Signature of a Soul

by Riona Kelly

  “Already?” Michelle asked. “He’s here already?”

  “He must have left Marbella before he called you back,” Lindy said.

  They turned to the lounge, as the place called the bar, and went in. Roberto spotted them as soon as they entered and jumped to his feet to come to meet them.

  “Let’s go up to our room so we can talk,” Lindy suggested.

  “Si,” Roberto agreed. He had gotten a glass of wine, which he picked up to take with him, but he paused to ask them, “Would you like wine or some other drink?”

  Michelle shook her head as Lindy went on ahead to the elevator. As it clunked to the fourth floor, Michelle asked Roberto about the trip over, and he admitted he’d left before noon.

  Once they were in the room, Lindy grabbed a bottle of water, twisted the top off, and sat in the chair at the little round table by the window. Then she turned to Roberto and asked, “Why did you decide to come on such short notice? Did it have to do with the painting?”

  He took a seat on the edge of the bed and sipped at his wine. “Yes and no. My curiosity was aroused when I saw the painting in the photo. It was one of the first ones I did when I started selling my work in Marbella. I remembered it because it was a special request. But also, I wanted to deliver a small picture I had done for a friend here, and it gave me an excuse to see Michelle as well.”

  “Tell me, were you trying to duplicate another artist’s style when you painted it? In fact, are you copying a well-known artist now?”

  Eyebrows shooting up, Roberto looked utterly shocked at the suggestion. Even Michelle’s eyes shot wide with alarm when her aunt flat out asked the question. He spoke up at once. “No, I do not copy any other artists. My style is my own. Why do you ask?”

  “You’re positive you painted the canvas in the photo Michelle sent?”

  “Of course, I am. I recall painting it very clearly.”

  “Have you ever heard of an artist called Pablo de Sintra?”

  He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. He is not one I am familiar with.”

  “He’s become a name in the art world in the past five years. His first art gained attention about the time you did the painting we saw last night. The canvas hangs in the home of an art dealer here in Seville, and it is signed by Pablo de Sintra.” Lindy stared at him intently, waiting for his reaction.

  Michelle’s eyes darted to him, anger and embarrassment that her aunt would even ask the question making her cheeks blush.

  “What?! No, I am sure it is my painting. If anyone else could have one that matches it, then that person copied me. No one could have come up with the same scene and the same model since she is my cousin.” Roberto’s voice held a touch of anger, and he waved his right hand to indicate a negative, but he remained calm as he spoke. Deep concern showed in his dark eyes. “You say an art dealer has it on display at his home?”

  “Yes, a Frenchman named Alain Marchant. Have you heard the name before?” Lindy replied.

  Roberto’s eyebrows pulled together as he thought. “The name is familiar, but I have never met him. I am sure. Can you describe him?”

  “He’s about five-foot-nine, medium build, on the thin side. He has an oval face, with more of a point at the chin. His eyes are gray, not too wide, and narrow set. He has an average length Roman nose. But I can do better than describe him.” She held up her phone to display a photo of Marchant from the gallery web site.

  Roberto took the photo and studied the image, then shook his head. “I don’t recall ever seeing him. If he had bought a painting from me, I would have remembered.” He frowned as he continued to look. The photo was one of three on the webpage. He pointed to the one next to him. “This man, the light-haired one, I have seen him before, but I don’t recall where.”

  Lindy took the phone and studied the other man’s face. “Lovell Clavier is the gallery’s business manager. Did you study in Paris at any time where you might have encountered him?”

  “I was there for a couple of months, but I don’t recall seeing him. I am at a loss. All I know is the painting is one of mine.” He slumped back on the bed.

  “I had to ask you,” Lindy said, “because I suspect something is not right. It’s possible Pablo de Sintra saw your painting and duplicated it. If this was an early painting of his also, he might have just copied the style. But I want to check into it more. Don’t concern yourself until we learn more.”

