A story of art and love, and the brutal tragedy of war

November, 1942. Dear Elizabeth, I've got myself a new project, to cheer myself up a bit. It has absolutely nothing to do with the war effort. We're completely starved of art in London these days. Anything decent was stashed away by the authorities years ago. But the National Gallery is going to dust off one masterpiece each month, put it on display, and allow us masses to trail in front of it. I've promised myself solemnly that I will go along each month to see whichever painting it is that has been chosen, then write and tell you...