I read the email three times. Each perusal generated different emotions – relief, embarrassment, rage. I was relieved that the Noord-Holland government had approved the historical society’s request to host the exhibition. Imagining Olivia and Flora’s excited faces when I relayed the good news to them filled me with an elation I hadn’t felt in a long time. I had not been exaggerating when I told Liam how much it would mean to them for the items to be accessible to the Texel community who would treasure the opportunity to connect to this important embodiment of the island’s past. I was mortified that Rob had been taken off guard by the premature announcement about the origins of the dress, especially since he had gone to all the trouble of pushing for the exhibition to be approved. If there was only some way to dial back the hours and warn him, I would have done it wholeheartedly. Lastly, I struggled to overcome the white rage which flickered and flared. Liam had so much to answer for. His interference and rash decision could have potentially ruined both Texel’s chances at hosting the exhibition and any chance we had of discovering the identity of the true owner. But of course, as usual, Liam had been thinking only of himself.

The sky was dark as I navigated the twisted roads back to Gerrit’s beach house. I wanted to hide under a blanket and never show my face again. As I pulled into his driveway, I saw a figure dart across the dunes, racing towards the cottage. My heart leaped. I’d experienced too many strange things today to cope with another one. But as I climbed out, the figure materialised into someone familiar.

Marieke, travel-weary and exhausted, clutching the handle of her suitcase. I’d never been so glad to see her.

‘I owe you an apology,’ I whispered. ‘You were right about everything.’

Marieke’s face crumpled. Sniffing, she held out her arms and, after a moment, I let her hold me as if I were fifteen again, meeting her for the first time in my whole life.

13

Anna

Crispijn leaves for Amsterdam on a warm, spring day one month after Griet’s rescue and a week after a note arrived from her, confirming she has safely reached France. He is dressed in a black doublet and a grey travelling cloak, and a bulging bag of instruments and equipment rests at his feet.

‘I wish you didn’t have to go,’ Anna says. She touches his forehead with the back of her hand, searching for a trace of heat. But the headaches and fevers seem to have abated these past days and she must do what he is always telling her to do: relax.