Sunrise in Florence

by Kathleen Reid

  “Oh no! We don’t have much time together. The last thing I want to do is fall into the whims of some art dealer.”

  “Okay, I’ll tell him that you can’t discuss the drawings until early next week. Sound good?”

  “Perfect. I’m going to put on sneakers and turn my phone off,” announced Rose.

  “Me too. But,” he said.

  “But what?”

  “I really think you should put the drawings in a lockbox at the bank.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “Hopefully, it won’t be too long, but I think you should be cautious.”

  “Fine, you’re right. I’ll grab my ID and let’s go.”

  The bank trip took several hours, and Rose did her best to contain her annoyance at losing part of a beautiful morning. With a key lodged safely in her pocket, they made their way to the Duomo lined with eager tourists.

  ***

  Soon after, Rose began climbing the narrow steps in the darkened corridors to the top of the Duomo. She breathed in the musty air and reminded herself that the view was worth it as she hiked up the endless stone steps. A vision of the intertwined hands in the third drawing came to mind. The drawings felt almost sacred, and Rose thought that the best place to search for answers would be within the walls of the Vatican. Pope Julius II commissioned Michelangelo to do the Sistine Chapel, so the Vatican archives might contain more information on the artists who helped him, Rose reasoned. Her thoughts circled around the idea that the hands were some sort of preliminary study by an artist. Cool air greeted her when she reached the top; the panoramic view of the city was breathtaking.

  “I love this!” she exclaimed.

  “Amazing,” Ben replied. A breeze ruffled his hair. Rose turned on her cell phone so that they could get a few pictures. Tapping a German girl on the shoulder, she asked her to snap a shot with the terra-cotta wallpaper of rooftops, sunny sky and hills in the distance. As Rose deleted a picture where her eyes were closed, Ben looked over at her.

  “Turns out the appraiser has been in Rome on business; he can get to Florence tonight and really wants to meet with you tomorrow morning.”

  “I thought you told him to wait until next week.”

  “He’s insisting on seeing them. Remember that Leonardo sold for $450 million last fall. No one thought it could happen. You found three drawings that could be hundreds of years old.”

  “I really don’t want to talk about money.”

  “Don’t be so naive! You may be sitting on a fortune. Look, not to state the obvious, but everything comes down to money.”

  “When did you become so cynical?”

  “I’m a realist, not a cynic.”

  “Well, I’m a historian and an optimist. Maybe those drawings are about faith and mankind’s relationship to God. They don’t really belong to me. I want to safeguard them.”

  “You need to consider how this could change your life and secure your future. I mean, what are the chances of you making a living as a painter?”

  “You sound like Doris.” Rose paused, reining in her anger. “For the record, I’m a highly qualified teacher and know I can always go back to that profession. I haven’t taken time for myself since my father died, so the painting thing works for me right now.”

  “Hey,” he said, putting his arms around her. “I get it. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “No, I’m sorry for the rant.”

  “Let’s get another picture.”

  “Sure,” she replied.

  Ben persisted throughout the day, convincing Rose that she should allow professionals to view her discovery first, which would give her the necessary information to come up with a plan. Rose finally capitulated and agreed to show the drawings to the Christie’s representative the following morning. The young boy’s portrait with the intelligent eyes, thin face and prominent nose haunted her. And pondering the meaning of the intertwined hands was giving her a headache, so hopefully the appraiser could shed some light on the images. Her dream hovered on the edge of consciousness, and for a moment, she thought about her faith, which had all but disappeared since her father’s death.

  “Rose, you’re absolutely right. I want to enjoy our time together,” said Ben, gently taking her hand. “I can put him off.”

  “No, no, it’s okay. Why stay in suspense?” She paused for a moment. “I’m going to ask my realtor where I can find the property records. I wonder who owned the home before me. That may shed some light on things. They could very well be of no value.”

  “Is that what you really think?”

  “Well, I believe in doing all of my homework. You know what a good student I was.”

  “Now that’s an understatement,” said Ben, kissing her on the forehead. “You were always so responsible and diligent. I admired you for that. Your dad used to brag about you all the time. ‘My little Rose; she’s so smart.’”

  “Why didn’t you come to his funeral?” she asked quietly.

  “You know, I regret it. I was working for a very difficult employer and had to finish a deal.”

  “Got it,” she said, recalling her brother’s disappointment in not having his best friend there. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I was just curious.”

  Ben said the best fish restaurant in Florence was Fuor D’Acqua, which was a twenty-minute walk from Rose’s house. The summer heat had abated, and a cool breeze tantalized her senses. As they walked hand in hand, Rose felt wrapped in the moment with Ben, who looked impossibly handsome in his crisp white shirt and linen pants.

  “You look beautiful,” he said as he ran his gaze over her bare legs. Her white sleeveless dress kept her cool, and her hair was piled on her head in a loose bun.

  The restaurant boasted clean white tablecloths, arched doorways and artfully arranged fresh seafood on a bed of ice in the front entrance.

  “You’re not going to see that in the States,” quipped Ben.

