Signature of a Soul

by Riona Kelly

  Roberto finished wrapping the painting she’d just purchased, setting it on the small table he used for a desk. He glanced up at her. “No. I don’t even know his name. Arturo, my agent, deals with him. He gets the request by email with the details of what the client wants. When the painting is complete, I turn it over to Arturo, and he meets with a courier who receives it, gives Arturo the money, and then delivers it to the client.”

  Even Michelle’s forehead wrinkled with frown lines at this. Lindy pursed her lips as she thought about the strange arrangement. “That’s a curious way to conduct the business, don’t you think?”

  Roberto shrugged. “He pays well and on completion of the project. He told Arturo he wishes privacy and not to disclose any information about himself. Perhaps he is a celebrity, and he fears I might try to promote myself by advertising I have created paintings for him.”

  She thought about his words for a bit before she said, “Maybe you’re right, but it still seems peculiar. I think you need to find a real agent. Arturo is a friend, but he’s not much of an agent, is he?”

  “No, you are right. He is a friend, and he helps me out with the sales.”

  “How did Arturo connect with this client initially?” Michelle asked, voicing the question Lindy was about to ask.

  Roberto reached to a pottery bowl behind him and pulled out two business cards, handing one to each of them. “I usually give my customers a card with their paintings with my name and information and an email address to contact me if they wish more paintings. Arturo handles the email. I get requests every now and then for paintings, so we figured this secret client must have purchased a painting from here or the hotel where I sometimes display.”

  Lindy studied the card for a few moments, noting he had designed it well using a pastel painting for the background. Character studies, portraits, urban and pastoral paintings; commission work accepted, it read. Clever marketing. She may not have been giving Roberto enough credit in the business department. She didn’t think to include a business card with every painting or even have them available on her vendor tables until her newly-acquired agent when she was twenty-two had instructed her to do it.

  She tucked the card into her purse and gave Roberto an approving smile. Reaching for her package, she said, “Good job on this. And thank you for answering my questions. But right now, my ankle is aching. I think a session in one of the spas this afternoon is most appealing, so I am going back to the hotel. Why don’t you come by this evening and we’ll have dinner?”

  She saw her niece’s face alter to a disappointed look and added, “If you wish to visit longer with Roberto, Michelle, you may do so. Just let me know if anything delays you.”

  “Thank you,” Michelle said in a soft voice as her eyes lit up with joy.

  As Lindy took her purchase and made her way cautiously to the corner to get a taxi, she felt content inside. She had forgiven the girl, and all was well again. She felt certain she could trust Michelle not to screw it up.

  Chapter 13

  As the hawk flies, Seville was situated pretty much the same distance from Marbella as the A397 road went, but Michelle guessed the bird could traverse the mountain passages on wind currents much faster than she and her aunt made the drive across the winding one-hundred-sixteen miles cutting through the mountains. Traffic near the historical city of Ronda delayed them nearly thirty minutes as they’d arrived at an unexpectedly busy time for repair work on the highway.

  Unlike the coastal route where the Mediterranean was an almost constant vista, this pass featured a steady view of Spanish fir trees and scrub bushes alongside the road as it wound between the mountain peaks. Near the city, the road began a gradual climb taking take them above the deep ravine cut by the Guadalevin River to form the cliffs of Ronda’s foundation. Higher up, she could look across the valley from the elevated view, and the trees gave way to more barren land alongside them. Close to the city, a few olive tree farms began to sprinkle the open countryside between stands of fir trees.

  “Ronda is an ancient place, and there are cave paintings nearby from the Neolithic era,” Lindy said as she navigated a turn off the main highway. “Let’s stop for coffee and a snack, then take a little time to admire the city while I tell you more about it.”

  “It looks old.” Michelle noted the ancient-looking buildings in the central part of the city. The main influences of southern Spain were evident in the architecture here; Roman and Moorish. The buildings looked ornate and elegant, but most of them wore the clean look of care with whitewashed, plastered walls and regal wrought iron.

