Chapter Eighteen
Fraser
In the end, I stay in Hallie’s room all night.
At some point we strip, have a drink of water, and visit the bathroom, but by eleven we’re curled up together, wrapped in each other’s arms.
I mustn’t, I shouldn’t, I can’t. But I do. I want to be with her, and at that moment I don’t give a fuck what anyone else thinks.
She’s soft in my arms, her skin like velvet, her hair like satin, and she smells divine. But more than that, I’m warmed by the way she took pity on me and tried to comfort me with her body. I thought that, once she discovered what had happened, she might mock me, or scold me for my behavior—Ginger would have done, and in fact I can’t think of any girl bar my sister who would have been so gentle with their forgiveness.
But Hallie just used her mouth and her hands to show me that she loved me, and for that I’m thankful.
Wait. Love? She doesn’t love me. We’ve spent two nights together. That hardly constitutes a lasting relationship.
And yet, despite its brevity, I know I already feel more deeply for her than I ever did for Ginger. I was fond of Ginger—she was bright and funny and made me laugh, and she was ambitious and smart, but she was also sharp and cutting, which I didn’t like, and she could even be nasty when the mood took her. Hallie doesn’t have a nasty bone in her body. I know it means sometimes she’s on the soft side, and it can make her overly gullible. She’s also too self-critical, and she lacks confidence. But it makes me want to show her how amazing she is, so gradually those traits dissipate, and her confidence and courage can shine through.
This time she was already braver in bed, more willing to take a chance and try something new, without the fear of being criticized or mocked. I can only imagine what she’d be like if we were together permanently. If I encouraged her to let go and explore her sexuality with me.
What fun we could have.
She’s asleep now; I can tell by her deep, rhythmic breathing. Her back is to my chest, and my arms are tight around her. I dip my head and kiss her temple, inhaling the sweet smell of her hair, thinking about how she was this evening, moving amongst the guests like a hummingbird from flower to flower. She was so beautiful, her whole face lighting up every time she smiled.
Oh God, I think I’m in love with her.
I sigh. Fucking idiot. Me, not God.
Not that it matters. Nothing can happen between us.
Briefly, I wonder whether, if we were to have a relationship, we could keep it secret from Whina, in fact from everyone else at work. If she were to keep to the conservation room, and I stayed away… If we always sat apart in meetings… If, at social occasions, we made sure not to interact…
But I’ve done that before, and it’s no fun. Initially, yes, it’s exciting, snatched kisses and messages making secret assignations. But after a while, it becomes tiresome. Part of being in a couple, after all, is showing off your partner, and sharing moments with them.
Plus, people talk. Unless we never went out in public, someone would eventually see us, and soon the word would spread. Whina would find out, and that would be that. The only way for us to be together is if one of us were to leave the museum.
I could leave. But even as the thought enters my head, I feel a wave of sadness. I love my job, and I’ve worked hard to make the museum what it is. I don’t want to leave.
Hallie’s younger than me, and in a less important role. She could probably get a position somewhere else. But I know she loves working with Zoe and Elora. And I have no right whatsoever to ask her to leave. If I want to be with her, I have to be the one to move on. And I can’t give up my job, my whole career, for a woman I’ve only slept with twice.
I know what my father would say—I’m thinking with an organ other than my brain. Again. When I eventually told my parents about my affair with Ginger, he didn’t scold me, but the weight of his disapproval and disappointment crushed me like a fallen menhir in Stonehenge. I’ve spent the past year trying to rebuild his faith in me, and to re-earn his respect. And announcing I was giving up the directorship of the museum is not the way to do that.
I look at Hallie, at the dip of her waist and the swell of her hips beneath the duvet, at the pearly shine of her skin in the moonlight. If I was ever to give up everything, it might be for a woman like Hallie.
I close my eyes, and within minutes, I’m asleep.
