As Francesco and I strolled through corridors, hunting for the illusive architect (now recovered), we find doors open into the Queen’s suites; there is sun; the weather has improved; at one of the open doorways, Francesco grabbed my arm, and exclaimed:
“Maestro...look...look in there!”
“Where?”
“To the right...through the door...on that easel...that’s your painting, your Leda and her swan!”
I can’t believe what I see!
“Yes...yes...” I mumble.
“It’s your painting, your missing canvas. How did the Queen get it?”
“Come...we’ll find out about it...come away...don’t go inside.”
“But it’s yours.”
It was seven or eight years ago that my Leda painting disappeared. We blamed this one and that one. We offered a reward. The Duke promised to help...