  “It is old,” her aunt answered as she looked for a place to park near the cliff and the shopping area. Spotting an open spot, she maneuvered the car into it, backing up, easing in, pulling forward, then repeating a few times to get it wedged into the almost too small opening.

  As Michelle slipped out the door while keeping an eye on the oncoming traffic, she spotted a familiar logo for an American fast food place. “We could always get coffee there,” she said as she came around the car and pointed to the place.

  Lindy followed her gesture, then frowned. “And we could get some better coffee or cocoa at this nice pastry shop a short walk away.”

  She turned away from the icon and strolled toward a store with a pleasant green awning over the window. A painted sign on the salmon-colored wall declared it as Café Constanza.

  The delectable fragrances of oranges, cloves, cinnamon, and other spices greeted them as they entered. At once, a middle-aged Spanish woman, with high cheekbones and an aristocratic manner, welcomed them warmly, gesturing to a table near the window. The shop appeared clean with modern furnishings and equipment although the exterior wore the appearance of at least ten centuries earlier. While the menu had many familiar items on it, from ham sandwiches to tortillas and a wide assortment of pastries, they both yielded to the scents filling the café and ordered the orange almond cake along with cinnamon cocoa.

  As soon as they’d given their order, Michelle checked her smartphone, hoping for a text from Roberto. Even though they’d exchanged a quick goodbye before she and her aunt had left this morning, she still hoped he would stay in touch often. Pausing for coffee in Ronda, she keyed in and sent it.

  “Missing him already?” Lindy asked.

  She nodded. “Aren’t you missing Colin?”

  “I am, but this is nothing more than a holiday romance, sweetie. You can’t get too serious about anyone you meet while traveling. Although I think Colin should have checked Ronda out during his scouting. This is a spectacular place.”

  “Is that why you never married?” Michelle asked, seeing an opportunity to ask about her single status.

  “Something like it. I’ve met a lot of men in various cities in the world, but the fellow you meet on the road rarely ends up the same when you get into a domestic situation. Even Colin. He’s charming, romantic, and seems very exciting. But he’s also divorced; that tells me he probably isn’t all of those things at home. We all play parts when we’re traveling. Now, I could be wrong, and he may have just not had the right wife, but in some ways, it’s better to never find out. At least, you still have a wonderful, although bittersweet memory of the affair.”

  “That sounds sad, Aunt Lindy. If you never take any chances, you’ll never find real happiness.”

  Lindy wiped the pastry flakes off her lips with a napkin and regarded her niece for a few moments. “True, maybe, but you also don’t have the pain and heartache of a terrible breakup. Of feeling like your soul has been ripped from your body, and it will never be whole again.”

  “Wow, that breakup must have been a dozy,” Michelle mumbled.

  Her aunt frowned at her, then pulled out her wallet to pay for their treats. “We’d best get back on the road if we want to get to Sevilla before evening.”

  As they waited, she noticed Lindy stared at one of the paintings on the wall behind her. She turned to look at it. Even she could see the resemblance in style to Robe
rto’s work. “It kind of looks like something Roberto did,” she said.

  “I was thinking the same thing.” Her aunt got to her feet and moved closer to look at the painting. It was of a child and his mother on the seashore as they strolled barefoot along the beach.

  Turning to the woman who had greeted them, she asked, “I am very interested in this painting. I see it’s unsigned, but can you tell me who the artist is?”

  She glanced at the canvas on the wall. “It is quite charming, is it not? But as to the artist’s name, no, I am sorry. I don’t know who painted it. I bought it a few years ago on a trip to Marbella. It was done by a street artist, I believe. At least, it was for sale in a stall there.”

  “I see. It is a very nice painting. It reminds me of an artist who lives there. Perhaps it was the same one. His name is Roberto?”

  The woman smiled but shook her head. “I’m sorry, I just don’t know.”

  “By any chance, would it be for sale?”

  “No, señora. I don’t sell the paintings.”