*
The next day, we’re on an early flight back to Wellington, so unfortunately there’s no time for sunrise sex or a lazy breakfast in bed. We indulge in a few kisses, but I reluctantly return to my room to shower and get ready, knowing that if I shower with her we’re going to get distracted, and by nine we’re at the airport and boarding the plane.
We’re both quiet on the journey back. Hallie concentrates on her phone, reading an article, she says, on the conservation of an eighteen-thousand-year-old male puppy found in the Siberian permafrost in 2018. I leave her to it and pretend to read on my phone as well, although I spend most of the journey looking out of the window, lost in thought.
The upcoming conversation I must have with Whina about Isabel looms large in my mind, and I feel unusually morose, even though it’s a beautiful morning, the clouds like a white sea below us. I’ve suffered from depression a few times in my life—as a teen, again after Elora’s assault, and after I broke up with Ginger. I don’t like the dark moods, and I don’t want them now, but it’s impossible not to feel a growing sense of despair at the thought of my future.
Hell, if the museum can’t get funding, it’s going to close, so maybe Hallie and I will end up together anyway.
But I don’t want it to be like that. I don’t want my foolishness to be the cause of the museum’s demise, or the reason that we can be together.
So I slide slowly into the pit of melancholia, and this time Hallie isn’t able to use her body to lift me out.
When we land, we collect our cases and head outside into the sunshine.
“Are you going straight to work?” she asks.
I nod. “Lots to do. You?”
“I’m going to drop my case off at the apartment,” she says. “And then I might call in and see my mum, if that’s okay?” She looks uneasy. It’s the first time she’s reminded me that she works for me.
“Yes,” I reply, “but be sure to make up the time tomorrow.”
She flushes and nods. “Of course.”
Jesus. “Hallie, I was joking.”
“Oh. Right.” She frowns and looks embarrassed. She doesn’t know how to act. Whether I expect her to treat me like a boss. Which is ridiculous, because I never have before.
She clears her throat and brings out her phone. “I’ll call an Uber.”
I do the same, and we wait at the collection zone, standing awkwardly, facing one another. “I’ll finish sketching the Māori box today,” she says. “Then I’ll get to cleaning it. It should be ready in a couple of days.” Her lips twist. “I was wondering whether I could convince you to accept it as my contribution for the Valentine’s Day exhibition.”
I asked each of the girls in the conservation office to track down an interesting exhibit. Hallie was hoping to display the Williams letters, and that’s no longer an option.
“Of course,” I say.
She nods.
I meet her eyes. I feel upset and miserable. “Hallie…”
“Don’t,” she says sharply. “Don’t tell me you regret it.”
I open my mouth to reply that I wasn’t going to say that, but she announces, “That’s my Uber,” turns away, and walks over to it. I follow her and lift her case into the boot for her.
“Thanks,” she says, “see you later,” and then she gets into the car, and it pulls away.
There’s something symbolic about the way it disappears into the traffic, vanishing out of my life.
*
By eleven I’m at my desk, sorting through the mail that arrived while I was away. Louise brings me a coffee, and as she places it in front of me, I ask her, “Anything I should know about?”
“Well, midnight tonight is the deadline for the Hemsworth Grant,” she says. “We’re nearly done with the form filling, but you were going to get the final figures from Accounts before we send off the application.”
“Right, yes, will do.”
“John Caxton wants to see you about the display boards for the Valentine’s Day Exhibition.”
“Right—can you contact him and make an appointment for tomorrow?”
“Sure.”
“And what have we got on today?”
“Whina Cooper at twelve, then Martin Apiata at two for that discussion about that artifact from Nelson, and then—”
“Wait,” I say in alarm, “what? Whina’s coming?”
“At twelve. I thought you arranged it?”
“No.”
“Oh. My bad. She called at ten this morning and said she’d be in, and that you’d know why.”
I stare at my desk. Then I lean forward and rest my forehead on it.
“You all right?” Louise asks. “You need a couple of Panadol?”
“I need a couple of Valium and a bottle of Jack Daniels.”
She gives a short laugh. “What’s going on?”
I sit up and put my head in my hands. “I’ve been an idiot.”
