‘It looks finished to me,’ Anna observes.

Catharina snorts in disbelief. ‘Does it so? Look again. Can you not see how Lady Huysum’s dress appears thin? I haven’t worked up the colour. The dress is meant to be pink, not white. I’ve run out of poppyseed oil. Crispijn was supposed to bring me more back from Amsterdam. I suppose I should send you upstairs to ask him for it, but I cannot stand the thought of his gloating, thinking he’s won and I am hard at work again. He should respect my wishes and support me, knowing how hard it has been to lose the one person I trusted above all others.’

Dropping her hands to her sides, Catharina leads Anna to a velvet curtain which conceals another painting hanging on the wall, a rope dangling beside it. Catharina picks up the rope.

‘This is the most important piece in my collection,’ she says. ‘Before I show it to you, I need you to understand that it wasn’t always this way. Crispijn and I used to be close. “Two cherries connected by one stem” – that’s how my mother described us. She was called home to God just after our fifteenth birthday. Her death plunged me into the deepest melancholy I have ever experienced. Until that moment, I’d never truly believed that someone I loved could just disappear, that they could depart for Heaven without saying goodbye and leave nothing of themselves behind.’

Catharina’s eyes shine. She pauses to press a hand against her stomach, and inhales a deep, steadying breath.