Chapter Four
Hallie
Fraser and I don’t talk about anything personal again while we finish our breakfast. Instead, we turn the conversation to our task of retrieving the letters, and exchange what information we have.
I came across the existence of the letters while taking a paper on conservation as part of my degree. I reveal that there are eleven of them, each containing several pages, kept in their original envelopes. Richard wrote six of them, and Pania wrote five. Apparently they are now kept out of direct sunlight in a locked cabinet, but before that, they were displayed in the lobby of the house. I explain to Fraser how the ozone layer is thinner here in New Zealand, and our cleaner air means we also have high levels of ultraviolet radiation—our peak UV levels can be forty percent higher than what it would be at similar latitudes in North America, for example. The letters are a good example of how our strong sunlight can cause colors to fade, and how it can also damage objects made of delicate materials like paper or cloth. No doubt this is why Heritage New Zealand wants a conservationist to assess them, to make sure they’re worth the grant they’re willing to offer.
We’ve finished eating, and we’re now sipping our second coffees, as the sun rises higher in the sky, casting yellow bars like sticks of butter across our table through the blinds. Fraser’s eyes gleam as I speak, and I know I’ve impressed him with my knowledge of the letters. He loves it when people are enthusiastic about archaeology. But he doesn’t comment on it and instead relates what Sebastian Williams told him about Richard and Pania’s relationship.
“He said his family was determined to keep the two of them apart. He told me a story about how they were under strict instructions never to meet. And then one day they bumped into each other at a ball held in Wellington for the visit of Prince Albert, consort to Queen Victoria. They snuck out of the house together and made out in the rose garden.” He smiles.
“It seems forbidden romance is a recurring theme for you,” I tease.
His lips twist. “Yeah, maybe.”
I play with my spoon. “It says something about their love for one another that they were willing to go against their families.”
“True.” He looks away as he sips his coffee, his gaze distant.
Is he thinking about the woman he worked with, maybe comparing their situation to Richard and Pania’s? I’m guessing Fraser’s feelings for her can’t have been that strong if he didn’t fight for the relationship. He obviously had to make the decision between the woman and his job, and he chose his job. Or was it more complicated than that? Intrigued, I wonder whether Elora knows anything about it.
Our coffees finished, we head to the till, and Fraser pushes away the credit card I politely offer and pays for our breakfast. We head out into the warm midday sunshine and pause on the pavement.
“Thank you for breakfast,” I say.
“You’re welcome.” He studies me, and his lips gradually curve up.
“What?”
“You’ve got chocolate powder on your nose,” he says. “From the coffee.” I had a cappuccino for my second cup.
“Oh, dammit.” I scrub at my nose, then look at him hopefully.
His brows draw together. “No, it’s higher up… Here.” He licks his finger, then touches it to the bridge of my nose and rubs it.
My eyes meet his as he does it, and his hand slows. He lowers it gradually, smiling a little.
“Don’t tell me there’s more chocolate on my face,” I joke, trying to ignore the way a tingle runs down my spine at the heat in his gaze.
“No. It’s just, in the sunshine, you look b-b-...” He closes his eyes for a moment. Then he opens them, looking exasperated. “See you tomorrow.” He turns on his heel and heads off back to the museum.
I nibble my bottom lip, watching him shove his hands in the pockets of his jeans as he strides out. Was he going to say beautiful? I smile, but it gradually fades as he turns the corner and disappears without looking back.
He’s handsome, ambitious, and smart. He might find me a bit attractive—although I still can’t believe that—but he’d never like me enough to act on it after what happened before.
I walk slowly, reluctant to go home. I’ve never liked my apartment. It was the only one Ian and I could afford at the time, and it’s right in the middle of a large maze of floors and corridors. I let myself in the front doors, go up two floors in the elevator, exit and walk along a hallway to another elevator, go up another floor, double back on myself and turn right, and eventually end up at the apartment at the end of the corridor. The man in the flat opposite is obviously having a bad day because I can hear him yelling at his girlfriend, who’s crying. There’s also a strong smell of weed. I hope she’s okay. I should phone the landlord or the police, but I’m afraid they’ll tell him who called them, and then he might bang on my door or even be violent toward me if he sees me.
After slipping into the apartment as quietly as I can, I gently close the door, and lock and bolt it.
I can’t hear him quite as much in here. Upstairs, someone’s left the door to their balcony open and it’s banging in the wind, but at least the guy on my left isn’t playing music today.
Feeling despondent, I stand in the middle of the room and look around. Ian came around yesterday while I was out and collected all his things. I was angry to discover that among many other items, he’d taken a large, ornate mirror that my mum bought us, and several DVD sets that were my favorites, but I refuse to call him and argue with him about them. Whatever’s missing, I’ll just replace or do without.
