Secrets in the Palazzo Page 2

  It was exciting talking with the press, giving guest lectures and garnering support for the project. Her public appearances were well received, and she really enjoyed meeting people. Lyon, on the other hand, was more of an introvert who guarded his privacy. She paused to consider Lyon’s curt departure last night, and knew that he was out of patience with all of her requests to delay the wedding. Rose promised herself to make it up to him. She was fully aware that her relationship needed her undivided attention, and it was her intention to fix things.

  Rose checked her watch and realized that she needed to freshen up and dress for dinner. She didn’t want to be late. The hot water was soothing. Rose brushed her long blond hair. She chose white pants paired with a black silk blouse as the perfect combination to herald the fall. Anticipation hung in the air as well as a sense of urgency. Grabbing her caramel leather bag, a gift from her future mother-in-law, Rose raced out the door to meet everyone at Fuor D’Acqua.

  She spotted a group of American tourists on one corner and waved to her friend Alessandro, who worked around the corner at the outdoor café. At that moment, Rose really felt like a local, which warmed her heart. Gazing down at her gorgeous engagement ring, she realized what a fool she had been to put off their wedding. As she rounded the corner to the restaurant, she caught sight of Lyon, who was on his cell phone outside the restaurant.

  Before she could catch his attention, a woman stopped her and said, “You’re Rose Maning!”

  “Oh, yes,” she replied, embarrassed by the attention.

  “I just read an article on your fantastic exhibition. Congratulations!”

  “Thank you so much,” replied Rose as the woman was joined by two of her friends who all declared that she was a rising star.

  “You’re so beautiful,” another woman exclaimed. “And I love your chic blouse. Did you buy it here?”

  Rose looked over at Lyon, who ended a cell phone call with a client and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

  “Thank you so much but I need to go,” said Rose.

  Rose broke away from the group to embrace Lyon. “I’m so sorry,” she exclaimed.

  “Why apologize? You love being the center of attention.”

  His words stung, and Rose bit her lip in indignation. She said nothing but swung forward on her way to the restaurant, reining in her hurt feelings. She had been caught in a whirlwind after the night of the gallery opening, and Lyon had been extremely patient with her crazy schedule. Then, she stopped short and turned around, saying firmly, “You’re right.”

  “What did you just say?”

  “I agree with you. It’s been all about me, and you’ve been incredibly patient. I am so sorry.”

  “Go on,” he said, facing her with a grin.

  “I don’t know what happened after the show. I just got so excited by all the press attention. It was so, so . . .”—she paused to catch her breath and went on—“validating for me personally and as an artist. I just feel so confident and empowered. And I haven’t heard the negative voice of my mother in my head telling me that my art is a waste of time!”

  Lyon took her hand and pulled her in closer to him. “I’m proud of you and I’ve tried to give you your space. You know I didn’t protest when you asked to wait until after the opening to plan our wedding.”

  “I know, I know. You’re the best person in the world, and I love you so much!”

  He leaned down and kissed her passionately. Rose felt that same thrill of excitement run up her spine. A loud cough interrupted their embrace, and they were greeted by Lyon’s parents at the restaurant. She was always awed by how easy and natural it was to be with them—a far cry from her parents in Charlottesville.

  “Ciao, Rose,” said Joseph enfolding her in great big hug.

  “Ciao,” she replied. Faith kissed her on both cheeks, cupping her chin like she was already their daughter. Rose adored everything about them.

  They went inside, and a huge flower arrangement of white roses, white lilies, and orange ranunculus immediately caught her eye. She had a sudden vision of her bridal bouquet and locked eyes with Faith, who whispered in her ear.

  “Those roses are so large and beautiful,” Faith said with a smile. “Maybe I’ll paint a still life this week and we can use it as inspiration for the wedding.”

  “What a novel idea! I know your painting will rival the real thing.”

  “Such flattery, my dear. I can’t wait to hear more about the lecture you gave the other day on the exhibition.”

