I will my lungs to inflate and suck at the summer-and-body-humidified air. My brain kicks in two, lifetime-filled seconds later. There's still time. There's still time to negotiate a fair share before the auction closes.
"There she is." She heads off towards Bess before I can redirect her to a quieter spot where there's nobody to overhear what she has to say.
My "wait" is swallowed up by the surrounding noise and all I can do is follow her.
I look around for Jeanette, for Mistral – Elly even – to help me deflect any forthcoming disaster.
But I can't see them.
I offer my apologies as I push past people and take out my phone to call Mistral. By the time it goes through to voice mail, the woman has already reached Bess.
She steps in front of whoever Bess is chatting to and says, "I need to talk to you urgently."
Like Tetris pieces falling into place, Bess' face shifts through a series of expressions as she realises what this woman's words most likely mean.
She looks up at me, her eyes wide.
"In the garden," I say, because nobody else and especially nobody representing a news outlet, can hear whatever's about to pass. "Let's talk in the garden."
Before I can lead her away, the woman continues, "I've only just been made aware of what you've been doing with…" she points at the sculpture. "I don't know if you're authentic or have been misled, but whichever it is, you have to know the truth of the original letter."
Everything inside me stops. My breath, my pulse. My cautious optimism plummets into a dark pit of despair with a very jagged, organ-spearing bottom.
The woman's voice is thin, shaky. Bess has to lean towards her to hear her above the hubbub.
I look around. Nobody appears to be listening, but there are people very close by, looking at the sculpture or at Bess in the hope of conversation.
My armpits prickle with sweat and I lead the woman by the elbow so she and Bess are by the wall and I can stand in front of them, creating a barrier.
"We can make a deal," I say at the same time Bess says, "What do you mean, 'truth of the original letter'?"
I stand on my tiptoes and try to find any of the group to help, but can't see anyone. Pulling my phone out, I ring Jeanette.
"The first one was found in a rubbish bin at the library, right?"
Bess gives a barely perceptible nod.
"I put it there."
Bess' eyes flick to mine then back again. "Yes. That's why you're here. Why did you do that?"
Jeanette's phone rings out.
"I don't know why all this –" she gestures at the soldier. "– has happened since, but I threw that one away because it was written by the man who fathered me."
"Do you want us to withdraw the item from auction?" I ask the woman.
She swivels her eyes to me. "This sculpture, I understand, is meant to be about love. That letter didn't – doesn't represent love. You are selling a false promise."
With a frown, Bess asks. "What do you mean?"
"I threw the letter away because I never knew my father. He had a love affair with my mother before the war and wrote letters to her throughout, promising a life together. Then when the war was over and he returned, the marriage never came. And when a pregnancy did, he vanished."
Bess' face slackens with shock.
"After my mother died, all I had of the man who was my biological father was that one letter. I came here to find out about him. I didn't like what I found, so I threw the letter away."
Bess straightens, a look of trepidation on her face that has nothing to do with the threat of being exposed as a fraudulent artist. "Who...who was your father?"
