servants of the Mellon household now looked at them with noticeably warmer eyes.
Having regained her composure, Mrs. Mellon immediately began directing the household staff to find the most prominent possible location in which to display the crystal Henry had brought.
Although it was a personal gift to her, it was also an artwork brought to participate in the exhibition. The images depicted her and her husband, but they were perfectly respectable and certainly suitable for public display.
Putting aside her personal emotions and the memories of the man she missed so dearly, Rachel Lambert Mellon could naturally recognize the true value of the crystal.
She had never heard of or seen this kind of technique for manipulating light and shadow. If an achievement like this wasn't worthy of support and praise, then this woman, who had devoted her entire life to the pursuit of art, didn't know what else would be.
In every respect, she adored the work. She immediately led the others and the household servants into the garden to find a suitable place to exhibit it.
For this exhibition, none of the individual artworks was meant to be the absolute centerpiece. Instead, Mrs. Rachel Lambert Mellon had arranged them throughout her carefully designed garden, interspersed among its various features.
Everything in the garden appeared harmonious. Whenever visitors strolling through it discovered an artwork, they would also find themselves marveling at the ingenuity of its placement.
In a sense, the way the exhibition itself was arranged could be considered an art form, quite apart from the artworks on display.
In this setting, Henry's cloudy crystal replaced the rosebush that had previously occupied the center of a circular display stand in the spring corridor. The magnificent rosebush, covered in blossoms of every color, was moved to a lower circular tier, while the crystal became the elevated focal point.
As for the need to connect the crystal's base to a power supply, that was easily solved by running a cable or using a battery. Henry didn't need to help with that.
He made it clear to the Mellon servants responsible for the installation that the base was nothing more than a motor, gears, wires, and a light bulb. They could arrange those components however they liked. But if the crystal was knocked or chipped and its internal fracture patterns were disturbed, there would be no way to fix it.
With that warning, everyone understood exactly what they needed to be careful about.
Once everything had been arranged, Rachel Lambert Mellon stood there gazing dreamily at the crystal holograms for quite some time. Beside her, Katherine Hepburn casually began reminiscing about her past with Spencer Tracy.
When two women who had both lost the great loves of their lives spoke about the men who had passed away, it was as though every flaw those men had possessed had somehow become an endearing virtue. Every little detail was something they couldn't bear to forget.
The courses their love stories had taken were quite different, however. Katherine Hepburn's passionate, tumultuous romance had made her seem almost like the other woman intruding on someone else's marriage.
The truth was that Spencer Tracy and his first wife had long since fallen out of love and had been living separately for a considerable period. They simply hadn't divorced because of the man's religious beliefs.
Katherine Hepburn had entered his life during that time. Strictly speaking, under the legal definition, she had indeed been the other woman...
In any case, the two had understood and cherished each other, sharing the final stretch of his life before he passed away and left Katherine Hepburn behind.
The marriage between Rachel Lambert and Paul Mellon had appeared to outsiders to be an alliance between two old-money families. In reality, the situation had been far more complicated. For both of them, it was their second marriage.
A first marriage might still be influenced by parental expectations, but a second marriage was unlikely to happen without the individuals' own wishes. The only exception would be a child who was nothing more than a puppet, blindly obeying whatever the elders of the family commanded.
But Paul Mellon and Rachel Lambert were both strong-willed individuals. Neither had much interest in managing the family business. Instead, they devoted themselves to their own passions.
For Paul Mellon, that meant thoroughbred horses. For Rachel Lambert Mellon, it was horticulture. Both also had considerable knowledge of art, giving them another interest in common.
This kind of spiritual and intellectual compatibility was far more solid than a marriage based purely on strategy. It was what had allowed them to share forty-three years together, right up until Paul Mellon's death.
As the two old ladies continued discussing those who were no longer with them, they found it increasingly difficult to maintain their composure. Their conversation was gradually turning into a full-blown session of mutual complaining about their departed loved ones.
Henry, who had been quietly lurking behind them and thoroughly enjoying the gossip, was dragged away by Givenchy, the worldly old fox.
If he listened to too much of that sort of conversation, wasn't he afraid they'd silence him permanently?
The older and younger men didn't go far. Instead, they began discussing the artworks displayed nearby.
Henry was always careful with his choice of words and rarely criticized or disparaged a work of art outright. After all, art was a field where personal taste reigned supreme. Dismissing something simply because he didn't like it could hurt the feelings of people who genuinely appreciated it.
Besides, truth be told, nothing on display at Mrs. Mellon's art appreciation reception was ordinary. Every piece had been personally examined by the hostess, who had decided whether and how it should be displayed.
If an item was genuinely poor, she would politely return it to its owner. Mrs. Mellon had no intention of turning her reception into an advertising platform for soliciting investors, cluttered with worthless junk designed to fleece people out of their money.
Her reception had attracted quite a few people who were well informed about the art world. Some had even tried to bring along all sorts of questionable objects, hoping some unsuspecting rich fool would make an offer.
Rachel Lambert Mellon could see through such schemes at a glance and had rejected their requests. Thanks to the prestige of being Mrs. Mellon, no one dared openly challenge her decisions.
With that filter in place, anything that made it into the art exhibition at Oak Spring Farm was bound to be extraordinary. Genuine antiques and original works needed no further explanation. Even the modern and contemporary pieces conveyed the powerful emotions of their creators.
Henry didn't dislike these intensely individualistic works. In fact, he could even sense a touch of madness in some of them.
The discovery struck a chord with him. People like them, he supposed, could only maintain a normal life by hiding that little bit of madness somewhere else.
Take himself, for example. During the years he'd spent alongside the old lady, he'd occasionally created a few paintings of his own. Unfortunately, even he had no desire to look at them again. As soon as he'd finished, he'd tossed them into the lightless depths of his underwater laboratory.
Perhaps he should build a switch connected to a cardiac pacemaker, so that if his heartbeat ever stopped, all the things that needed to be destroyed would automatically be erased.
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