  Rose eyed the large shrimp with their bulging eyes and several large gray finned fish.

  “Our fish is brought in fresh daily from Tuscany,” explained the manager, who shared that the restaurant was once an old chariot house. He pointed to the massive vaulted ceiling. Rose thought once again that there was something magical about history. A hot-pink azalea bush adorning a black pot caught her attention as she admired the sleek white decor.

  As they were seated, Rose glanced over the room and caught sight of Lyon, who was dining with an attractive woman. She felt a stab of betrayal, but quickly dismissed the feeling. She waved to him and he smiled at her. The woman turned around and Rose recognized Dominique, who she had met at that party. Well, she thought, no wonder the woman warned me off.

  “Who’s that?” asked Ben.

  “My realtor, Lyon Walker, and his friend Dominique. He’s the one who let you in.”

  “Right,” said Ben thoughtfully as he followed her to their table.

  Lyon made the introductions, and Rose felt Dominique’s glare.

  “How are you enjoying your new home, Rose?”

  “It’s absolutely fantastic. I’ll be glad when the renovations are complete. Anyway, I was going to call you tomorrow to see if you could help me find the records to my property. Maybe figure out the previous owners.”

  “How far back?”

  “I don’t know, say the 15th century perhaps.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Not really. You know how I love history. Where are the city records?”

  “There’s a city office not far from the center of town. The records only go back a hundred years or so, but I’ll see what I can do.”

  “That would be wonderful. Thank you so much.”

  They were seated in a cozy corner by the maître d’, who offered to select a menu for them. Without hesitation, they both agreed to follow his suggestions, and
their decision proved to be brilliant. Their first course was an artfully arranged tasting platter. The poached white fish practically melted in her mouth, and she picked up a piece of fresh lobster dripping in butter. “This is absolutely decadent. Everything is so fresh,” Rose said.

  “They know what they’re doing, and I love it when the waiter makes a winning wine selection that doesn’t cost a fortune,” Ben said.

  “The wine is perfect,” said Rose as she looked around the room at all of the elegantly dressed men and women. Laughter filled the air and she took Ben’s hand.

  “You’re going to pose for me tomorrow morning, right?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I thought you volunteered to be my muse. I’m trying to come up with some samples of my work.”

  “Only for you, darling,” he said with a wink. His eyes seemed to skim the sheer fabric of her dress.

  “Thank you. I hope Lyon can help me out.”

  “Hmmm. I wonder what he’ll find. You said the last owner was a businessman.”

  “That’s right, but I feel certain he had no idea they were there. Given the mold and dust we found on the drawings, they must have been put there a long time ago. I wonder if there’s a connection between the child in the first drawing and the young boy’s portrait.”

  “Maybe Michelangelo fathered a child and covered it up?” Ben laughed.

  “That’s actually a possibility.”

  “I was kidding.”

  “He may have been in love with Contessina de’ Medici when he lived as a young man in Lorenzo’s palace.” She paused. “Seriously.”

  “Maybe they hooked up somewhere along the way.”

  “It could have happened, you know. It’s not so farfetched. Contessina had an arranged marriage and ended up with several children. Who knows? Maybe one of them belonged to Michelangelo. It’s not that crazy of an idea. Love can change things.” They looked at each other until Rose felt her cheek burn. She swallowed hard and continued. “Maybe the drawings were preserved and passed down by her or a trusted friend.”

  “Okay, now we’re going into uncharted territory. So, let’s assume that these drawings are 500 years old and they really were by your hero Michelangelo. And you’ve uncovered a mystery behind an iconic artist and his masterpiece.”

  “Wouldn’t that be so cool? I mean, think about it. It would change the whole story if it’s true.”

  “How so?”

  “First of all, it would mean that Michelangelo had this other life that no one knew about, and maybe that influenced his art. He was perceived as a genius and a bit of a loner.”

  “It would also mean those drawings would be worth a fortune.”

  “I told you it’s not about money for me. If it’s true, then it’s a piece of history that I’ve had the privilege to safeguard.”

  The tinkling sound of Dominique’s laughter grated on Rose. She could see that they were holding hands under the table, and she eyed the woman’s five-inch heels. The waiter placed a chocolate soufflé with two spoons on the table. The artistic confection had white powdered sugar decorating the top.

  “This is a work of art,” said Rose, eyeing the dessert.

  They each took several bites as they lingered to chat over coffee. The conversation turned to Ben as he talked about his research and writing and then, rather awkwardly, brought up his daughter.

  “Now, this is my pride and joy,” said Ben as he took out his iPhone to show her pictures of Emily. The little blond girl was precious in her white smocked dress and hair bow. There were multiple pictures of her in the bathtub, or in her bouncy seat, or smiling in the arms of her mother. The reality of Ben being a father suddenly hit Rose. This little girl was his prize, and it felt strange to be jumping in on this part of his family story.

  “I can’t wait for you to meet her,” Ben said, taking Rose’s hand. “I know she’ll love you.”

