The Hawk Is Dead

33

Wednesday 22 November 2023

Grace held the door for The Queen and her Private Secretary, then followed Glenn Branson out into the corridor. His eye was immediately taken by an ancient and very lifelike portrait of a nobleman with a massive beard, staring imperiously out of the canvas.

‘You have some wonderful art in the Palace, Ma’am,’ he said.

She turned towards him, now with a very big smile, as if he had touched on a favourite subject. ‘Is it an interest of yours?’ she asked.

‘Both my wife and I, Ma’am,’ he replied.

‘Well, in that case we’ll take the slightly long way round, and go via the Marble Corridor and up to the Picture Gallery, where we have some of our finest paintings — and some wonderful statues.’ Then, as if she was assuming the role of Palace tour guide, The Queen said, ‘Did you know we have the largest private collection of Canalettos in the world here in Buckingham Palace?’

He shook his head, wishing he could be videoing this for Cleo. The Queen herself giving him a tour!

‘I’ll show you some, as well as our very magnificent Rembrandts.’

Along the way, Glenn and Jayne peeled off, but Grace barely noticed, he was so mesmerized by all the paintings Queen Camilla was pointing out. As well as the display cabinet after display cabinet of fine ornaments and jewellery they passed.

‘Do you have a favourite painting, Ma’am?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I do. I’ll show it to you. It’s in the Picture Gallery.’

After a few minutes, with Grace awkwardly tongue-tied, they climbed a wide staircase and entered a long gallery with rose-pink walls and a vaulted glass ceiling. Gilded sofas with grey satin coverings, as if there for viewing purposes, were arranged along either side of white marble fireplaces. There was a hush about the room, an almost cathedral-like sense of awe. Grace couldn’t help it, he had to just stop and stare for a second at the paintings on both sides.

‘Some of the very best Canalettos are on the left,’ The Queen pointed out. ‘It was George III who was responsible — and rather unintentionally — for acquiring these, as well as my favourite painting.’

‘Really?’ Grace said.

‘George III loved books. He bought a collection from the British Consul in Venice in 1762 — a fellow called Joseph Smith. Apparently Smith was short of money and offered The King a deal on fifty-three Canalettos, and threw in another picture by a then relatively unknown Dutch artist called Vermeer.’

‘Amazing!’

‘Indeed,’ she said. ‘And over on the right, just over there, we have our best Rembrandts.’

Grace was torn between the stunning landscapes of Canaletto’s Venice and the sombre but incredibly detailed and lifelike Rembrandts, hardly knowing which way to look and wishing he could stop and linger.

‘But this,’ Queen Camilla said, really animated now, ‘this coming up is my absolute favourite painting in the entire Royal Collection — this simply gorgeous Vermeer — it—’

She stopped in mid-sentence and stared, puzzled, at a landscape featuring a couple together in an idyllic woodland setting. There were two Doric columns behind them and a lake in a forest further back, surrounded by an array of beautiful people in beautiful period clothes.

She turned to Grace. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘The Royal Collection team are constantly doing this — taking away paintings and other works of art to clean them and replacing them with something else, like this Fragonard. Jewellery too. There’s a particularly beautiful coronet I just adore, with a quite magnificent diamond, which has been removed from a display cabinet and gone ages. I keep asking the Director of the Royal Collection when it’s coming back. I’m afraid the Royal Collection team really are a law unto themselves!’

‘With the best of intentions, Ma’am?’ Grace questioned.

‘I’d like to think so,’ she said. ‘Although they are sometimes a bit too possessive — they seem to think they own these works. The Monarchy, in fact, hold them all in trust for the Nation as their guardians.’

He followed her up a flight of stairs, impressed by her agility as she raced ahead.

Then she knocked on an ornate door in front of them. From the other side, Grace heard a familiar voice from radio and television. Posh, commanding, a little strained but above all warm. ‘Come in!’

He took a deep breath. Was this really happening?

But at the same time a cog had started turning inside his head. Just slowly. That old familiar sense of unease. Something he could not immediately lay a finger on. But it was there. Unsettling him.