Robert Harris: Leonardo and the Death Machine

But it was too late. Lucrezia was already staring at the portrait, at her face which was nearly complete. “You haven’t been painting the background at all!”

She looked from the portrait, to Leonardo, to Sandro’s injured wrist cradled in her hands. “I see you are unable to paint, Signor Botticelli, but why go to such lengths?”

Sandro hung his head. “The deception was not for your sake, but because of Lorenzo de’ Medici,” he confessed. “I did not want him to discover that I could not complete my commission. This is my first work for anyone of importance and if I fail to deliver it on time, I shudder to think of the consequences.”

Lucrezia was only half listening. She was absorbed in the painting. She lifted a finger to adjust her hair, looking as though she expected the portrait to do the same. “I can scarcely believe this was painted by a stranger,” she said. “Even in this unfinished state I see so much of myself here, I believe my portrait and I could swap places and no one would know the difference.”

She turned to Leonardo and he could feel her gazing at him with the same intensity as she had examined the portrait. It was as if the painting had opened a door between them and she could now see him with the same clarity with which he had painted her.

“It is a great gift you have, to see so much,” said Lucrezia.

Leonardo found himself nervously fingering the hem of his tunic. “I…I am glad you are pleased,” he stammered.

“He has potential,” Sandro conceded. “Of course, I had already made a start and given him detailed instructions on how to continue.”

At the sound of Sandro’s voice Lucrezia turned to him and the spell was broken. Leonardo felt as if the light in the room had Suddenly dimmed.

“But how did you think to keep up the pretence?” Lucrezia asked. “I was bound to see the picture before you left.”

“Sandro was going to pretend to be painting the very part which I had already done,” Leonardo explained. “In fact, his brush would not touch the canvas. I would keep you sufficiently distracted so you would not notice.”

Impish amusement played about Lucrezia’s lips. “Very resourceful,” she complimented them.

“But now, of course, it is all for nothing.” Sandro sighed.

Lucrezia’s smile grew wider and her eyes flashed mischievously. “Only if I tell Lorenzo.”

“You mean you will keep my secret?”

“It’s such an ingenious trick,” said Lucrezia, “I would not want to spoil it any more than I would want to spoil the painting itself. Besides, Lorenzo thinks himself so very clever. This would pay him back prettily for the trick he played on my cousin last week. Poor Giuseppi! Lorenzo and his friends carried his bed from his house while he was sleeping, so that he woke up in the middle of the Piazza Santa Trinita.”

Sandro fell to his knees and kissed the girl’s hand. “You have the kindness of a saint!”

“I don’t know about that,” Lucrezia giggled. “But I do hope a sense of fun wouldn’t be out of place in Heaven.”

Leonardo laughed too, but their sense of relief was interrupted by an urgent rap at the door.

“Come!” said Lucrezia.

The slender face of Fresina appeared. “Mistress,” she said, “Signor Lorenzo de’ Medici is on his way up. He says he wants to view the portrait.”

“Thank you, Fresina,” said Lucrezia. She waved the girl away and slammed the door shut.

Sandro grabbed Leonardo by the shoulder and propelled him towards the window.

“Quick!” he ordered. “Get in the chest!”

Sandro flipped open the catch and threw up the lid. “Come on, get in!” he said, pointing to the empty interior of the chest.

“Are you crazy?” Leonardo exclaimed. “I’m not getting in there!”

“But you have to,” Sandro insisted, his eyes feverish with panic. “If Lorenzo finds you here, he’ll know exactly what’s going on.”

“He’s right,” Lucrezia agreed. “Lorenzo will see the paint is fresh and wonder why Signor Botticelli has stopped. He will spot the bandage, and even worse, he will see that your hands, Leonardo, are covered with paint.”

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