Chapter Twenty-Eight
AMSTERDAM, 1629
Arne van Halen worked on the simple breakfast table Clara had arranged for him as practice. At fourteen, he was the youngest pupil she had taken on, though he was already tall and broad-shouldered, with fine dark hair hanging to his shoulders. He was also the son of a wool merchant, so well educated and well mannered. This had influenced her decision to select him. It had, of course, had the opposite effect upon Nico.
‘Remember to keep the direction of the light consistent. Look at where it comes from and how it makes the shadow fall. Look at the shapes it gives you.’ Clara took his brush and corrected an area where he had made mistakes, handing it back at the sound of boots charging up the stairs.
The door flew open, hitting the wall with a crash.