  “Please no,” said Rose. “Lyon needs a break from all of the art talk.”

  “I understand.”

  The waiter appeared, and they ordered a Bisol Cartizze Prosecco Superiore for the table. The pop of the cork made everyone dining around them clap, sharing in the excitement. When their glasses were full, Joseph toasted to their future filled with health and happiness. “Alla salute e alla felicità,” he exclaimed.

  “And a wedding this Christmas, I hope!” added Faith.

  Rose chimed in. “I was thinking the first weekend in December before the holiday rush.” She felt embarrassed for throwing out a date without consulting Lyon. She quickly added, “Lyon and I want to make something work soon!”

  “I’ll drink to that,” said Joseph happily before taking a sip of his wine. “I’m creating a new sauvignon blanc for the big day. You won’t be disappointed.”

  “How lovely.” Filled with joy, Rose exclaimed. “I can’t wait to marry Lyon!”

  “Absolutely, my dear. We already think of you as our daughter,” said Joseph.

  Rose peered at Lyon, who seemed detached. She felt the stirrings of anxiety as she watched him check his phone. Running his hand through his dark hair, he looked down and said, “Excuse me, everyone. I need to take this call.”

  She wondered what was so important and noticed that Faith started speaking very quickly about how much she liked the color of the linens in the restaurant.

  “Is everything alright?” asked Rose, wondering at her sudden nervousness.

  “Well,” said Faith in a hushed tone. “You don’t know? Lyon’s in the middle of a major deal. I think he’s about to sell a ten-thousand-square-foot building to a famous American designer.”

  “What?” asked Rose, caught completely off guard. “Uh, that’s great.”

  “Oh,” exclaimed Faith. “He’s been so busy making it happen.”

  “Yes, we’ve both had crazy schedules.” Rose was embarrassed that she had no idea; she did a mental inventory of her events in the last week, recalling two lunch dates with an art dealer and numerous trips to the gallery.

  Why hasn’t he mentioned it? Rose realized that they had been leading separate lives recently, and it hurt. She felt anxious and told herself not to worry.

  Chapter 3

  BEATRICE VON DER LAYMAN was a complete workaholic, rarely taking time off from her conservator duties at the Vatican laboratory in Rome. Her friendship with Rose, however, was an exception, perhaps because they shared a similar passion for art history. It all started after Rose discovered three drawings in the wall of her apartment during renovations. Although they were damaged and moldy, Beatrice’s countless hours and hard work had revealed three images: a baby, a nobleman, and a drawing that showed clasped hands and a background that mirrored Michelangelo’s The Creation of Adam panel in the Sistine Chapel. No one knew these drawings existed because Beatrice’s mentor, Cardinal Baglioni, purchased the images from Rose to safeguard them.

  Rose’s ex-fiancé, Ben, had wanted to sell the precious drawings to the highest bidder in New York. In fact, he tried to steal them from her, which led to the demise of their relationship. Good riddance, thought Beatrice, as she recalled how Rose had stayed at her apartment in Rome during their messy breakup. The silver lining of her broken engagement to that deceitful American businessman was Rose’s close friendship to
Beatrice. Afterwards, Rose fell in love with Lyon, whom Beatrice admired. Their relationship seemed like something out of a fairy tale, inflaming her longing for a soul mate of her own.

  Meanwhile, Beatrice was consumed with solving the mystery of the drawings. Who had placed the drawings in the wall? And, most importantly, why. The second drawing was a portrait of a well-dressed nobleman, which could very well be noted architect and painter Georgio Vasari. Vasari was a great admirer of both Michelangelo and Leonardo da Vinci. He was also the one who documented their accomplishments for future generations in his book, Lives of the Most Excellent Painters, Sculptors and Architects, published in 1550. Although a painter and architect, his legacy would endure as an author; Vasari’s firsthand biographies in Lives became the most influential book about art history ever written. It was valued by almost everyone who wrote about art history for over three centuries.

