‘I do,’ Blanche says, after only a slight hesitation. ‘I kept this day in the back of my mind. All through the fever dreams and the awful swelling, I thought of it as a reward, a prize I had to get better in order to claim. My husband plans to hang your portrait in the reception room of our new house, Lady van Shurman. It will be so hot in Sumatra. I have heard it is a place of extremes. Rains every afternoon like clockwork, but otherwise as dry as a desert.’ She touched Maarten’s arm tentatively. ‘Maarten assures me there will be a degree of civility about the place. Servants and some homelike comforts. I hope the portrait will remind me of Holland where we might one day return.’

‘That is a worthy sentiment,’ Catharina says. Anna can tell she is impatient to begin the sitting; she has probably missed half of what Blanche said, too busy devising how she can extract the location of Griet’s imprisonment from Maarten’s silent lips. ‘Everything is ready for you,’ she says. ‘Miss Tesseltje has been preparing canvases for days now and the portrait studio has been cleaned and dusted within an inch of its life. As we discussed, I’ll paint you standing, Madam, by your husband’s side. If you’ll follow Miss Tesseltje, I’ll meet you there in a matter of moments.’

Anna beckons them forward, glad Catharina omitted any reference to the first botched canvases. She hears Blanche take a step behind her, then falter. Looking back, she sees that Maarten hasn’t moved. He holds himself stiffly and there is a sour expression on his face that even Catharina, buoyed by high spirits about Griet, cannot fail to misinterpret.

‘Is something wrong?’ she says.

‘I’ve changed my mind. I would prefer you to paint us in the library. I remember the way – it’s down that corridor and to the left. I remember hiding in the window seat when I was a child, waiting for your brother to come and find me.’

Catharina frowns. ‘Father’s library? But it’s been shut up for years. And there’s no fire in there. It would be most unsuitable, sir. Better you come to the studio where it’s warm. I would hate Madam Horst’s cold to return due to any neglect on my part.’

Maarten’s jaw tenses. ‘I insist,’ he says. ‘The library is the grandest room in the house. I do not want this to be like any other portrait you’ve painted before. I’m not paying you to create yet another version of something already hanging in a dozen other houses.’