  “You made it sound like an accusation,” Michelle interjected, the irritation in her voice sounding bitter. She felt her aunt could have handled it better.

  “No, no, it’s all right,” Roberto said, holding out his right hand to Michelle. “I’m not offended. It was a fair question, and now there is a puzzle why my painting bears another man’s name. Perhaps I should be flattered if someone has copied one of my pieces and claimed it. It means I am good, no?” He laughed a little, and Michelle returned the smile.

  “You’re right. It’s a puzzle. Perhaps I can learn more about it from Marchant without revealing anything. So, what are your plans for the evening?” Lindy relaxed back in the chair as she asked.

  Roberto’s expression brightened as he replied, “I know a couple of nice, typical Spanish food restaurants here in the area. And with your permission, I would like to take Michelle to a flamenco club to see some amazing dancers.”

  “Sounds delightful. Don’t stay out too late. I know the clubs stay open into the early hours, but please get her back by midnight. Are you staying at the hotel, Roberto?”

  “No, my cousin lives here, so I will be staying there tonight and going back home tomorrow.”

  “Then maybe you can stop by here for breakfast in the morning,” Lindy suggested.

  “Yes, I would like that,” he replied, then stood and picked up his wine glass. “I’m going to return this to the bar, and I’ll wait for you down there, Michelle.”

  She nodded. “It will take me about fifteen minutes to get ready.” She walked with him to the room door and said in a low voice, “I’m sorry my aunt sounded like an inquisitioner. I never thought for a moment...”

  “It’s okay. She is just trying to understand as am I. I am sure we will find a good answer.” He gave her a quick kiss, setting her heart quivering, then turned to go to the elevator.

  Michelle whirled back around and glared at her aunt. “You made it sound like he was a forger.”

  “Nonsense. A forger would have signed the original artist’s name on the painting. No, if it’s a copy of Roberto’s painting, which is duplicated very well, and signed by another artist, then it is theft. But it could be an unintentional one if the artist copied it for practice and didn’t intend to sell it. If Marchant saw it and wanted it for his own gallery, then it would be a private transaction, and so long as he doesn’t sell it, there would be no crime involved.”

  “Sounds complicated.”

  “It is, which is why I want to learn more about the situation. Now go get ready.” Lindy opened her tablet and began searching the web.

  Michelle pulled out a pretty yellow and red floral dress and headed to the bathroom, then came back out to grab a pair of slacks and a yellow fiesta blouse as she remembered she would be on the back of Roberto's motorcycle. When she came out dressed for the evening and slipped on a pair of sandals, she noticed Lindy was absorbed in whatever she'd found on the web.

  "Bathroom is yours. I'm leaving. Don't stay out too late, Auntie."

  Lindy waved her out the door, and Michelle chuckled as she went down the hall.

  Roberto seemed to know Seville almost as well as he knew Marbella, Michelle thought as he zipped down one of the side streets, leading them away from the central part of the city. In a few quick turns, he took them to another neighborhood that looked less like a tourist attraction and more like a place where the locals went to enjoy themselves.

  Like most cities in Spain, Seville boasted a thriving nightlife. People still preferred their afternoon siesta breaks and late-night social life. S
he and Roberto arrived a little earlier for dinner than many of the rest of the people did, so they were seated quickly and had a table on the patio where they could have a private conversation and watch the sunset. Around them, the flowering bougainvilleas crawled across the stone walls surrounding the garden-like setting. A fountain at the far end gurgled and splashed, adding a touch of soothing sound to accompany a pair of crickets who were carrying on more of a conversation than she and her friend were.

  "It's nice here, yes?" he asked as he gazed around the area. Another four tables were set up on the tiled patio, but they were the only ones seated there at the moment.

  "Yes. Have you been here before?"

  "I have friends and a cousin who live here, and they've brought me to this place a few times. The food is excellent, and a little later, there will be musicians, but by then, we'll probably move on to the Flamenco club." He opened the menu and translated a few of the less common dishes for her.