The room is south facing and is on the dark side. He bought the sofa and chairs, and he must have brought a mate with him yesterday because he’s taken those, leaving me with just a beanbag and the coffee table, which I bought. The place looks sparse and rather sad, and yet I’m going to struggle to pay for it on my wage. It’s not that the museum pay is stingy, but I have student loans as well as a car loan and insurance, and now I’m paying for the whole apartment by myself, so there’s going to be too much month left at the end of the money.
Looks as if it’s noodles for dinner tonight, again.
I carry my coffee over to the bean bag, sink down into it, and pull my purse toward me. I open it and extract my phone, then spot the letter that was tucked beside it. I’d forgotten about it in all the excitement of going to lunch with Fraser.
I take it out and study the front. The stamp that indicates it’s from the Department of Corrections. The neat, elaborate handwriting that’s so incongruous considering who wrote it. The way he started to write my real name, then crossed it out and wrote ‘Hallie’.
Sliding a finger beneath the flap of the envelope, I open it and take out a folded piece of paper. It’s a handwritten letter, just a few lines long, written on headed notepaper with the prison logo in the corner. It also states the location: Rimutaka Prison. My heart skips a beat, then bangs double time. It’s in Upper Hutt. Oh my God, that’s only a thirty-minute drive. I thought he was in Dunedin, a whole island away. I read it with a shaking hand.
Dear Hallie,
Yesterday I saw an article on the opening of the National Museum last year, and I realized it was you in the photo. I’d like you to come and visit me. You need to call the number at the top and book a time. Dad. x
He signed it with a fucking kiss. Jesus.
Anger wells up inside me like stomach acid. Gritting my teeth, I pick up my phone, dial my sister’s number, and put it to my ear. She answers in half a dozen rings.
“Hello?”
“Dee, it’s me.”
“Hey you.” Deanna is two years older than me. Last year she married her childhood sweetheart, Keelan, in Fiji, and her voice carries her usual happy tone. They’re a strange couple; they have busy jobs, their own friends, and pretty much lead separate lives, but they seem content with that.
I feel a stab of guilt at bringing her down, but she’s the only one I can talk to about this.
“Are you busy?” I ask.
“Just planting some celery and spinach in the garden. I need a break though. I’m just going indoors.”
I hear the sliding doors open and close, and then water running as she washes her hands. “What’s up?”
“I’m really sorry about this…” I bite my lip, emotion sweeping over me.
Concern fills her voice. “Hey, what’s up, babe? Is everything all right?”
“Not really. I got a letter from Dad.”
She’s silent for a moment. Then she says, “What?”
“It came to the museum. It says he saw an article on the opening of the museum last year, and it had a photo of the staff.” I try to hold back the tears that threaten to fall. “How could he recognize me when I haven’t seen him for twenty years?” When she doesn’t answer, nausea rises inside me. “Dee? What do you know that I don’t?”
“I only found out myself last year,” she whispers.
“Found out what?”
“Mum’s in contact with him.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “What?”
“She writes to him once a month. Always has.”
I’m so shocked, I can’t think what to say.
“She said despite what he did, he’s still our father, and he deserves to be kept informed about us.”
My palm is growing sweaty where I’m gripping the phone. “Deserves? He doesn’t deserve to know anything about us.”
“Hey, girl, you’re preaching to the converted. I hit the roof. Yelled at her. Made her cry. I told her it was a major breach of our privacy, and she had no right to tell him anything about us.”
It dawns on me then. “Did this happen before the wedding?”
“Yeah, just two weeks before.”
It had been a very strange affair. Deanna and Mum had been cool and distant, although neither of them would admit why. I didn’t pay much attention; they’ve always clashed, and I was caught up in my own relationship drama, as Ian didn’t want to go to the wedding, and we’d argued a lot about it before I finally convinced him to go with me.
“What has she told him about us?” I ask, feeling as if cockroaches are crawling over my skin.
“I’m not sure, but she’s obviously sent him photos.”
I’m so angry it’s making my chest hurt. It’s an unfamiliar emotion for me.
“Is she still writing to him?” I ask. “After you spoke to her about it?”
“I asked her not to, but obviously I can’t be sure. It wouldn’t surprise me if she was. What else did he say in the letter?”
“He wants me to visit him.”
“For fuck’s sake.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re not going to, are you?”
“A world of no. I don’t think I’d be physically able to walk through the prison doors. My legs wouldn’t hold me up. And anyway, I don’t want to see him. Or hear from him, ever again.”
“Good.” Her voice is firm. “Tear the letter up and throw it away and then forget about him, Hal.”
“Okay.”
She hesitates. “Are you going to tell Mum?”
