I watched her stride away from me up the service road, turning at the hairpin bend at the top of the slope and disappearing around a stationary tractor. She was probably sneaking off to drink beer with some friends. I felt a pang of guilt; I should get in touch with Nico and tell him what was going on. But it wasn’t really my business and I didn’t want to make things worse between them.

Full power had been restored to the clubhouse. The downlights in the foyer glowed and the fridge hummed loudly, its door slightly ajar. I nudged it closed, after observing the rows of beer cans stacked on the shelves and noting the empty space at the bottom of the pyramid left by Anneke’s sticky fingers.

The dress was spread out across the makeshift worktable, the sleeves folded carefully like the wings of a paper crane. I was struck again by its eerie beauty. This dress was a time-traveller. It had lain at the bottom of the ocean for years, possibly centuries, communing with the creatures of the deep, waiting for Bram and his friends to come along and rescue it and bring it up into the light. Possibilities whispered to me like myriad voices inside a seashell. Had its owner been the daughter of a Dutch merchant? Or a lady-in-waiting, employed by royalty? I tried to picture her again but she stayed stubbornly in the shadows, refusing to oblige me.

Although the blinds were still drawn, I could see a narrow wedge of sky, the last of the stars fading as the sun gathered strength. I could see Polaris – the North Star, a fixed point in a world that must have baffled the astronomers of 17th-century Holland. They had adhered strongly to the Calvinistic doctrine of predestination, to the idea that every event was willed by God. Salvation could be found in the teachings of the Reformed church, which was only too happy to confirm that true believers could look forward to enjoying God’s bounty in heaven while the damned were destined to endure everlasting punishments in the firepits of hell. Against this theological backdrop, the everyday lives of Dutch citizens must have seemed almost inconsequential – and yet, it was their industry that had given the Church its power. Famine, war, illness, flood: these disruptions could upend a person’s whole existence. They could wipe out a family’s savings in a matter of hours. Only the stars offered any real comfort. No wonder the field of astronomy had drawn so many Dutch scientists and philosophers into its orbit. The cosmos, with its planetary motions and influence on the tides, could be scrutinised and debated without the need to imperil one’s immortal soul. Here, the paradox of free will and theological determinism could be conceptualised as a risk-free exploration on the influence of matter.