"With two weeks still to go. Who knows what the final amount will be, but it will be a lot more than three hundred thousand. Why on earth would you try to deny local artists that?"
"Because you haven't got any permissions, Bess. You're about to make a huge amount of money off somebody else's possessions. What if that person turns up at the auction?"
"Then I'll give them their half of the money and I'm sure they'll be very grateful. They can't possibly have any objections to a public display of the letters. They gave them to me knowing Iwouldmake them public. Honestly, Ed. Is that it?" She shakes her head and turns to keep walking.
No. That is most definitely not it.
She pauses at a grave to write something in her notebook and gives me a smile that can only be interpreted as wry. "Thanks for your concern, though. As frustrating as it can be, I really do admire your conscientiousness."
"I don't think you've fully thought through the potential repercussions."
Bess sighs, drops the hand holding the pen and looks up at me. "Tell me all the potential repercussions I should have fully thought through, then."
"Making a sculpture out of the letters and selling it is a whole different ball game than reading them out on social media. Knowing you would make the letters public is not the same as giving you permission to do what you want with them, to make money off them."
"No, but they've had plenty of time to object to the sculpture, seeing I've been posting about it. Clearly whoever they are follow me. Otherwise, I wouldn't have received the second letter."
Shit. This is not going as I planned.
"But you can't be sure of that. What if they haven't seen it? Following someone doesn't guarantee you see everything they post. You're assuming their act of passing on the letters to you has given you ownership, when their intention could be something very different. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be okay with someone selling the love letters of my grandparents."
"Well of course I've assumed I have ownership. The first letter was thrown in a bin, Ed. That is not the act of someone who wants to keep something in their possession."
She's absolutely right, but I have no choice except to keep on doggedly with my point of argument. "Your whole platform is vulnerable because you've created it through social media. Suppose they are upset about what you've done and mount an opposing campaign against you. Tides turn on social media very quickly."
"That is a massive 'if'. Now you're just being stupid." Bess continues down the path, glancing at the next grave.
I fall in step behind her. "I'm not being stupid, Bess. You're selling somebody else's family legacy for a lot of money. They could, reasonably, demand the whole lot."
Bess stops in her tracks, but she doesn't turn around this time. After a couple of seconds, she slaps the notebook against her thigh as if working her way to a decision.
Eventually she says, "It's a good point, but I think saving the community's worth the risk," and carries on walking.
Fuck. I knew this would be a hard task, but I've woefully underestimated her resolve when I should have known better. "I don't think it is, Bess. All that energy, all that expectation of being able to buy out Pinkerton could be undermined very quickly. People get funny and pretty stupid about money."
Bess pauses at a grave and leans in to read it like she isn't concerned about the truth of my words. When she straightens up, she faces me. "Then we'll have to mitigate that risk. I'll openly invite the person sending the letters to reveal themselves at the auction with the promise of splitting the profit with them. It'll actually be a really good publicity stunt. Everyone will want to know who that person is." She walks forward and lays a hand on my upper arm. "Thanks for bringing it to my attention with your usual tenacity, Ed. "But I think it will work out. People value the gallery, what it represents, they want it to succeed. Don't you?"
It's the most prolonged touching Bess has ever done. I should be swooning or hyperventilating, but I'm far too occupied with shouting "FUCK!" very loudly inside my increasingly panicked skull. I'm going to have to pull the kill switch. I absolutely don't want to, but she's given me no choice. Every molecule in my body is sweating at the terror of it. Of exposing myself.
She gives my arm a pat and walks away.
I make one last, desperate and pathetic attempt at dissuasion. "If you give half the money away, will the remainder be enough?"
She sighs out her frustration at me and carries on peering at tombstones. "It's a golden opportunity." She stops in front of a grave at the end of the row. "Another one anywhere near this good won't come along. Ihaveto take it, Ed." She glances across at me. "Nothing you can say is going to stop me."
No, Bess. Actually, something I can say and am about to say will most likely stop you. I take a breath.And release it. I'm not sure I can do this.
I ball my fists and draw every bit of energy I can find under the incapacitating thought of what I'm about to reveal to her. "Bess?"
She answers with, "Come and meet the most despicable person to ever stain Port Derrum's good name," and it completely throws me off.
I don't move.I'mabout to be the most despicable person in Port Derrum. I almost say the thought aloud and Bess beckons me over.
"Allow me to introduce you."
The gravestone readsBasil Alexander Everett 1922-2006and nothing else. No "In loving memory of". No "Beloved son of" or "Beloved husband of".
"This was the man charged with being the headmaster of Port Derrum Primary School for more decades than it's healthy for anyone to be in a job. Anybody who had the misfortune of being taught under his leadership knew him fondly as Evil Everett."
