‘Well, she cannot have you!’ Catharina exclaims. She clutches Anna’s hand; Anna feels the hard lumps of calluses and the many scars caused by Catharina’s engraving stele slipping as she worked. ‘You are one of us now,’ her mistress says. ‘You belong at Sterrenwijck. I hope you know that.’

‘It’s nice,’ Anna admits, ‘to hear you say it.’

‘Crispijn and I, we are not so easy to live with. Even Griet grew tired of our fighting. She often went out walking on her own through the woods. But you have brought us together,’ says Catharina. ‘I owe you a debt. I intend to pay it, in good time. And now I must think what to do about Griet.’

They are still sitting there, hands clasped, when there is a sudden commotion at the door. Mrs Hartog hurries past, calling for Lotte, and Henrick lumbers behind, his back bowed under the weight of a large travelling trunk. A familiar footfall sounds in the corridor, causing Anna to startle. She stands awkwardly as Crispijn enters. His hair is frizzed and damp from travelling, but he seems renewed by his sojourn away. His gaze softens as he looks at Anna and she realises she is still wearing her mother’s dress. She feels slightly foolish in it, as if she’s been caught playing dress-up. But then he smiles and comes to kiss her hand and Catharina’s cheek and every notion of embarrassment flees.

‘What have I missed?’ he says.

10

Jo

I was relieved to find Jeanette Hall still waiting when I raced into the café courtyard inside the Rijksmuseum’s glass atrium. I’d forgotten how congested the traffic in Amsterdam could be during morning peak hour. All those one-way canal streets and swarms of cyclists had conspired against me, resulting in a delay of fifteen minutes past our allocated start time. She sat with her back to the museum’s entrance, her white hair styled in an elegant chignon that glowed under a halo of autumn sunlight. Our eyes locked. I’d googled her of course. Her professional profile photos must have been taken during the 1980s when masculine power suits and sweaters with shoulder pads were considered the height of fashion. Apart from that, she didn’t seem to have aged much at all. She had a long, thin nose, painted lips and a piercing blue gaze that held me captive.

‘Doctor Baaker?’ she said.

I nodded. ‘I’m so sorry I’m late.’

She accepted the apology with good grace, but declined my offer of a fresh pot of tea. ‘Let’s keep this short. I’ve got a schedule as long as my arm. I shouldn’t have taken the weekend off, but it was my partner’s sixtieth birthday so we hired a houseboat with some friends. Things may have got a little messy.’