‘Pieter Claesz? Are you crazy? My guy did nothing but paint still lifes. He had a son. Guess what the son did? He painted still lifes too. It’d be the world’s most boring cinematic experience. Pieter Claesz arranges crabs and shrimp for half an hour. Pieter Claesz paints a glass of wine but never drinks it. Fuck, you’d kill yourself. Are you hungry? Are you heading out? I found this great place for bitterballen. Have you tried bitterballen yet?’

Bitterballen are deep-fried and horrifyingly delicious. Claire eats more than she’d usually eat, because nothing seems excessive in the presence of this man, who puts away four times as much as her, and three Amstels. She has an Amstel too. It shoots straight to her thighs and makes them buzz.

‘So how do you find the Dutch?’ asks Jerome. ‘The Nederlanders? Do you find them odd? I remember the first time I came here, when I was a postgrad. I couldn’t believe it. I mean, I’d heard how rude they were – my supervisor, he warned me – but you can’t believe it till you hear it.’

‘I wouldn’t call them rude.’

‘Oh really? But you know what I mean, right? You need to lose some weight: that’s what they said to me. They took me for a bike ride, and it was a hot day, and I was sweating, because you sweat, right? And they were all healthy and fucking athletic, and they laughed at me and said, Jerome, you need to lose some weight, you’re going to die!’ He slaps his gut. ‘Obviously I didn’t pay any attention.’

‘I like them, though. I think if they were rude I wouldn’t like them. Maybe I’d say they were more … direct?’

‘See, to me, that’s a really indirect way of saying someone’s rude. It’s a very English way.’ He pauses. ‘I bet you think I’m a total jingoist now, don’t you? I bet you think I go around typing everyone by nationality. I don’t. I just think there’s some truth to it, there’s got to be some truth, to the national character. It interests me. How could it not? I’m big and loud and greedy and I talk too much. I’m such an American.’ He wipes his mouth. ‘Have you tried Stroopwafel yet? I know a great place.’

Jerome arrived in Haarlem at the same time as Claire, but already he has taken possession of the city, establishing a routine that makes him mysteriously unavailable in the mornings, emerging from his flat only for lunch, after which he visits the Franz Hals Museum, ‘To check in with my guy’, before settling down in his office. He works until at least ten or eleven at night, only venturing out for snacks, or to hover in his colleagues’ doorways and talk about whatever’s on his mind. Claire gets used to this rather quickly. She looks forward to his visits; sometimes she goes out with him to eat. He always knows somewhere worth trying.