  One of the choices was stuffed octopus, and she frowned as he said it. "No, it is good. You need to be adventurous when you travel. Try something new."

  "Maybe if you order it, I'll try some of yours," she replied, her nose wrinkling. "But for me, I think I would prefer something not so unique."

  He pressed his lips together as if to keep from saying something he might regret, then asked, "How about goat? The spiced goat stew is very good. Once you get the meat tender, it is quite tasty."

  "Next, please."

  "I see... Nothing too out of the ordinary for the señorita. There is a great chicken dish with saffron and chili served over rice. It isn't too spicy."

  "Maybe," she conceded. It sounded like a possibility, or maybe just a steak would be nice.

  After a bit more kidding around about the menu, she settled on the chicken dish. Roberto ordered sangria for them and a tapas plate to munch on while they waited for the main course. She loved being in Spain and being with her travel boyfriend. She wondered if her aunt was correct and the romance tasted sweeter when you're abroad, but was not sustainable when you're away from the magic of it all. Once you got to know each other and everything became ordinary, perhaps the relationship lost its luster, as Lindy suggested.

  Possibly, her aunt simply didn't find the right person. Maybe Lindy's travel romances were simply flings, and she never intended for them to go any further. Would that apply to Colin also? Her aunt seemed to like the Englishman quite a lot, and she could tell he was fond of her. No, she thought, maybe her aunt was afraid to let her emotions go that far.

  As much as she liked Roberto and enjoyed being with him, she didn’t expect this to be more than a friendship. It might, she hoped, survive the separation once she went back home. She had plans, and they didn't include settling down in a tourist town on the coast of Spain. Time, however, could lead her a different direction, and they might one day connect again. So, she would just enjoy the moment and savor being in a romantic country with the handsome young artist.

  After a delightful dinner, Michelle sipped a coffee and asked, "What do you think is going on with your painting here?"

  He shrugged. "I don't know what to make of it. I would like to actually look at the canvas to see if the strokes are like mine, or if it was copied. I don't suppose it would be possible to get in the man's house without breaking in."

  She shook her head. "I thought the same thing, but he has a housekeeper and a steward who probably live there. So even if he's out with my aunt this evening, the house would be watched."

  A devious thought slipped into her mind. "Wait. What if I went back to the house while Marchant was out and told the housekeeper I lost my bracelet last night, and perhaps it slipped behind the cushions in the living room? I could slip it off, then pretend to find it after a search. You could come in as my friend, make an excuse to go to the bathroom, then pop into the gallery and take a quick look, so even if the housekeeper stays with me, you would be in the clear."

  "It's risky, Michelle. What would happen if we were caught?"

  "I don't know, but isn't it worth it?"

  "Do you know the street address?" he asked as he considered it.

  She nodded. "I wrote it down to give to the cab driver last night." She pulled a piece of paper out of her small purse. Thank goodness she'd used the same one tonight.

  He looked at it, then pulled out his phone to key in the address and studied the GPS map. "Nice area of the city. Okay, let's see if your plan will work."

  Forty minutes later, they pulled up at the curb of Marchant's villa, and Michelle slipped her bracelet off and into the front pocket of her slacks.

  "The gallery is the second door off the lobby entry. The painting is in the back of the room on the left side, just before the corner. Do you have a flashlight, so you don't turn on the lights in the room?"

  He held up a small laser light on his key ring.

  She raised an eyebrow. "That's not much."

  He flashed it once toward the wall, and it illuminated about three feet of it.

  "Okay. More powerful than it looks."

  He followed her up to the door, and she rang the doorbell, then waited nervously for an answer. When the housekeeper opened the inner door, she smiled at her. "Hello, I was here last night with my aunt."

  The woman gave Michelle an uncertain nod as she looked her over like she was trying to place who she was.

  "I lost my bracelet last night, and I didn't notice it until I got back to my hotel. Then I didn't have time to come by earlier, so I’m hoping I might be able to check in the living room for it?"

