Chapter Six
Hallie
At 12:45 p.m., I tidy up the conservation room, go into our small bathroom, touch up my makeup, and brush my hair. I usually pin it up for work, but today I’m wearing it down. It reaches almost to my breasts, and I’m proud of the fact that it’s sleek and shiny. As I go out and tuck the brush and makeup bag into my suitcase, I wonder whether Fraser likes my hair. It was the one thing Ian would compliment me on.
At five minutes to one, I slip on my jacket and wheel the suitcase out into the foyer. Butterflies danced about in my stomach as if they’re fluttering from flower to flower.
I haven’t traveled much. I was born in Dunedin in the South Island, but although we moved to Wellington when I was eight, that was only because we had help from the authorities. Mum had no money of her own and couldn’t afford to take us on vacation. I went to university in Wellington. Before I started work at the museum, I worked for Archives New Zealand, which involved organizing records and helping people with their research, and as it was an admin job, I was never required to go to other offices or elsewhere in the country. Ian wasn’t fond of traveling, so we only ever went to Fiji for my sister’s wedding. Bearing all that in mind, I’m a little nervous about this trip to Tauranga.
Then I catch sight of Fraser, standing talking to one of the museum attendants, and I know I’m kidding myself. I’m not really nervous about traveling. I’m anxious because I’m going to be spending two days with him. Despite the fact that I know we couldn’t get involved even if he was interested in me, I still want him to like me, but I get easily tongue-tied, which means I often clam up with people I don’t know that well. I don’t want to do that with him, but just like his stutter, it’s not something I can control.
He turns as I come out and watches me approach. Did he just skim his gaze down me, or did I imagine it? I hope he liked what he saw. I thought it would be best to dress professionally, so I’m wearing a trouser suit in a dark chocolate brown that I really like, with a pretty cream satin shirt and a pair of cream sandals with a small heel.
“Hello,” he says. He’s wearing tan chinos, a white shirt, and a navy jacket. Not too Indiana Jones today.
I stop in front of him, and his lips curve up. “Nice suit,” he says. “I like the color. Reminds me of a cappuccino.”
“Sweet and foamy?”
He chuckles. “Classy, dark, and h…” He stops himself. I think he was going to say hot. Eek!
He looks at Cait on reception, who immediately busies herself with typing on her keyboard. His smile fades. “Best get going,” he states matter-of-factly, and he picks up his suit bag and case and walks toward the front entrance.
Cait looks up, catches my eye, and gives an impish smile. I return it brightly and say, “See you Thursday!” before turning and running after him to catch him up.
He stops at the edge of the pavement and pulls out his phone, presumably to call for an Uber. I wait beside him, trying to calm my bubbling nerves.
He lowers his phone. “Two minutes.”
I nod.
He studies me for a moment, and a frown flickers on his brow. “You okay?”
I nod again. Then I swallow and say, “A little nervous, that’s all.”
“Why so?”
Because of you, Fraser . “I don’t travel much,” I say. “I’ve only been in a plane once.”
His eyes widen. “Once?”
“My sister’s wedding in Fiji last year.”
“What about with Ian? You must have gone on holiday with him.”
I shake my head. “He hated traveling.”
He looks puzzled. “How can anyone hate traveling?”
That makes me laugh. “He had a thing about germs. He hated having to sit next to strangers and breathe the same air. It’s the main reason he didn’t want to go to Fiji. I persuaded him in the end, but he had to take Diazepam because he was so worked up about it.”
He goes to say something, then stops as a Prius pulls up in front of us. “Here you go.” He opens the back passenger door and gestures for me to get in. “I’ll put the cases in the back,” he states.
I don’t argue and slide into the car. He lifts our luggage in, then goes around the other side and gets in beside me. The driver eases the car into the traffic, and soon we’re heading to the airport.
“I can’t believe you’ve only flown once,” Fraser says. “Would you like to travel more?”
“I’d love to,” I admit. “But it’s very expensive, even to travel in New Zealand. I’d like to go to the Bay of Islands, for example, and visit the Waitangi Treaty Grounds. But it’s, like, six hundred dollars for a return flight, and then there’s the hotel… It’s just so expensive, especially now I’m paying for the apartment on my own. I could go in a backpacker’s, I guess.” I sigh. “It’s not as much fun traveling on your own, though, and there’s the whole safety issue, too.”
“Yeah, I forget about that.”
“I’m guessing it’s something you don’t have to think about as a guy.”
“Not much, no.”
“What’s the museum like at Waitangi?” I ask.
“Great.” He tells me about how when he visited he gained inspiration from their audio-visual experiences and their interactive touchscreens, and we chat for a while about Waitangi—the ‘Birthplace of the Nation’—and the Treaty House, which was the home of James Busby, who was involved in drafting the Treaty of Waitangi. It’s bilingual, the Māori text having been translated at the time from the English by Sebastian’s ancestor, Henry, and close to 540 Māori signed it in 1840. Unfortunately, though, the Māori text is not an exact translation of the English text because some words in the English version didn’t translate directly into the written Māori language of the time.