“No…” she says in mock denial. “I don’t believe it.” When I don’t laugh, she comes closer to the desk and says, “Fraser? What happened in Tauranga?”
“I screwed up big time. I didn’t get the letters, and I… ah… upset Isabel Trenton.”
“How did you manage that?”
“I’d rather not talk about it.”
She perches on the desk. “And that’s why Whina’s coming?”
I lower my hands, lean back in my chair, and give her a sorrowful look. “I’m so sorry.”
Her lips curve up. “Why?”
The words stick in my throat. If Whina’s coming to say what I think she’s going to say, Louise might not have a job soon. My actions might have led to the whole museum being closed.
But I can’t tell Louise that, not yet. Her husband is currently on sick leave following an accident where he works, and I know she’s worried he’s going to lose his job. She has a young baby who needs daycare, and she struggles to make ends meet at the best of times. Such is life in the city. But I can’t tell her she might not have a job in a month’s time.
It’s only now that the full idiocy of what I’ve done hits me like a frying pan to the head. All I’ve thought about is myself. I started work on the west wing before I had the money because I wanted to finish it early and impress Whina and my father. I assumed I had a right to the Williams’s personal property because I thought it was in the country’s best interests, and I walked over Isabel’s personal feelings to try to get the letters. I trespassed on her private property to seduce the sweetest, kindest girl who ever lived, going down on her in a bathroom of all places—could I have been any more unromantic? And I poked my nose into their family life, treating Richard and Pania’s story like some kind of erotic romance novel that I, in my arrogance, thought everyone had a right to read.
In doing so, I’ve put the whole museum and everyone who works in it in jeopardy. Yeah, Fraser. Whina and your father are going to be soooo proud of you.
“Want me to call Whina and tell her you can’t make it?” Louise asks with a PA’s protective concern. “I could make up some excuse. Say the government has called you in for an emergency consultation on an archaeological site on Stewart Island or something.”
That makes me laugh. “No, I need to face the music.” I brush a hand across my face. “And take my punishment, whatever it ends up being.”
“Fraser,” she says gently, “don’t tell Gaz what I’m about to say, but you’re the sweetest, kindest, most honorable man I’ve ever met. Whatever happened, I’m sure you meant well.”
I think about Hallie in the bathroom, and my lips curve up, just a little. Yeah, my motives were honorable. Kinda.
“Drink your coffee,” Louise says, “and I’ll bring you a muffin. You need to keep your strength up.” She goes out.
I stare moodily at my laptop. I miss Hallie already. She said she was going to see her mum. Is it about her father and the letter he sent her? I’m sure it’s been on her mind since the letters arrived. I’ll go and see her this afternoon and ask her how she got on.
Or maybe I shouldn’t.
I huff a sigh. Then I pull a manila folder toward me and sit up in my chair. I might not have a job in an hour, but that’s no excuse for slacking. The Hemsworth Grant isn’t enough to save the museum, but I’m not going to pass up the chance to bring any money in.
I work solidly for the next hour, as it’s the only way to take my mind off the upcoming conversation. But by 11:55 I’m constantly glancing at the clock, and eventually I close my laptop and start pacing the floor.
I’m on my seventh length of the office when there’s a knock at the open door, and I look over to see Whina Cooper standing there.
Whina is in her early sixties and only five-foot-two, but she more than makes up for that in personality. At the reopening of the museum, she came in a long blue dress and high heels, and she wore her hair down in a mass of beautiful silver curls. She was stunning.
Today, she’s in a smart gray business suit, and she’s tied her hair back in a bun and secured it with a Māori bone comb. She looks stiff and formal, and she doesn’t smile as she comes into my office.
In her youth, she was a field archaeologist and an expert on Māori pa or forts, and she traveled the length and breadth of the country working on sites and speaking to local groups. She’s written five books on archaeology, as well as eight historical fiction stories. She speaks five languages and has traveled extensively. She’s been married for thirty years, and she has four children and five grandchildren. The woman is a force of nature, and I admire her greatly.
