Midnight Blue

by Simone van der Vlugt

  ‘For a man, yes.’

  ‘And not for a woman?’ He looks askance at me. ‘You’re not one to rest on your laurels – I liked that about you from the start.’

  Something flutters in my belly. I push the happy feeling away.

  ‘When a woman casts her life into chaos, it tends to be out of necessity, Matthias. It’s men who leave everything behind because they want to have fun. Men like you.’

  He mulls over my words for a moment and then nods. ‘You’re right. But there aren’t many men who dare to break free, either.’

  ‘Because they have families they need to take care of. Because what you think of as fun costs money, and not everyone has it.’

  ‘I mean men of my social class, who can afford it. My brothers would love to see the East, but they daren’t make the long voyage. They don’t dare leave their businesses behind, not even in the hands of their family. If you live in fear, you only live half a life.’

  ‘But it’s often a much longer one. I wouldn’t want to spend six months on a boat either. I’ve heard too many stories about what can go wrong.’

  ‘You wouldn’t dare? That doesn’t seem like you, Catrin.’

  I smile at him. ‘You don’t know me.’

  ‘That’s true, but we’re going to do something about that. By the way, is that the painting you were talking about?’ Matthias points his toe at the canvas, which is leaning up against the bench wrapped in old rags.

  ‘Yes, do you want to see it?’ I pick it up and unwind the rags.

  Matthias takes the painting and studies it in admiration. ‘That’s quite something! Now I understand Geelvinck’s reaction.’

  ‘You think it’s pretty?’ I say, blushing.

  ‘More than pretty. I want you to finish it and sell it to me.’

  ‘It will be a gift.’

  We look at each other and Matthias leans towards me. His lips brush mine, warm and loving.

  ‘I’m glad you needed to bring the cargo,’ I say quietly.

  He grins. ‘That cargo could easily have waited another week, but I did my best to convince Adriaan that it needed to go now. You don’t think I’d have allowed you to go alone, do you?’

  As the day draws to a close we sail into Leiden. We make our way to an expensive-looking inn called the Leiden Market Boat where Matthias books only one room. I don’t protest. Something between us has changed, something I can’t put my finger on but which can be seen in every word and gesture. A feeling of familiarity combined with desire and the knowledge that you have to grab hold of happiness where you find it.

  I don’t know whether this love has a chance or if Matthias is serious about it. I do know that I could get pregnant and that he might abandon me. I should be holding him resolutely at arm’s length. But I don’t.

  As soon as we’re in our room, we turn to each other and start taking off our clothes. We kiss, touch and caress without saying a word. The last pieces of clothing fall to the floor and we topple onto the bed. His naked body covers mine, our mouths meld together, so urgently that our teeth clash and I feel his tongue everywhere. After that he works his way down. He doesn’t neglect a single inch of my body, until my skin glows and a wave of pleasure crashes over me which drowns out any qualms.

  15

  The voyage from Leiden to Delft can’t go slowly enough. My instincts say it’s all too good to be true, sobering reality is going to come bursting in any second. Until that happens I want to believe in a life of love and happiness, and I savour every moment of it. Even the spring is doing its part to make this a pleasant journey. The polder landscape between Leiden and Delft is a succession of dykes with willow trees, lush green meadows and sprawling farms and windmills. I stand on deck watching the clouds that flit across the sun, the blue that re-emerges in their wake. I feel the wind on my skin, the weight of Matthias’s arm around my shoulders and I sigh.

  ‘What’s that sigh for?’ Matthias asks with a smile.

  ‘Nothing in particular, it’s just for the moment. It’s a sigh of contentment.’

  He pulls me even closer.

  ‘We do need to discuss something, though,’ I say.

  ‘And what’s that?’

  ‘Well, how we’re going to do this. I mean, you live in Amsterdam and I’m moving to Delft. That’s going to be inconvenient.’

  He doesn’t reply and stares off into the distance. I feel a vague sense of unease rising inside me.

  ‘What are your plans?’ I ask tentatively.

