On the morning she walks into Yolente’s room to find the woman has passed away in her sleep, a package arrives, brought by a boy on a cart. It is a painting wrapped in cloth. There is a pouch, too, filled with coins, although the coins are wrapped individually to ward off the temptation of theft. There is a letter, with an apology for the delay. Anna uses the coins to buy supplies for the winter. She waits until night has fallen to unwrap the canvas.

And then she weeps.

18

Jo

‘You remember where the occy goes?’ Nico said.

Anneke nodded. She clipped the neon yellow tube into the safety catch, her blue hair sparkling in the water’s reflection. Gentle waves rocked the boat and the three of us – Nico, Anneke and me – clung to each other. It was early morning, the sun low in the sky, the air mild. Winter would soon be on its way and it would turn the island into a different kind of place, but for now, it was the perfect weather for diving. It was perfect weather, too, for the exhibition taking place tonight.

In an excited voice, Anneke had reminded me this morning that over fifty guests had sent confirmations saying they were planning to come, including Jeanette.

‘I wouldn’t miss it,’ she’d declared when she phoned me last night. ‘I’m quite busy of course and I’ll have to stay overnight. But I plan to make the effort for you and for Catharina. When else will I get the chance to see a dress connected to the famous Catharina van Shurman?’ Her voice dropped an octave. ‘By the way, how did things go with your male colleague? Did he ever apologise or try to make amends?’

I explained that Liam had called one afternoon a few weeks after our falling-out. In a move that shouldn’t have surprised me as much as it did, he’d launched into a mumbled half-apology before boldly requesting my help.

‘Jo! I was wondering if you could send over that paper you wrote for the Flemish nightgowns? The one we never used? A friend at the BBC wants to run an interview on the link between women’s textiles and the art market. I’d really appreciate the help.’

‘Are you serious?’ My voice rasped and my cheeks burned. ‘Why on earth would I help you?’

‘Because we’re friends?’

‘If we’re friends, why did you block my number? You must have unblocked it just so you could call me now and ask for help. Friends don’t treat each other the way you treated me, Liam. Nor do research partners.’