  “I see. I would be willing to give you three-hundred euros for it.”

  Her eyes widened. “Three hundred? Well, perhaps...”

  Michelle gaped in surprise. What was her aunt doing? Maybe it was Roberto’s work, and maybe it wasn’t, but paying three hundred for an unsigned painting by an unknown artist?

  As the woman removed the painting from the wall, Lindy pulled out the cash and handed it to the owner, who smiled, and no doubt considered it a great sale.

  Lindy deposited the painting in the back seat as she indicated Michelle should get in. “Sevilla awaits.”

  “Why?” Michelle asked. “Why that painting?”

  Lindy started the car and began easing it out of the tight parking space. “I’m playing a hunch, dear. I’m pretty sure it’s one of Roberto’s paintings, and I’m curious why it isn’t signed.”

  “But three-hundred euros for a hunch?” Michelle dropped her head against the back of the seat. She couldn’t follow her aunt’s thinking on this one.

  They arrived in Sevilla in the middle of late afternoon traffic, the main road leading in being backed up, but the area shone splendidly in the golden sunlight. Like many Spanish cities, it shared a mix of modern and medieval architecture. Most of the towns in southern Spain had been influenced by Moorish architecture as the workers came in from across the Straits of Gibraltar. The resulting designs decorated the elegant archways with lacelike facades typical of Arabia.

  “Further north, around Segovia and toward Barcelona, you don’t see these open arches and intricate walls,” Lindy told her. “The north had more of the European influence from the Romans and the Greeks. But wait until you see the Alcazar here in town. It is exquisite.”

  Her aunt exited off the highway, turning into a narrower street toward the central part of town. Michelle was glad she wasn’t driving, but the other drivers still made her jump with their near misses and honking horns. She breathed a sigh of relief as Lindy pulled the car into the parking area for the Hotel El Greco, an older-looking but well-maintained place near the central plaza of the city. Leave it to her aunt to find one named for Spain’s well-known artist.

  Inside, the hotel had a charming old-world elegance, although the elevator to their floor was rather small and slow. Michelle thought it must have been installed shortly after the machinery was designed and hadn’t been replaced since then.

  Whatever failings the elevator may have had, the room itself more than compensated. While it was only a single bedroom, the two large twin beds were comfortable and modern, as were the dressing table and wardrobe. Like the lobby downstairs, arched facades formed the frame for the large windows facing the plaza. Being on the fifth floor gave them a decent view, without too many impediments, toward the city center and the cathedral there.

  “It’s beautiful,” Michelle said as she gazed at the magnificent architecture of the city. With the Arabian decoration so prominent on the buildings, it resembled a fairy tale city in many ways. Yet, the cathedral was massive, and she couldn’t wait to go exploring the downtown area.

  She glanced at her aunt, who had started to unpack her clothes and was hanging her dresses in the wardrobe. “Can we go to the plaza tonight? It looks so beautiful, and it’s a lovely evening.”

  “I don’t see why not. We should have a few more hours of light, and the plaza is beautiful at sunset.” Lindy put a few folded items into a drawer, pulled out her bathroom items, then zipped the suitcase closed again. She turned to face Michelle. “And there are several excellent restaurants along the streets.”

  “Let’s go now,” Michelle said, her grin stretching her face wide and her eyes twinkling.

  “Don’t you want to unpack a little?”

  “It can wait.” She grabbed her purse and reached for her aunt’s hand. “Let’s go now.”

  With a laugh, Lindy picked up her purse as Michelle pulled her toward the door.

  The Plaza de España was about a fifteen-minute walk from the hotel, and although quite a few people were on the streets, Michelle navigated a way through them with ease. Before she left home, she’d looked at the things to do in Seville, and had seen photos of the plaza with all the city tiles so she couldn’t wait to see them in reality.

  Spain and Portugal were famous for their colorful tiles. Even at the hotel and along the street, many doorways and walls were decorated with brightly colored ceramic tiles. One day, Michelle promised herself, I am going to have a Spanish-style house with a tiled entryway with colorful designs made just for me.