  It takes a long time for him to answer, too long. And when he does answer it sounds like he’s doing it against his will. ‘I don’t have any plans. I take each day as it comes.’

  I regard him silently for a moment. ‘Ye-es,’ I say eventually, ‘but everyone has to make a decision or two now and again, surely?’

  ‘Is that so? I’d rather not if I can avoid it. I prefer to drift along and see what happens.’

  I have to let this information sink in. ‘And you mean you want to do things that way with us as well.’

  ‘Do you think that’s a bad thing? Just waiting and seeing how it goes?’

  If I start raising objections now, I’ll scare him off. And after all, there’s still the chance that one day …

  ‘Catrin?’

  I manage a reassuring smile. ‘No, I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I’ve been married once and I wasn’t all that taken with it.’

  The relief is all over his face. He kisses me briskly. ‘I knew we were cut from the same cloth. We like adventure and change, new experiences.’

  I say nothing. I love him and I love a regular life. But if that’s the way he wants it, I’ll happily play the game.

  We head up the Vliet towards Delft. The sun is beginning to set and the trees and windmills cast long shadows into the canal. Matthias has to go even further, to Delfshaven, and we agree that he’ll come to find me tomorrow.

  ‘By the time you reach Delft, it’ll be too late to go to my brother’s,’ he says. ‘And you’re probably tired as well. Go to the Mechelen Inn on the market square – they know me there. Ask for Johannes or Digna and give them this note. It says they can put all the expenses on my slate.’

  ‘Thank you. When will you get there?’

  ‘At nightfall tomorrow, if I’ve taken care of all my business. Will you manage without me until then?’ He taps me teasingly on the nose.

  ‘Of course,’ I say. ‘I’ve spent my whole life until now managing just fine without you.’

  Even though it’s only for a day and a night, I don’t like saying goodbye. After a long embrace and an even longer kiss, I climb onto the dock at Noordeinde. With my bundle at my feet, I stand and wave to Matthias as the cargo ship continues on its way up the Vliet. It disappears from view as it rounds a bend and a feeling of intense loneliness washes over me. I sounded so tough when I said I could manage just fine without Matthias, and of course it was true, but I do feel a sudden absence at my side.

  I take a deep breath, pick up my things and ask a passer-by how to get to the marketplace.

  ‘Walk,’ says the man with a grin, but he does point me in the right direction. ‘Go down Old Delft Street and take a left at New Street. Then you’re there.’

  After a swift thank you, I head off. The working day is over and it’s busy on the streets. Maids and workers are heading home, farmers are leaving the city before the gates shut and shopkeepers are fastening the drop-down hatches they’ve been displaying their goods on. Delft isn’t all that much bigger than Alkmaar, and there are similarities, with all their little canals and houses with stepped gables. It gives me a pleasant sense of homecoming.

  Most of the streets are in the shade by this time; the sun only shines on the buildings in a small corner of the market square.

  My gaze sweeps over the stepped gables and stops at a building next to the church. The sign above the door depicts a beer barrel and a bed. To be certain, I ask a woman selling brooms whether it is the Mechelen Inn, and it is.
<
br />   It’s busy inside, all the tables are taken. A young man is standing at the bar and I approach him. ‘I’m looking for Johannes.’

  ‘That’s me,’ he says, giving me a quizzical look.

  ‘I’m Catrin Barentsdochter. Matthias van Nulandt recommended this inn to me.’ I produce the rolled-up note.

  Johannes reads it and when he looks up, he greets me with a smile this time. ‘Any friend of the Van Nulandt family is a friend of mine. Welcome, Catrin. You’ve had a long journey, you must be tired and hungry.’ He turns to a woman with dark hair and a curious expression who is on her way over to us. ‘This is Catrin, a friend of Matthias van Nulandt. Catrin, this is my mother, Digna. Have we got anything tasty left for her, Ma?’

  ‘Of course.’ Digna nods politely. ‘The only thing is, you’ll have to share a table with some of the other guests. Johannes, see if there’s a seat free.’