  Beatrice kept a copy of Lives on her bedside table. On Rose’s second drawing, Beatrice observed the beginnings of the curved letters CERC and had spent the last few months working to uncover its meaning. She knew that the words Cerca Trova—“seek and you shall find”—were currently emblazoned on the wall of a Giorgio Vasari painting in the Palazzo Vecchio. She believed that if Rose’s ancient drawing used the same words, then it could, in fact, be a treasure map.

  Beatrice suspected that Vasari’s likeness would provide further proof that a brilliant Leonardo da Vinci painting still existed. Beatrice scratched her head as she pondered how best to explain her theory. It was, in fact, Vasari who was commissioned to paint over the work of Leonardo a few years after he completed the Battle of Anghiari as well as Michelangelo’s half-finished Battle of Cascina in 1555. Vasari’s commission to redecorate the Hall of the Five Hundred was a project that spanned seventeen years in which he and his assistants painted six historical battles. Many consider it his best work. Nevertheless, Vasari was a huge admirer of both men, especially Leonardo; he would never willingly destroy the work of a master in favor of his own. Was it Vasari or one of his family members who had placed these drawings in the wall for future generations to find?

  When Beatrice saw CERC on Rose’s drawing, she connected the dots, convinced that she possessed the ancient document that could substantiate her theory. After weeks of hard work, Beatrice studied the fragile paper that revealed the final letters on Rose’s drawing, which said the same thing. Beatrice gasped, wondering at fate.

  “Oh my God!” she said aloud. “That’s it!”

  If this was the missing clue to a lost Leonardo, it would be monumental for the art world. The phrase was there in black and white. Unable to contain her excitement, Beatrice called Rose.

  “I want you to come to Rome immediately and meet with Cardinal Baglioni and me!”

  “Really? What did you find?”

  “Let’s just say we have a new theory that is very, very interesting.”

  “Can I bring Lyon?”

  “Absolutely! Can you be at the Vatican first thing Monday morning? The cardinal has said it would work for him.”

  “I’ll do everything in my power to make that happen.”

  “I know you’re incredibly busy, but I promise that you won’t be disappointed!”

  “Now, that’s exciting!”

  “Try explosive.”

  “What? Beatrice, you can’t say something like that and make me wait all weekend to find out.”

  Silence.

  “You’ve got to give me a hint!”

  “Okay, okay,” she said with her voice rising a notch. “Your discovery didn’t only include Michelangelo.”

  “What are you talking about?” Rose asked excitedly.

  “I think Leonardo da Vinci was involved too.”

  “Amazing! This is unbelievable!”

  “See you Monday morning at nine sharp!”

  “I can’t wait.”

  Not long after she hung up with Rose, her cell rang. It was her mother, but she didn’t answer, fearing the same old circular conversation. It usually started with her mother asking her what she was doing this weekend for fun. Silence would ensue. And then Elsa would give her another lecture on work–life balance. Maybe she would throw in something about the need for family time.

  Beatrice decided to do something novel—leave work early. Although she was only twenty-nine, the last few months made her feel like she was middle aged. Always the last one in the lab, having become obsessed by the storied feud between the great Michelangelo and Leonardo da Vinci, which fueled endless ruminations. Her analytical mind needed a break, and fortunately it was Friday night. A vision of dinner and drinks among friends energized her, and hopefully she wasn’t too late to find them. She decided to give it a try and sent a few texts. With renewed optimism, she headed to the restroom to freshen up.

  Looking at herself, Beatrice tried to calm her riotous long dark hair, placing some strands behind her ears. Shadows had formed under her expressive blue eyes, and she deftly took out some concealer and applied it. The face that stared back at her had depth, she concluded, proud that she had at long last embraced her appearance. A prominent nose made her look distinctive. Having worked alongside the historical definition of feminine beauty, she decided that classic pretty was overrated. She would accept her curves and wildly unpredictable hair. Her self-inflicted sarcasm made her smile, revealing a set of dimples. She received a return text from her friend Chelsea, who said a group was meeting for drinks at an undecided location. Once they figured it out, she would be back in touch.

