‘My brother has been travelling around the country this past week securing commissions.’ Catharina levers a piece of fish onto her spotless plate, her knife gleaming in the wintry light. ‘I cannot be trusted to see to my own affairs. I am smart enough, it seems, to wield a paintbrush, but not smart enough to negotiate portrait commissions with worldly guildsmen. So Crispijn does it for me.’

‘Do you paint, too?’ Anna asks him.

Crispijn laughs, a pleasant, musical sound that lightens the atmosphere in the room and calms her nerves. Even Catharina smiles, as if she finds the idea of her brother daubing paint onto a canvas highly amusing. Anna can’t remember the last time she laughed like that, so careless and free. It must have been six months ago when she and Lijsbeth were preparing a water bath for some stained collars and a frog jumped out of the tub, startling them, causing Lijsbeth to flee the room. Her sister refused to return until the creature was gone. Shaking with laughter, Anna had scooped the tiny, soapy body up and carried it outside, its tiny heart beating erratically against her slippery palm.

‘Alas, no.’ Crispijn drags his knife through his food, dividing the scrambled mess of fish and breadcrumbs on his plate. ‘I have no artistic talent. Thankfully, Catharina has enough for us both. I inherited our father’s business sense. It comes in useful, at times. For example – ’ He sets down his knife and extracts a small leather journal from his pocket. ‘On my travels, I secured the following commissions, to be completed within the next three months: The wife of a silk merchant in Groen has recently given birth to her first child – a son. She would like you to paint the infant in a similar style to Anthony van Dyck’s portrait of the young Stadholder. Lady van der Helst of Delft wants another portrait with her parrots. She owns a good many parrots, so I think it best we travel to her estate or else we risk turning this house into a menagerie. Lastly, Jacob Huydecoper wants a painting he can display in his office. He felt the last one was not quite grand or impressive enough and has requested this one be… life-size. He’s willing to come to us. I told him I would draw up the contract and send him word when the roads were open again for easy travel.’

A frosty silence greets these pronouncements. Crispijn places the notebook down, picks up his fork and begins to eat, his gaze fixed determinedly on his plate. The bread on Anna’s tongue forms a hard, indigestible lump. Forcing herself to swallow, she glances at Catharina who sags low in her chair, as if the air is laden with a thick choking smog she is trying to avoid inhaling.

‘I told you I would not be ready to paint anything new until summer,’ she mutters.