  Her son leads me to a long table where a number of ladies and gentlemen are having a meal. I notice the clientele seem wealthy. The inn is fancy, too; rather than bare boards it has a green tiled floor covered in sand to absorb spilled drinks. The taproom is large and long, it has several fireplaces and the walls are adorned with paintings of tavern scenes. This is no cheap place to doss down for the night. I feel out of place in my simple, rumpled clothes and sit quietly at the end of the table without venturing to speak to any of the other guests.

  The food, white beans in plum syrup, is delicious. After a flagon of beer to wash it down, a wave of tiredness engulfs me. A maid takes me to my room – which I don’t have to share – and I fall asleep as soon as I lie down.

  16

  ‘Did you have a painting with you yesterday?’ Johannes enquires, setting a dish of baked kidneys and a piece of bread down on the table.

  I’m sitting in the sunshine near the window in the taproom. I’ve been asleep for so long I’m in a daze and all the other guests have already left.

  ‘Yes,’ I say.

  ‘Do you like art?’

  ‘I love art. I painted it myself.’

  ‘Really? How wonderful. Yes, I noticed because I’m not just an innkeeper, I’m a painter and art dealer as well.’

  ‘So that’s why there are so many paintings in here.’ I look around.

  ‘I painted a couple myself. I was still in training back then.’

  ‘You’re not any more?’

  ‘No, the guild examined and approved my official masterpiece last year; now I can legally call myself a master painter.’

  ‘Which ones are yours?’

  Johannes stands up and points to a couple of inn scenes, signed J. Vermeer.

  I study them with deep admiration. ‘They’re magnificent.’

  ‘Thank you. They’re not bad, otherwise I wouldn’t have hung them up, but I’d do a lot of things differently now.’

  ‘That’s always the way,’ I say, still examining the paintings. ‘Where did you do your apprenticeship? Here in Delft?’

  He nods. ‘Under various masters. One year with one, two years with another, one year with another one. Totally chaotic, but the advantage was that I learned a lot of different techniques. It made it easier to develop my own style.’

  ‘Because you weren’t stuck with one specific style of painting.’

  ‘Exactly. And what brings you to this city, Catrin Barentsdochter?’ Johannes moves to sit down and I follow his example.

  ‘I’m looking for work. Matthias says his brother has something for me, so I’m going over to see him in a minute.’

  Johannes says nothing, merely stares at me intently. I start feeling a bit uncomfortable, try to break his gaze a couple of times by glancing away and finally look him right in the eye. ‘What?’

  Startled by my directness, he leans back. ‘No, nothing. Sorry for staring at you like that. It’s because you remind me of someone.’

  ‘Is that right?’

  ‘Yes, but the likeness isn’t all that strong up close. You’re much prettier.’

  I eye him suspiciously but Johannes doesn’t seem to be flirting. His expression is earnest, even a little concerned. He looks up when a door opens and a young woman comes in. She’s blonde, with strikingly pale skin, and a resolute expression.

  ‘This is my wife, Catherina,’ Johannes says. ‘Catherina, this is Catrin. She’s a friend of Matthias.’

  Catherina’s greeting is as reserved as her husband’s and mother-in-law’s were warm. She looks me up and down and nods coolly before giving Johannes a meaningful glance.

  He stands up, suddenly uncomfortable. ‘Well, Catrin, I hope you find a job. I’m sure I’ll hear whether you have later. I assume you’ll leave your things in your room?’

  I nod. ‘I’ll probably stay here another night. Matthias is arriving today as well. He’ll pay the bill.’

  ‘I’ve no worries on that score. I’ve known the Van Nulandt family for a long time. Do you know where you’re going? It’s not far. You cross the market square, walk along the Corn Market and then you’re on The Gheer. Good luck!’ He nods to me and bustles away.

  Catherina watches him go, gives me another swift appraising glance and walks off without saying a word.

  I shrug it off and leave the inn. As soon as I get outside the racket from the various markets being held in the square smacks me in the face. I slowly make my way through the stalls and up Corn Market along the canal.

  I ask a passer-by for the Van Nulandt house. The man takes a pipe out of his mouth and points along the quay with it. ‘Down there, where they’re loading up that barge.’