She’s been much more than the board chairperson to me. It was she who convinced the rest of the board to give me the position of Museum Director, even though I was far too young and inexperienced. She pointed me toward a personal friend of hers when I decided I wanted to learn Māori, and she’s helped me a lot with the language, and guided my pronunciation on many occasions. She’s the one who argued that I should keep my position after the incident with Ginger, when others on the board wanted me fired. She’s been my mentor and my guide, and I’m sure she sees herself almost in a motherly role, too.
Feeling about twelve years old, I stand and say, “Ahiahi mārie.” It means good afternoon.
“Ahiahi mārie, Fraser. Thank you for fitting me in at such short notice.”
I refrain from pointing out that I didn’t have a choice and say instead, “You’re welcome. Come in, have a seat. You want a coffee?”
“Louise is getting me a glass of water.”
“Okay.” I take one of the armchairs as Whina lowers herself onto the sofa. Louise comes in with a glass of water for Whina, a coffee for me, and a plate of chocolate biscuits. She gives me a surreptitious ‘good luck’ wink before exiting the room and closing the door.
I lean forward, lift my coffee cup, and cradle it in my hands. I can’t bring myself to take a sip. My throat has closed up.
Whina meets my gaze steadily. “So,” she says. “We find ourselves in this position again.”
I look down into my cup. Louise has drawn a heart in the foam, something she’s never done before. I think she’s guessed that I’m in trouble. My throat tightens even more.
“Did Isabel call you?” I ask huskily.
“No,” Whina says. I stare at her, shocked. I’d assumed that would be the first thing Isabel would have done. “I was talking to Wiremu Roberts this morning,” she says. “He’s my brother-in-law.”
“Ah.” Shit. “I didn’t know that.”
“We were discussing the ball, and I asked if he knew how you got on with the letters. He told me that not only had you not been successful, but that Isabel had asked you to leave. He wasn’t sure why, but he joked that people were saying you’d been caught in flagrante delicto with Hallie Woodford, and he confirmed that the two of you had acted like a couple all evening.”
I put down my coffee cup, rest my elbows on my knees, and my mouth on my clenched hands.
“Fraser,” she snaps, “honestly. I can’t believe you. After everything we’ve discussed… Couldn’t you give even a single thought to the museum’s reputation? It’s hardly in a stable position right now. And being so public about it—do you think Wiremu was the only one who noticed your behavior at the ball? How’s it going to look to potential donors if they hear the director has been screwing around with his employees and opening himself up to gossip or, even worse, to a complaint of sexual harassment?”
“Hallie wouldn’t—” I begin, horrified, but Whina cuts me off with a slash of her hand.
“You have no idea what might come out of this. You know what happened last time with other members of staff. It affects morale and stirs up trouble. It was very foolish of you, Fraser.”
I bristle, angry at her accusations, but also knowing they have a foundation in fact.
Her scolding executed, she gives a big sigh, and her formal expression gives way to concern. “Come on, tell me, what happened?”
So I tell her everything. About Isabel’s immediate hostility, and her resentment when Adam showed us the letters without her approval. About Hallie’s discovery of the secret letter. About being caught with Hallie in her private bathroom. And about Richard’s paintings, and Isabel’s fury that I’d discovered them.
When I’m done, I finish by saying, “None of it was Hallie’s fault. She had nothing to do with it.”
“You took her into the bathroom against her will?”
I give her a wry look. “No…”
She picks up her glass of water and has a few sips. Then she puts her glass down again.
“Let’s talk about the Williams family first,” she says. “Tell me more about the paintings.”
Surprised, I explain how I remembered Hogarth’s A Rake’s Progress , and that it prompted me to believe Richard’s other paintings might be hidden in the same room as Pania’s portrait.
“And you’re sure the one you found was painted by him?”
“As far as I can be. It had the same brushwork, the same muted tones as the portrait they display in the room. And it was obviously Pania. I don’t know if she modeled for him or if he painted it by imagination—I suspect the latter, as the secret letter suggested they hadn’t been able to meet for some time.”
