Page 281 of Double or Nothing

My stomach lurches harder.

“Returned? Really?”

“Absolutely. Some buyers have viewed it more than once. Others sent advisers earlier in the week. This is their final opportunity to inspect the work before the sale.”

“Excellent,” Dad says, trying to butt in, but Camilla keeps her attention on me.

“You’re welcome to remain with the work during the reception, but you aren’t obliged to. Some artists enjoy speaking to potential buyers. Others prefer to keep their distance.”

“What would you recommend?”

“Do what allows you to remain composed. The work no longer needs an explanation from you. It speaks for itself.”

My throat tightens. The triptych has more freedom than I have.

“Thank you.”

“Good luck,” she says, and moves away to greet another arrival.

Mum accepts champagne from a passing tray, but I wave it aside. My stomach wouldn’t take it.

“So many people,” she says. “How exciting.”

“Quite,” Dad says, and I have to smile at his scathing tone.

I scan the reception.

No Bryce.

No Jack.

I never expected Jack to come. The Gilded Table setup might have been discarded now it’s completed its mission. He got the interest, he set the reserve, and he got the bidders. Job done.

Still, I look.

I look everywhere.

We enter the viewing gallery with the other guests.

The larger works are displayed against huge white walls, each with a discreet plaque showing the artist, title, materials, lot number and estimate.

They look so much more impressive in the flesh, with people gathered around them.

Some buyers are up close while others stand back to judge the scale. Advisers speak in low voices. A silver-haired man gestures towards one corner of a sculpture while the woman beside him listens without a word.

No one gushes.

No one buzzes with excitement.

No one reveals their hand.

My triptych dominates the far wall. Right at the back of the gallery.

I stop walking when I catch sight of it.

Lot 47.

My breath catches.