Page 223 of DATE
"If anyone asks," Hedy replied gently, "just say it’s a work requirement. I need my staff to move swiftly. No need to explain anything further."
The maid cheered and smiled joyfully. "Finally, I don’t have to take small steps when carrying things. Thank you so much!"
Meanwhile, the experiments with the vine disease treatments had seen several failures. Some treatments had no effect at all, while others poisoned the plants, turning their stems and leaves black and rotten.
Among the remaining few, one particular treatment showed the most promise. It seemed to have no side effects and worked remarkably quickly. It was the copper sulfate solution Da Vinci had once used for his paintings—an elegant and brilliant ice-blue liquid.
The plants that were sprayed with diluted copper sulfate solution began to show significant recovery within a short time, and the spots and streaks faded quickly.
When Hedy noticed this, she carefully recorded her findings in her notebook and drew a star to highlight the key points.
Earlier, during a meeting with everyone, Hedy had carefully instructed the farmers whose vines were infected with mildew to be mindful of the other animals and visitors at their estates. She also helped them isolate the healthy vines from the diseased ones.
For now, she could only save what she could, but to truly test the toxicity of the copper sulfate solution, she would have to wait until the grapes ripened next August.
At least this year, it seemed she would have to spend Christmas in Florence with everyone.
According to reports from the palace, young Leo, who had been sent to the Vatican, had become a cardinal two years ago. Now, at just ten years old, he had countless noble families coming to Doge's Palace to discuss his engagement.
His sister, it was said, had already been betrothed to the son of Pope Innocent VIII. In a few years, once she had grown a little older, she would be sent far away in marriage.
Out of caution, Hedy had begun to use more and more aliases to start new businesses. The textile workshop she had initiallybought in the West District had officially merged into a three-in-one factory, allowing her to hire more people in a more organized way.
She could now buy the paints she had created at her own brand in Florence, with the price of purple paint plummeting. She had even heard that a Persian merchant had once tried to destroy their shop.
Similarly, in Milan, she could now buy fabric and satin produced by her workshop, and the reputation and quality were excellent.
More and more women in Florence were beginning to step outside their homes, using their hands to create more respectable lives for themselves. The craze for high heels gradually began to subside, and quietly, the cloth shoes made for women started to gain popularity.
Little Raphael often came to the studio, sometimes holding his head high as he listened to Botticelli’s lectures, and other times helping Hedy with simple sketch designs for patterns. Though he was the youngest in the yard, he still made an effort to take on some of the work.
Sometimes, when Hedy looked at this boy with his red lips and white teeth, she would think of her own son when he was young, smiling with nostalgia and tenderness.
Indeed, there were still lovely children around.
Botticelli didn’t inquire much about Milan, and instead, he often pulled her into watching dances or plays, then they would sit in the courtyard, painting for the whole day.
There were some other sponsored individuals living there as well, but most, upon seeing his paintings, would feel an inexplicable sense of inadequacy and wouldn’t dare to join in the fun.
They would sometimes talk about a particular play, laughing heartily, while little Raphael would stand on tiptoe, helpinghis teacher fill in some colors or painting flowers as embellishments.
The atmosphere was relaxing and natural, truly endearing.
When Hedy came over to chat with them again, Botticelli spoke a few words before suddenly glancing toward the entrance of the courtyard, his expression one of surprise.
Raphael paused his painting and curiously looked over. "Sir, who is he?"
Da Vinci walked over, tired but determined, his expression complex as he looked at her.
He noticed Botticelli and the little boy, feeling a mix of hesitation and displeasure. But when his gaze turned to Hedy, it was as if all other emotions no longer mattered.
"Da Vinci? What brings you here?" Hedy realized something and got up to greet him. "How is everything at home?"
"Atalante has already sent Sarai back, and he’s taking care of things at home," Da Vinci, having ridden through the night, spoke with a slightly hoarse voice. "I came to… see you."
Botticelli, understanding the situation, gently scooped up the focused little Raphael along with his paintbrushes and carried them both away, giving the two of them some private space.
Hedy hadn’t expected him to actually come to find her, and she lowered her gaze with a bit of helplessness, saying, “You don’t need to think too much about it... that matter is already behind us.”