“I don’t know.” I’m so incredibly hurt. Like Dee, I want to make her sit down and then yell at her, to make her understand how upset I am. But what will that achieve, in the long run?
“I am sorry you were the one he wrote to,” she says. “You’ve always been softer than me. I know it’s going to upset you for some time, and he shouldn’t get to do that. Just remember how far we’ve come, and what you’ve achieved without him.”
I slide down in the beanbag so my head is resting on the back, look up at the ceiling, and sigh. “Yeah, all the amazing things I’ve done in my life. That’s why I’m sitting in this crappy apartment, single, with only noodles to look forward to tonight.”
“Aw, babe, come on. You took a degree and passed with flying colors. You landed a terrific job at a museum doing something you love. You have lots of great friends. And now you’re free of that wanker, and you can find yourself a guy you deserve.”
“You never liked Ian, did you?” I ask wryly.
“Honestly? No. I didn’t understand what you saw in him.”
There’s a cobweb in the corner of the ceiling. A fly has been caught in it, and as I watch, the spider comes out and starts wrapping him up like a mummy.
“I thought you married the first guy you went out with,” I say distractedly. “Mum did. You did. I didn’t want to admit I’d chosen wrongly.”
“And it worked out so well for Mum,” she says. “You’re beautiful and smart; you could have the pick of any guy you wanted. Go out there and try a few first. And make sure you pick someone this time who isn’t a knob.”
That makes me laugh. “All right. I’ll let you get back to your gardening.”
“Are you sure? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I just wanted to talk about it.”
“Well, you know where I am if you want to chat more.”
“Yeah, speak soon. Love you.”
“Love you.”
I end the call.
The guy opposite has stopped yelling, and upstairs they must have closed the door, because for once it’s relatively quiet. I revel in the silence, sipping my coffee, letting my thoughts carry me where they will.
I’ll have to talk to Mum about the letter. I need to make her understand how betrayed I feel, and to impress that I don’t want her to tell Dad anything else about me. But I’ll wait until I’m calmer.
I’m okay here. I’m safe. He’s behind bars, and even though he knows I work at the museum, he doesn’t know where I live. I don’t have to worry that he’s going to appear on my doorstep. I’m not in any danger.
Deanna’s right; he doesn’t get to upset me. The only power he has over me is that which I give to him. I’m not going to think about him anymore.
Instead, I think about Fraser.
I think about his blue eyes, and the way his hair falls over his forehead. About how the sleeves of his T-shirt stretched across his biceps. And the heat that appeared in his eyes after he rubbed the chocolate off my nose.
I’m not used to men being attracted to me. Maybe it’s because, while I was with Ian, I gave out signals that I wasn’t single; or perhaps it goes deeper than that. I’ve never been very confident. Ian often reprimanded me for not making eye contact with people, and for constantly putting myself down. It irritated him, and he could never see that only made me worse.
On Friday, after the guys left, Elora, Zoe, and I talked for a while about my breakup, and Zoe said something that stuck with me. She said, “Sometimes we stay with someone because we think we love them, but actually we’re just scared of being alone.” It’s only now that I realize how true that was. I don’t think I’ve loved Ian for a long time, if I ever did. We had fun together for a while. He was an engineer, and we socialized a lot with his colleagues and their partners, going to concerts, or the cinema, or just meeting up at the local bar. But now I realize they were his friends, not mine. He didn’t like my friends because they enjoyed talking about topics like art, archaeology, and history, things he had no interest in.
I stayed with him because the thought of dating again, of trying on new guys to see if they fit, terrified me. But that’s not the right reason to stay with someone. We both deserved better than that.
I pick up my phone again, study it for a moment, then pull up Elora’s number and call her.
She answers after a few rings. “Hello?”
“Hey, it’s Hallie.”
“Hello! How’s it going?”
“Yeah, okay. What are you up to?”
“I’m at Stonehenge Aotearoa with Linc.”
“Oh!” My lips curve up. “I’m so sorry to interrupt!”
“No, it’s okay, I’ve just been to the bathroom and I’m walking back now. He’s taking some photos.”
“How’s it going?”
“Really good.” Her voice holds a smile. “It’s as if we’ve never been apart. He hasn’t changed at all. Well, not much, anyway.”
I know Linc is heading off to Christchurch soon, and a week later he’s flying back to the UK, so it can’t lead to anything long term. “I’m glad you’re having a fun time,” I tell her. “Make the most of him while you have him.”
“I intend to.” She laughs. “How are you doing?”
“I’m okay. I went into the museum this morning.” I don’t want to mention what Fraser told me about being in trouble financially, but I think I can tell her the rest. “Have you heard of the Williams letters?”
“Yes, of course. Richard and…”
“Pania.”