  From the confused look on the woman's face, Michelle thought she might have exceeded the woman's English vocabulary. The housekeeper peered at Roberto, who stood slightly behind her.

  Jumping in, Roberto related the whole thing in Spanish and explained he was a friend. She asked a question or two, and he pointed to Michelle's left wrist and repeated her story.

  Although she looked nervous about allowing them into the house, she stepped back to let them pass into the hallway. Escorting them to the main hall on the right, she turned on the lights and stood back as Michelle went to the chair where she'd sat at first on the previous night. While she ran her hand down around the cushions and pretended to search, Roberto spoke to the housekeeper and asked to go to the bathroom. She took him to the hallway and pointed to a room at the end of the hall, flush against the back staircase.

  While she was out of the room, Michelle used the opportunity to shove her bracelet down between the cushions on the sofa where she and her aunt had sat when they returned from the gallery. When the housekeeper came back in, she was hunting on the floor under the chair.

  The señora objected, gesturing to indicate the floor had been vacuumed and nothing was on it. Michelle cast a forlorn look at her and proceeded to pull at the cushions on the sofa. As she was trying to buy more time for Roberto, he surprised her by appearing in the doorway. Was he done already?

  "Anything yet?" he asked as he came over.

  "No. I have that sofa to check yet." She pointed to the one where she'd planted the bracelet.

  The housekeeper began to look a little nervous about them, and Michelle imagined she envisioned them knocking her out and stealing from the house. She quickly shifted to the first cushion on the couch and began running her hand along the side of it.

  Roberto took the next cushion, reaching into it to help her out. He looked surprised, then grinned as he pulled the bracelet from the crevice. "Is this it, Michelle?"

  She faked a look of joy and exclaimed, “Yes, it is. You found it!"

  He turned to the housekeeper to show her and explained it was the missing bracelet. They thanked her profusely, and Michelle slipped her a little money for her assistance.

  "It was a gift from my father," she gushed as she tucked it into her little purse. "I would have been devastated to lose it."

  Roberto translated, and the housekeeper smiled at them, then shut the door, happy to have them out of the house.
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br />   "What happened? Is it your painting?" Michelle asked when they got back to the curb. Roberto gave her a hug, pulling her close, then whispered, "It wasn't there."

  "What? It had to be." She couldn't believe it.

  "I found an empty space where you said it would be, so I checked the entire room. It was gone." He released her and climbed onto the motorcycle. "So, Flamenco club?"

  She nodded and climbed on behind him. So, all this had been for nothing? Why had Marchant moved it? He'd said it was part of his private collection. God, I hope my aunt never finds out I came here tonight.

  Chapter 16

  While Michelle had gotten ready for her evening with Roberto, Lindy did some research on both Marchant’s gallery in Paris and on Pablo de Sintra. Of the first, she found quite a bit of information and good comments as well as reviews from people who had purchased paintings from the gallery. A quick financial look indicated the gallery appeared to be reputable and solvent. The catalog of paintings it handled also indicated it might prove a good match for her work, but still, an undetectable thing niggled at her.

  As for de Sintra, not much information was readily available. A few images of some of his paintings reinforced her belief; his painting style duplicated Roberto’s too much to be a coincidence, yet she couldn’t see the connection. One of them had to be copying the other. According to the information, de Sintra was an old man, in his seventies, and his paintings only began showing up in the past five years. His biography said he began painting late in his life and developed his talent quickly. Although from the Basque region of Portugal, he now lived and worked in Lisbon.

  After Michelle left, Lindy sent a text message to Colin to contact her, then took a quick shower, dried off, and went to the wardrobe to select her dress for the evening, a light blue, silk sheath dress with cap sleeves, and laid it on the bed. She pulled on her underwear, just fastening her bra as her phone rang. She glanced at the caller id and thumbed the answer key. “Hello, Colin. How is Italy?”