We talk about the repercussions of that and the problems it caused and is still causing today, and we’re still talking about it when the Uber draws up outside the airport.
After thanking the driver, we get out and retrieve our bags, then head inside. Fraser leads the way over to a small check-in counter where we hand over our cases and are then taken immediately to the gate where the small plane is waiting.
I climb the steps, enter the cabin, and gasp, my jaw dropping. There are only eight seats—four on either side of the walkway, one pair facing the other across two highly polished wooden tables which bear gleaming white crockery and silver cutlery, and a pot of fresh white chrysanthemums.
We’re greeted by the flight attendant, a young guy in a white shirt, gray waistcoat, and black trousers who introduces himself as Rob. He instructs us to seat ourselves and buckle in, gives us a safety briefing, then says he’ll make us lunch as soon as we’re in the air, and goes off to his seat.
“I feel as if I’m in a James Bond movie,” I say to Fraser.
“What would I ever do without you?” Fraser says.
Oh-ho, I recognize that—it’s a line from GoldenEye .
“As far as I can remember, Fraser, you’ve never had me,” I reply.
“Hope springs eternal,” we both say together, and laugh.
“Are you a big Bond fan?” he asks as the pilot turns the plane and heads along the runway.
“I love them all,” I admit. “I had the whole collection in a beautiful box set, but Ian stole it.” I scowl.
Fraser frowns. “I dislike that guy more and more with everything you tell me.”
“Me too.”
He gives a short laugh. We both look out of the window as the plane picks up speed, and my pulse races.
“You okay?” he asks, and I look back at him to see him watching me.
“Yes. I’m excited!” I feel the lift in my stomach as the plane’s wheels leave the ground and it fights against gravity, and then we’re in the air, and my spirits soar along with the birds into the clouds.
He smiles. Then, out of the blue, he says, “Ian was mad to let you go.”
I stare at him. His lips twist.
Flustered, I look out of the window at the white fluffy clouds. It feels as if we’re flying through cotton candy.
We don’t talk for several minutes. His words make my heart race, but I’m sure he’s regretting turning the conversation personal.
Eventually, Rob approaches and asks if we’d like some lunch.
“Please,” Fraser says. “What’s on offer?”
Rob gives us a menu—a menu! On a plane! It offers a choice of two starters: freshly baked bread rolls with butter and olive oil, or a light salad with shaved parmesan, cherry tomatoes, and a balsamic glaze; three main courses: a herb-crusted salmon filet with a citrus beurre blanc sauce, accompanied by roasted baby potatoes and asparagus, a grilled chicken breast with wild mushroom risotto and sautéed spinach, or a veggie option of a Mediterranean vegetable tart with feta and a side of couscous; and several mouthwatering desserts.
We settle on the baked bread rolls to start and we both choose the salmon.
“And to drink?” Rob asks. “Would you like tea or coffee, fruit juice, or a glass of wine?”
“A coffee, please,” I say, wanting to keep my wits about me.
Fraser also asks for a latte, and Rob retreats to produce it all for us.
“Oh my God,” I whisper once he’s gone. “Fraser, this is amazing.”
He grins. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” He plays with his fork, turning it over in his fingers, but his gaze is still on me, and I can see him wondering whether to ask me something.
“Spit it out,” I say, amused.
“Did you love Ian?” he asks.
I pick up my serviette and spend a moment shaking it out and placing it over my lap. “That’s a very personal question,” I say eventually. Then, because I know I sound resentful, I joke, “I thought we were trying to stay professional.”
He shifts in his seat. “You’re absolutely right. I shouldn’t have asked.”
I fiddle with the serviette. Then I sigh and say, “It’s okay. I’m not used to talking about my feelings, that’s all. Even with Elora and Zoe, I find it odd that they want to dissect every little thought.”
“That’s all we talked about as a family,” Fraser says ruefully. “I was brought up to analyze my feelings and emotions and to discuss them openly. My father thought that was the key to keeping kids happy and healthy.”
“It does make sense. I think it’s unusual, though. My mum didn’t like talking about feelings, and so neither Dee nor I are very open. Dee’s relationship with Keelan is similar to what mine was like, although she seems a lot happier with it. I always felt as if something was missing, though. And, in answer to your question, no, I don’t think I loved Ian. I cared for him. As you said, we were together for a long time. But I wasn’t in love with him anymore. And now, thinking about it, I’m not sure I ever was.”
“Why did you stay with him so long?” he asks, clearly baffled.
“Because I thought it was what you did,” I say simply.
We stop as Rob returns with our coffees. As we sip them, he returns with a bowl of bread rolls and a white dish containing four compartments that hold butter, olive oil, salt, and dukkah.