  “Ben, this is all moving a little fast for me. I mean I just moved here and—”

  His expression changed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overwhelm you. It’s just that— We connect and always have. You’ve always been a special person. You spoiled me in that regard. I understand that we’re both in different places in our lives right now, so I’ll try to respect that.”

  “Thanks. I’d love to meet Emily when the time is right.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Ben kissed her sweetly, which made Rose suddenly feel self-conscious. Pulling away, she looked over at Lyon, and their eyes locked for a moment before she looked away.

  ***

  The next morning, a specialist in Renaissance art who did appraisals for Christie’s greeted them with a firm handshake. He reminded them how lucky they were that he was already in Rome on business and took the train to Florence. He stared at the drawings, reviewing and directing his questions to Ben, which Rose found annoying. He introduced himself as Paul Klonadis, a bald man with oversized glasses; he seemed to be evaluating every inch of the paper: the first eight-by-ten-inch drawing, and then the two larger images that were roughly twelve by fourteen inches. The conference room at the bank was quiet for the better part of an hour while Paul studied the quality of paper, the extent of the mold damage, the authenticity and the possible meanings of each picture.

  “These drawings are old, as you can see. They were done on high-quality parchment, but the mold and dust would take months for us to remove and cost a bloody fortune.”

  “They seem to tell a story,” offered Rose.

  “I’m not sure what you mean by that,” said Paul.

  “Well,” explained Rose, “there’s a picture of a baby that does not appear to be a depiction of Jesus. The young boy could possibly be the baby in the first picture, and the intertwined hands seem like some sort of study.”

  “First of all, it’s hard to see all of these pictures given the age and deterioration. That being said, it’s also nearly impossible to distinguish any kind of likeness from the first two drawings. As for the hands, Leonardo da Vinci did many studies of hands, but this is definitely not his work.” He breathed in sharply. “Are you aware that my team was involved with the original discovery of the secret drawings done by Leonardo?”

  “No, I have no idea what you are talking about. Which ones are you referring to?” asked Rose.

  “There were some drawings bound into a single album by sculptor Pompeo Leoni around 1590, and they entered the Royal Collection during the reign of Charles II.” He paused. “There were some blank pages in the collection, which were known to scholars, but nobody could figure it out. Then, one of the scholars noticed the indentation marks on the pages.”

  “Go on,” said Ben.

  “These works were finally examined under ultraviolet light and revealed a series of drawings of hands. So, I can see how you thought they were done by a master. Anyway, it was not until one of the sheets was examined by the UK’s national synchrotron that we saw the truth. Because of the high copper content in the stylus Leonardo used, his drawings were invisible to the naked eye. The copper had become a transparent copper salt, thus making the hands disappear.”

  “That’s fascinating,” said Rose, trying to mask her disdain for the pompous man.

  “That is the kind of find that makes national news,” Paul continued. “The sheets that we uncovered were studies of hands for the Adoration of the Magi around 1481.”

  It was on the tip of Rose’s tongue to suggest that her drawings could have been a study as well, done by Michelangelo, but she refrained for fear of his contempt.

  “Indeed, Ben told me that you are passionate about the life and works of Michelangelo and I think, Miss Maning, you let your imagination run away with you. These pictures could have been done by a Florentine artist who was practicing his craft. That’s what it looks like to me.”

  “I see,” said Rose, feeling incredibly em
barrassed and a bit miffed.

  “Well, Ben. I wish that we had better news. Thanks for contacting me.”

  “I’m very sorry, Paul. I thought they could be valuable.”

  “Highly doubtful. The restoration process alone would cost a fortune, as I said, and I don’t think it’s advisable to invest in this project. So, if you’ll excuse me, I have another appointment. Good day.” He gave her a snippy stare and a definite lackluster goodbye.

  “Well, I guess that’s that,” said Rose, rolling the sketches up.

  “I could always take them back to the States and get a second opinion.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “I was trying to be helpful.”

  Rose eyed Ben, feeling decidedly uncomfortable with his helpfulness. “I see. Clearly, they were damaged after being in the wall after so many years, but I know someone I met here two years ago who does restoration work. Maybe I could work with him to clean them up. It would be an interesting project.”

  “That’s a good idea,” said Ben. “You’re always thinking.” He glanced at the lockbox. “I guess you don’t need it anymore.”

  “You’re right. It’s a waste of money,” said Rose. “I’ll just stick these moldy old drawings in my tote bag and bring ’em home. Do you mind talking to the manager here and cancelling the lockbox?”

  “Sounds like a plan,” said Ben. “Happy to help you.”

  “I’m going to head to the market to grab us some dinner tonight before it gets too crowded at lunchtime. What are you in the mood for?”

  “You,” he said with a salacious grin.

  “Seriously?” She blushed.

  “Surprise me.”

  Rose kissed him and headed out the door of the conference room. Once outside, she sent a text to Lyon and asked if he could meet her at his office immediately.

  Everything okay? he texted back.

  Not really. I need a favor.

  See you in ten.

  You’re the best.