John upturned the pot and tapped it hard. Earth, wiry tangled white roots and bulb slid out into his hand, scattering the soft soil on the floor. It was unquestionably a tulip bulb. John’s rough hand caressed the smooth nut-brown papery skin, admired the perfect roundness of the bulb. The shoots at the top were strong and green, the bulb was growing away. There would be good leaves and no reason not to hope for good blooms. Of course he could not tell the colour of the flower from the skin of the bulb, but the letter attested the bulb as a Semper Augustus, Van Meer was a trustworthy trader, and the story of the bankruptcy and the bailiffs coming in was a not uncommon one in Holland now, where bulbs were changing hands a dozen times in a day, and where prices were soaring again.

Best of all, there was a little bump on the side of the bulb. It could be a little mis-shape, or it could be the start of a bulblet which would grow through the summer and by autumn would be a new bulb of its own – a profit of one hundred per cent from the labour of leaving a bulb in the earth.

John showed it to J, his finger smoothing over the lump, and then carefully repotted it.

J drew him to the window bay, out of earshot of the waiting man.

‘It could be anything,’ he warned. ‘It could be one of a dozen we already grow.’

‘Yes. But the letter looks genuine, that is Van Meer’s seal, and the story is likely. If it is indeed a Semper then there is a fortune sitting in that pot, J. Did you see the lump on the side? We could double our money on the mother bulb in a year and then quadruple it with two where we once had one.’

‘Or we could grow a red tulip and we have fifty already.’

‘I think we should risk it,’ John said. ‘There’s a fortune to be gained here, J.’

John turned towards the man. ‘How much do you want for it?’

The man did not hesitate. ‘I have orders to take a thousand English pounds.’

J choked but John nodded. ‘Do your orders permit you to take some now and some when the bulb has bloomed? Any buyer would want to see the flower.’

‘I can take eight hundred now and a note of hand to be redeemed in May.’

J drew close to his father. ‘We cannot. We cannot lay our hands on such a sum.’

‘We’ll borrow,’ John said softly. ‘It’s half the price we’d have to pay in Amsterdam.’

‘But we’re not in Amsterdam,’ J argued urgently. ‘We don’t speculate in bulbs.’