“Thank you, that looks lovely,” I tell him, and he smiles and then disappears back behind the curtain.
“This is amazing,” I tell Fraser, as I take one of the soft, warm rolls, tear it apart, and dip it in the olive oil, then the salt and dukkah. I inhale the comforting smell before taking a bite, and sigh at the exquisite taste. “I’m having such fun,” I admit.
He chuckles, removing his glasses, then spreading some butter on his roll before having a mouthful. “Even though I’m interrogating you in a really awkward manner?”
I try not to stare at his beautiful blue eyes. “Aw, you’re not interrogating me. You’re encouraging me to open up a little. There’s nothing wrong with that. We’re friends first, aren’t we?”
He looks doubtful, but says, “Yeah, I guess.”
I sip my coffee, wondering whether to mention what’s been on my mind. Well, he started it.
“Tell me about Ginger,” I say.
His eyebrows rise. “Who told you about her?” Even as he asks the question, his expression turns wry. “Don’t tell me—my sister.”
“It wasn’t her fault. I asked. I was curious, because you said you’d had a relationship with someone else at work.”
He dips another piece of roll in the olive oil and dukkah. “What do you want to know?”
“Did you love her?”
That earns me another wry look, because it’s what he asked me. Then he sighs. “No.”
“Did she love you?”
“No. It was purely physical.”
I suck some butter off my finger, a tingle running down my spine. He means it was all about sex.
“I’m ashamed of myself,” he says.
I blink and stare at him. “Why?”
“She was married and had children. I knew that before I got involved, and I still did it anyway. What we did ruined her marriage, and no doubt scarred her kids, and I’ll never forgive myself for that.”
“That wasn’t your fault,” I scold. “They were her vows, and it was her responsibility to uphold them, or not. Anyway, from what I understand, she was older than you, so I’m sure she knew exactly what she was doing.”
“I wasn’t a kid. I was twenty-eight.”
“But she seduced you?”
He meets my gaze, and his lips curve up, but he doesn’t reply.
“Elora said she thought that Ginger initiated the affair.”
He drops his gaze to his plate and fiddles with the bread roll. “That’s true.”
I hesitate, but I need to know. “Do you regret not fighting for her?”
He looks startled. “No. Not at all. I was glad when it ended.”
“Really?”
He finishes eating the roll and reaches for another. “You know what it’s like when you get caught up in someone, and they’re all you can think about—you get obsessed, possessed, even, for a while.”
“Not really,” I say wistfully.
He pauses and glances at me, then continues to butter his roll. “The forbidden nature of it, the secrecy—I loathed it and found it exciting at the same time. For a few months, she was all I could think about. But it was like a Pavlova dessert. Attractive on the surface, but it was all air and hollow inside. Insubstantial once you got past the desire. Not what I wanted at all.” He frowns at some memory and munches his roll, looking out of the window.
“What do you want?” I ask, genuinely curious. “Long term, I mean? Would you like to get married and have kids? Or do you want to run a mile at the thought?”
“If I meet someone, I’d like to travel a bit more with her first. Have some fun. But yeah, I’d like to settle down eventually. I’m not sure that’s in the cards for me, though.”
I open my mouth to reply, then stop as Rob comes back to collect our plates. I wait until he’s delivered the next course—a mouthwatering spectrum of color with the pink salmon, the yellow butter sauce, the green asparagus, and the brown and crispy roasted potatoes—and watch him withdraw before I add, “Why do you say that?”
Fraser shrugs. “Girls don’t get me.”
“Aw,” I scoff, adding a little salt, “now I know you’re teasing me. You’re tall, incredibly smart, ambitious, rich, and handsome. What more could any girl want?” I add some pepper to my meal, then look up to see if he wants the pepper grinder and find his blue eyes studying me. “What?”
“That was a nice thing to say.”
I blush. “I meant it. Every girl secretly loves Indiana Jones.”
“Actually, most women seem to find him dull and boring.”
“You? Dull?” I laugh. “You’re the most interesting guy I know!”
He gives me a beautiful smile. Then it fades, and he points his fork at me. “Stop it.”
“I’m just saying…”
“Work c-colleagues,” he mumbles, cutting into his food. “Out of bounds. Must stay p-professional.” He throws his food a glare, then concentrates on his meal.
Excitement swells inside me. He’s having trouble keeping his distance from me. He really does like me.
But then my heart subsides like a falling leaf drifting to the ground. He had to choose between Ginger and his job, and he chose his job, even though he was obviously very attracted to her. There’s no reason to believe he wouldn’t make the same decision if he had to do the same with me. Of course he would. I’m hardly going to be prettier or more interesting than Ginger.
Nothing is ever going to happen between us. I know it won’t, because he won’t let it. He’s been badly burned, and he’ll never go anywhere near the flames again.
No, I need to concentrate on the fact that this is a business trip, or I’m going to get my heart broken, and that’s the last thing I need right now.