  A few people stood around gazing at the tiles, but many more just crossed the plaza, leaving it fairly open for Michelle and her aunt to get close and really look at them. Excited, Michelle pointed to the tiled bench for Segovia, a splendidly beautiful three-sided bench with turquoise, burgundy, and gold heraldic-looking images crafted into them with the back tile being the entry aches to the medieval city. Then, there was one for Malaga with different shades of blue, green, and a scene with knights on horseback.

  She grinned as she turned to her aunt. “This is so beautiful! So many tiles all over the plaza.” She spun around in a slow circle taking in the gigantic plaza with the magnificent portico and fountains.

  With a smile, her aunt pointed out the colors and the significance of the details on the tiles. The Plaza wasn’t too many years old, having been built in 1929 for a Spanish-American exhibition. In terms of Europe, even the tiles were considered recent additions. Still, they were so beautiful that Michelle wanted a photo of every single one of them.

  As Michelle noticed Lindy standing back and watching, she also caught the proud smile on her aunt’s face. Perhaps she was pleased her niece saw the beauty and workmanship in these pieces of art, Michelle conceded. After all, she hadn’t given much of an indication she might be inspired by anything like it.

  With more tiles than she had imagined, Michelle was glad she’d brought her camera rather than just relying on her phone. She hoped she had enough battery power to get all of them and still have some left. She knelt to take another photo, and someone bumped her, nearly knocking her off balance and to the ground.

  “Oh, pardon,” a man’s voice said, and the pardon part sounded more French than Spanish.

  Michelle looked up to see a thirty-something man bending toward her, reaching out a hand to help to her feet. He said something in Spanish and at her blank look, changed to English.

  “I am so sorry, mam’selle. I was distracted by my phone and didn’t see you. Are you all right?”

  She nodded, “Yes, I’m fine. I guess I was kind of in the way. I was taking photos...”

  “Of course. The tiles are magnificent. You’re a tourist, yes? It’s to be expected.”

  Just then, Lindy came up. “Are you okay, Michelle?”

  “Yes, it was just a bump. I didn’t even fall.”

  The man turned to address her aunt. “I apologize, ma’am. I didn’t see your daughter.”

  “Nie
ce,” Lindy corrected automatically.

  As they talked, Michelle looked him over. Slim, very attractive, about her aunt’s age and dressed in a cool blue shirt with a beige linen jacket. As he smiled, lines on his face crinkled into a very charming face. His narrow nose pushed in a little at the top, and his gray eyes sparkled as he spoke.

  “I am Alain Marchant,” he said. “I have a villa near here, although my main home is in Paris.”

  “Delighted. My name is Lindy, and you stumbled over Michelle.”

  “My pleasure to meet you both. I am not normally clumsy. But it is good to see someone with an appreciation for the art found in the city.”

  “Indeed. I take it you are among those.”

  “Yes, of course. I am not just a collector of fine art, but I am also an art dealer.”

  Michelle watched her aunt’s right eyebrow arch, and a small smile played at her lips. This felt like a repeat of the meeting with Colin.

  “Really? Do you have a gallery?”

  “Yes, in Paris. I show many different artists there.”

  “Such as?”

  As he named off several different artists, Michelle tuned him out and resumed taking photos. On a whim, she turned and snapped one of her aunt with Marchant. They were almost the same height, with her aunt being just a bit shorter, although she was wearing a slight heel.

  “Perhaps you and your niece would like to join me for dinner?” Marchant said. Michelle turned to look, shaking her head at her aunt.

  “Unfortunately, not tonight,” Lindy declined. “We already have plans.”

  “Perhaps tomorrow at my villa?” he persisted. “I can have my driver bring you at seven. I insist. I hadn’t realized you are an artist, but now I recall your name. I would love to converse with you, and perhaps I may persuade you to display a few pieces at my gallery. What do you say?”