Feine, are you there? Everybody knows about the dress! Did you leak the story to the media already? I thought you were planning to hold out until Rob Disijk approved the exhibition and the return of the artefacts. Why didn’t you tell me?! The pizza shop is going crazy. Everyone’s here asking. Get back to me as soon as you can, OK?

I felt sick to my stomach.

The next few messages were from international journalists, each practically identical and wanting to confirm some details around the significant textiles find Doctor Pinney had identified as belonging to Catharina van Shurman, the celebrated 17th-century artist and poet. Doctor Pinney had mentioned my brief assistance on his project and they were wondering if there was anything I’d like to add?

The last message was from Monica Rosetti at Sydney University.

Jo, I just heard about the dress! What a find. No wonder you dashed off in such a hurry. I assume this means you’ve almost finished your book? Shame you weren’t the lead researcher. A story like that could have been a springboard for your own documentary series or something! Anyway, the teaching offer still stands if you want it. Let me know when you’ll be back. Cheers, Mon.

I groped blindly for a seat and sank into it. My chest hurt. Liam had gone public. Anger swept through me like a wave. I punched his number into my phone and pressed dial. When it rang out, I called Huis van Hilde.

Sara Van Dijk answered. ‘Liam went back to his hotel soon after you left. I haven’t been able to contact him since. I saw the news, though. I thought you were going to announce the discovery together?’

My silence must have told her everything.

‘Oh God,’ she said. ‘I’m so sorry. If I’d known, I would have tried to stop him.’

‘There’s nothing you could have done,’ I said bleakly.

All that work for nothing. A week of obsessive research and this was the result. A premature media announcement that killed off the potential for any future deals for Bram and the Texel Historical Society to exhibit the dress, and destroyed any chance I might have had to tell people the truth about Anna’s life. White rage flickered at the corners of my vision, making everything look as though I were seeing through a smudged camera lens. I began to pace back and forth between the plastic ferry seating, growing more and more agitated each second.

As I brought up Liam’s number again, I could barely see clearly enough to stab the call button. It went straight to voicemail again, a disembodied recording urging the caller to leave a message and return number. As the recorded message beeped, I allowed my frustrations to erupt, full-force and let him have it.

I thought I’d feel better after venting my frustrations but instead I felt curiously drained.