Free Tulip Fever by Deborah Moggach

me and then when I wouldn’t submit to his filthy lust—I’m only a poor girl but I’m keeping my precious gift, it’s the only treasure I possess—when I wouldn’t submit to him he threw me out, into the street, without even a good-bye.” Her eyes are brimming with tears. “I loved him just like you did, like you said.”
    Willem puts his arm around her. He can feel her sharp shoulders; compared with his comfortable Maria she feels as frail as a bird. “Don’t cry,” he says. “I’ll look after you.”
    More drinks are put in front of them. Annetje raises her glass. “Here’s to us and the folks back home.”
    He gulps it down. Warmth spreads through him; the room sways. “She’s so pretty,” he says. “I knew she couldn’t love a dolt like me.”
    Annetje snuggles against him. “I think she’s stupid. I think you’re very handsome.” She puts her hand on his knee.
    He is on a ship; the room rocks to and fro. Bunches of hops, hanging from the ceiling, sway in time to the stamping feet. Annetje’s brother seems to have disappeared.
    “Here’s a health to the man and the maid,
Here’s a health to the jolly dragoon,
We’ve tarried here all day and drunk down the sun
Let’s tarry here and drink down the moon!”
    He gazes around. He loves them all. Dimmed by smoke, they seem to be dancing in a dream, and now Annetje has dragged him to his feet and they are dancing too, except his feet won’t do what he tells them to do. He staggers; she props him upright. She grips him tight; she has strong little arms. Up on the wall a row of plates loom forward and recede; surely they will topple down and crash.?
    Time passes; he seems to have been here forever. The music quickens and now Annetje is laughing. Her teeth are stained by tobacco; with a vague sort of surprise he realizes that she is very young, hardly more than a girl. Where is her brother? The fellow should be looking after her. She presses herself against Willem and he feels a shameful stir of desire. How could he, when he loves Maria? The minx. The trollop. Fuck ’em .
    “You’re happy now.” Annetje giggles in his ear. “Something tells me you’re getting very happy.” She clutches him tighter, rubbing herself against him. “Want to take me home?”
    He nods. He must look after her. She is lost, like himself; they must comfort each other. And her hard, insistent little body is making his bones melt.
    She leads him through the crowd. An old lady grins at them, baring her gums. She says something to Annetje, who leans over and whispers in her ear. Somebody bumps against Willem; he staggers and regains his balance. Looking at the woman again, he realizes that she is not old, in fact—hardly beyond thirty years. His brain is befuddled. Nothing, tonight, is what it seems.
    Gripping his hand, Annetje leads him upstairs.
    “Where do you live?” he asks.
    “My lodging is here,” she says. “I’ve got a little room. We’re one big happy family.”
    They walk down a narrow passage. There are doors on both sides. Behind one of them a woman shrieks with laughter. It’s an eerie sound, like a bird he used to hear at night on the marshes.
    And then Annetje has closed the door behind them. It is a tiny room, just space for a bed. Willem’s wits are slow at the best of times; it is only now that, drunkenly, he realizes what she is. For a moment he is disappointed; another dream vanishes. Then he is relieved. She is a prostitute. He doesn’t have to protect her now; he can do what he wants with her.
    The thought arouses him. He has never been with a prostitute before, but all the other fellows have—the fishermen he deals with, the stall holders down in the market. Even his younger brother Dierk, if he can believe him.
    “Don’t be shy,” Annetje whispers, pulling him onto the bed. She lies next to him. It is a tight fit; he is jammed against the wall. She takes his hand under her skirt and pushes his finger into her hole. How warm and