Catharina frowns at the unpleasant thought, but Blanche laughs, indulging her husband’s taste for poor jokes. Anna retreats into the shadows at the back of the room behind the easel Catharina has set up. A canvas is propped on the timber frame and Anna can see the figures of the VOC officer and his young wife committed there in oils. Catharina had spent the first two weeks sketching the couple, drawing their arms and eyes and hands and clothes with a kind of fervour until Maarten grew annoyed and demanded to know why she didn’t just start on the final portrait at once. Catharina’s face had hardened and Anna knew she wanted to argue, but her desire to discover what Maarten knew about Griet proved stronger. A week ago she began working on the canvas which will eventually hold the finished portrait of the wedded couple. Her biggest challenge, of course, has been incorporating Maarten’s shifting desires. He is a difficult model, moody and restless, often refusing to stay still for the required hour. Today, he seems even more annoying than usual. He puffs up his chest and walks around the room whenever he grows bored of standing by his wife’s side.

When Catharina asks him to return, he pretends he hasn’t heard. He looks around the room as if it is an empire he plans on conquering. His gaze falls on Anna.

‘I want her in the portrait,’ he says. Anna looks behind her, assuming he refers to somebody else.

‘Who?’ Catharina says.

Maarten points to Anna.

‘What is the good of her hanging around if she cannot be useful? She can be a marriage witness or a servant hovering in the background.’ Maarten waves his hand. ‘I am a great art connoisseur, Madam. You’d know that if you had ever bothered to listen to me before it served your own interests to do so. Now that you need my money, you listen to every word with rapt attention. Eh?’

Catharina doesn’t answer. Anna stays motionless where she is. Maarten, noticing, waves at her.

‘Go and change,’ he says. ‘You can wear the dress you wore to the masque. Was it cream? Or gold? I can’t remember, I don’t pay attention to fashion. Hurry up now. My time is valuable.’

Anna exchanges a look with Catharina. She can tell Catharina doesn’t want to submit to Maarten’s demands.

‘Griet would do it,’ he says suddenly, into the empty air.

‘Come upstairs with me,’ Catharina says to Anna, quietly. She takes Anna’s arm and guides her into the corridor. They walk together to Anna’s bedroom. Catharina leans upon the wall next to her as Anna fumbles in the dresser for her mother’s gown.

‘I’m sorry,’ she says, her face as white as chalk. ‘I no more want to paint you than you want to model. But it’s for the greater good, Anna. You understand.’