  It was an old wound and one she tried to keep at bay. Her friendships felt fleeting at times, and she didn’t like feeling like the add-on in a group. A rush of insecurity poured forth as she recalled that growing up, she always felt different and apart from the mainstream students. Her quiet intensity served her well professionally but had made her the butt of jokes in school. Kids labeled her “Busy Bee” as a teenager because she was a favorite of all the teachers. Their taunts were part of the fabric of her being, micro cuts that festered. The names changed in high school to things like “Spelling Bee,” “Loser Bee” and that morphed into the moniker “Home Alone,” which she detested.

  Recalling those awkward teenage years, the thought of physical education classes made her break out in goosebumps. If anything, Beatrice was uncoordinated, and no one wanted her on their team. She was always standing alone, praying to become hot wax and melt into the floor to disappear. One time, they had a tennis tournament, and the two captains just pretended that she wasn’t there. Teams were picked, and the other girls began playing. Beatrice quietly found a spot on the edge of court and put her face in a book until the coach noticed that she had not had a turn. He marched her to a team where she would have to play. Oh, Beatrice, she reminded herself, you are enough! That’s what her mother told her daily, and it mitigated past hurts. The past is over, and I am enough, she reminded herself confidently, reassuming a smile.

  With a spring in her step, Beatrice packed up her leather satchel, a prized possession from the cardinal one Christmas, and departed through the security exit. Beatrice said good night to two security guards, whose presence reminded her of the important work that her team did in restoring and cleaning paintings and sculptures. The September evening was crisp and clear, and she embraced the cooler temperature. Her scarf easily deposited in her satchel as she headed downtown, hoping Chelsea would text her their location. She could always slip into a restaurant and wait.

  The Vatican was its own city-state with a radio station and post office. The sheer size of Vatican City always amazed her as she left the maze of buildings behind. Tourists came by the thousands to admire its imposing collection of eighty thousand works of art. They were never disappointed because the collections, architecture, and history were rich and layered. Beatrice longed to work on restoration for the Raphael Rooms that housed some of the most beautiful paintings she’d ever seen.
Rose would argue that there was nothing in the world more iconic than Michelangelo’s paintings on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. They would probably debate this topic forever.

  Most people didn’t know that Leonardo lived at the Vatican from 1514 to 1517. His apartments had one of the most beautiful views in Rome. Beatrice recalled the stories of how Leonardo, ever the scientist, would go exploring for shells and fossils at the nearby hill.

  As she walked closer to the city center, the streets filled with college students as well as tourists from France, Germany, and London. Spying various families laughing together, a wave of homesickness assailed her. Beatrice decided it was time to plan a trip home to Switzerland to visit her parents.

  Time together was long overdue. Had it really been almost two years since she had seen her childhood home? Her parents, mostly her mother, almost always came to visit her. Anyway, they all loved to ski, and she couldn’t remember the last time she navigated down a mountain. Perhaps her mother was right; Beatrice was, in fact, way too passionate about her work. A break would help her recharge. Beatrice made a mental note to return Elsa’s call the following morning and make plans. She smiled at the thought.

  As she took in the elegant brownstones in the Prati neighborhood, Beatrice changed directions, wandering through several streets unknown to her. Lost in thought, she wondered how she was going to use her newly discovered art history information for the general good. Noted historian Giorgio Vasari had written about how Michelangelo and Leonardo da Vinci despised each other. Michelangelo had a reputation for solving complex problems. On the other hand, his elder, Leonardo, was a bit of a charmer and dreamer who often didn’t complete his commissions. They were opposites, yet both geniuses and stars of the Italian Renaissance.