“Yes, Pania, that’s right.”
“The owner of them, Sebastian Williams, promised to donate them to the museum, so Fraser and I are going to take a look at them.”
“Where are they?”
“In Bethlehem, near Tauranga. Sebastian died, unfortunately, and his family are holding a ball in his honor, so we’re going up there to see if we can convince his daughter to donate them.”
“Oh, what fun! I hope you have a great time.”
“Yeah. Um… I was talking to Fraser this morning… and I wondered if I could ask you something about him?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll understand if you’d rather not answer. But… for the first time today I heard him stutter.”
“Oh… he hasn’t done that in a while.”
“Did he do it when he was young?”
“It started at high school. He was fourteen, and he had a crush on a girl in his year group. Eventually, he plucked up the courage to ask her out. But her friends were nearby, and she turned him down and made fun of him in front of them. It crushed him, and after that he stammered really badly for a couple of years. Mum and Dad took him to a speech therapist, and she worked with him to control it until eventually it just seemed to vanish. But it does magically appear whenever he’s with a woman he likes.” She stops then. “Oh… was he with you?”
“Yes,” I say shyly. “He told me that’s why it’s happening again.”
“Oh, Hallie! How do you feel about that? Do you like him, too?”
“I do. I like him a lot. But he said nothing could ever happen between us because we work together, and he got into trouble before.”
“Oh shit, yes, that’s right. I’d forgotten.”
My heart is racing. “Who was she? Did you know her?”
“Yes, she worked in HR. Her name was Melanie, but everyone called her Ginger because of her hair color. She was almost ten years older than him, and she was married to a politician, and had two kids.”
“Really?” That surprises me.
“Yeah. She was beautiful, and she knew it. Gregarious, you know? She flirted outrageously with him—several people at work commented on it. I think she initiated the affair. They were caught kissing a couple of times at work. I think it made people uncomfortable. Not long after it started, Fraser promoted her to Head of HR, which was stupid of him. She was the best candidate by far, but you know what people are like. There was one other woman who wanted the job, and when she didn’t get it, she reported the two of them to the board and said that Fraser was showing Ginger favoritism. Whina Cooper had no choice but to investigate the claim.”
“He told me she gave him a dressing down.”
“Yeah. I think the only reason he wasn’t fired was because he’d raised so much money for the museum. Whina gave him an official reprimand though, and said if it ever happened again, he’d be out.”
“What happened to Ginger?”
“Because she was a lot older, and she admitted she’d initiated the affair, Whina said she had to leave. She gave Ginger the option to resign rather than be fired. It was quite the scandal at the time—her husband found out and divorced her, and they’re still in a legal battle over the kids, as far as I know.”
“Jeez.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think Fraser regrets not fighting for her?”
“I’m not sure. He hasn’t talked to me about it much. I know he regretted getting involved with someone at work.” She pauses. “Well, with Ginger anyway, I’m not saying he’d feel the same way about you…”
“Like I said,” I tell her sadly, “he’s already told me we can’t date. And I understand. His job is very important to him, and so is mine to me.”
“Aw, but you two get on so well.”
“I know. I was curious, that’s all.”
“Well, you can always ask me anything.”
“Thanks, Elora. I appreciate it. Are you with Linc yet?”
“Yeah, he’s here. We’re going back to the Planetarium now.”
“Okay, well have fun! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
She laughs. “Thanks. See you later.”
I end the call, toss the phone onto the coffee table, and lie back again. I think about what she told me about Fraser. I’m glad he wasn’t devastated when he and Ginger broke up. That makes me feel better, for some reason. But I do feel sad to think how badly it ended for him. Of course he won’t get involved with a colleague again. It makes perfect sense, and I wouldn’t want to push him into anything that made him uncomfortable.
It’s such a shame though.
They were caught kissing a couple of times at work. I think about how exciting that must have been for them, hiding in stationery cupboards or behind exhibits and snatching forbidden kisses. What would it feel like to kiss him? Ian wasn’t big on kissing. Our lovemaking was never like how you see it in the movies. It was perfunctory, right from the start, a physical act like sneezing that I didn’t actually enjoy very much.
Elora was assaulted as a girl, and so I know she hasn’t had much sexual experience either. Zoe talks about it sometimes though, and I play along with her jokes about vibrators and positions, but the truth is that half the time I don’t know what she’s talking about. The type of sex she mentions is a mystery to me—lying in bed all day on a Sunday just kissing and touching; having a man spending hours kissing you all over; and as for orgasms… I think I’ve had one or two along the way, but they happened more by accident than intention.
Every woman deserves to be with someone who worships the ground she walks on.
I close my eyes and dream about Fraser kissing me, and wonder exactly what it would feel like to be worshiped in that way.