  I carry on, somewhat confused. I’d expected a fancy house, but Adriaan’s brother has a shop. A drop-down hatch in front of the window that serves as a counter is covered in pottery. Two boys are carrying a crate out onto a boat. I let them pass and open the door. A jingling bell announces my arrival. As soon as I’m inside, I’m surrounded by walls piled high with bowls, jugs and mugs. Simple brown earthenware but also colourful majolica dishes and bright flatware cover every inch of the shelves. A ladder leans against one of the walls; a man is standing on it, reaching for a plate just out of his reach. As he reaches out even further, the ladder wobbles. I rush over to grab hold of it.

  ‘Thank you.’ The man looks down and his mouth falls open in shock. He slowly descends the ladder with the brightly coloured dish under his arm.

  ‘Are you Evert van Nulandt?’ By the time I’ve asked the question I have little doubt that he is. The man is somewhat older and heavier than Matthias, but his eyes are the same vivid blue and aside from the beginnings of a double chin, his profile is identical.

  ‘Yes, whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?’ He’s standing right in front of me now, half a head taller, and staring at me.

  ‘I’m Catrin Barentsdochter. Your brother Adriaan sent me.’ Without further ado, I hand him the letter from Adriaan.

  Evert van Nulandt unrolls the letter and skims it. ‘You’re looking for a job.’

  ‘Yes.’ He seems to be a man of few words, so I don’t say any more than is necessary.

  ‘I was saying a while ago that I could use another pair of hands. But not a woman.’

  I raise my eyebrows. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Good question. It’s not that a woman couldn’t do the work, that isn’t the problem. Have you been trained?’

  ‘Not really. But I have lots of practical experience.’

  ‘I thought so. Well, we shall see. The letter says you were responsible for the housekeeping and that you paint.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right. When I have time.’

  ‘Did you teach yourself? Without any training?’

  ‘Yes, I come from a farming family. My parents placed more value on milking cows and making cheese than on painting.’

  He laughs. ‘Do you paint on canvas?’

  ‘Mainly on wood or earthenware, actually. At home, I decorated cupboards and tables for my own pleasure; plates and jugs as well sometimes. I didn’t have much time for it because of the w
ork on the farm.’

  Evert has been listening intently. When I finish my tale, I venture to ask what my artistic abilities have to do with the job I’ve come for. Evert seems surprised.

  ‘Everything, of course,’ he says. ‘It’s not a bad thing that you haven’t been trained, because you obviously have talent. I think that’s much more important, really. Talent and love of the craft. I’m curious to see what you can do with a pot.’

  For a moment I don’t understand, but then it begins to dawn on me. ‘You’re looking for a man to paint pottery.’

  ‘Or a woman. It depends how skilled you are. Painting on canvas is one thing, but painting on porous ceramics is something completely different. We’ll have to do a test piece first, of course.’

  ‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Yes, of course.’

  The painting workshop is right behind the shop. The kiln shed is behind that. The doors are open and I feel the heat of the ovens hit me as I follow Evert. Three people are at work in the area where the pottery is painted: two men and a boy. They look up as we enter and stare at me.

  ‘You can sit here. Frans, grab a misfire. And paint and a brush,’ says Evert.

  As I awkwardly take my seat, the requested items appear. Frans, a tall, bald man of around thirty, fetches a pot from the shelf and sets it down in front of me. I smile but receive a disparaging look in return.

  ‘Turn it into something pretty,’ says Evert, and walks off. He disappears into an adjoining room and from then on keeps wandering in and out. He probably wants to keep an eye on his painters’ reactions. They are clearly startled to find a woman in their midst and keep glaring at me.

  I ignore their sharp looks, show them my back and focus on my work. I saw in the shop that most of the pottery is decorated with flower vines. As luck would have it. I happen to be very good at those.

  Deep in concentration, I set to work and it doesn’t take long before I’m oblivious to everything around me. As usual, I become one with my brush. I don’t even notice that somebody has come to stand next to me, and I am startled when an arm covered in scars appears in my peripheral vision.