“How many others do you think there are?”
“Not sure. There were six panels on the wall, though.”
“And Isabel’s worried about what implication the paintings might have on the Williams family?”
“Understandably so. Pania was only fourteen in the paintings and they’re pretty risqué for the time. The claim could easily be made that he was some kind of pedophile, an arrogant Pakeha who took an innocent Māori girl against her family’s wishes.”
“Do you believe that’s what happened?”
I remind myself that Whina is Māori and therefore sensitive to her culture’s history, but I’ve never shied away from the truth and I’m not going to start now. “No, I don’t. The letters are heartfelt, and both of them talk about their love for each other. But I can see how they could be spun to that effect, and why Isabel wants to keep them secret.”
I hesitate. “I was arrogant,” I admit, “and lectured her about the country’s right to have access to the paintings as historical documents. I was angry that she was going against her father’s wishes with the letters. I overstepped the mark, and I regret it. I regret everything that happened over the last two days.”
“Do you?” she asks.
I sink my hands into my hair for a moment. Then I lean back, feeling very tired. “Not everything,” I say. Because I don’t regret sleeping with Hallie. How can I, when it was so amazing? But I do regret finding myself in this position again.
“Fraser,” she says softly, “I told you what would happen if you had a relationship with another employee.”
“I know.”
“You’re an intelligent man. I thought you would have learned from your mistake.”
I don’t reply. Instead, I think of Hallie, and wonder what other outcome there could possibly have been once she broke up with Ian. We were always going to end up in bed. It was only a matter of where and when.
“It’s different from last time,” I say instead.
She surveys me thoughtfully. When she finally confronted me about my relationship with Ginger, she asked me to be honest, and not to protect Ginger out of a misplaced sense of gallantry. She knew me too well, and understood that even though Ginger was older, I still felt the need to be the man and take the blame. But she encouraged me to open up, and we talked for a long time about how it started, who initiated the first contact, how it evolved, and about my feelings for Ginger.
It was Whina who helped me understand that it’s not always the woman who’s the victim in cases like that. That men can be seduced and led down paths they had no intention of setting foot on in the beginning. I’m not trying to absolve myself of all blame. I have a mouth and a brain—I knew it wrong, and I could have said no at any time. But she seemed to understand about passion and obsession, and how sometimes it makes you say and do things you don’t mean to.
“Tell me how it’s different,” she says.
I don’t answer.
When I look back at her, she’s frowning. She leans forward and looks at me intently.
“You know I’m very fond of you,” she says firmly. “I think of you like a son, Fraser, and I’m very disappointed with what’s happened.”
“I know.” I struggle to keep my gaze on her face and not drop it to my shoes like a schoolboy.
“I think you’re being very foolish,” she says. “Hallie’s a lovely girl, but this sounds as if it’s been a very brief fling. Is it really worth throwing away your whole career for it? Have you spoken to her about it?”
I shake my head.
“So you don’t know what she would think about you giving up your position here for her?”
I inhale, then blow out a breath. It annoys me that Whina knows how to play me. But she’s right. “She wouldn’t want that.”
“No, I didn’t think so. No decent woman would ask that of a man. How does she feel about you?”
I hesitate. Then I say, “I don’t know. We haven’t really talked about it.”
“So it’s just sex then? Fraser, you can’t throw away your career for that.”
I get up and walk over to the window. The water is a tad choppy, topped with white horses. The sun is incredibly bright, and it makes me squint where it bounces off the waves.
“It’s not just sex,” I say. “I’m in love with her.” It’s the first time I’ve admitted it to myself, and as I say the words, I realize it’s true.
“Really?”
“I have been for a long time.” I think about how I fastened my mouth on Hallie’s neck last night and told her, That’s to show everyone you’re mine . I had no right to do that. Alcohol might have played a small part. But ninety percent of it was all me. I want her. It’s not a two-night affair. This has been going on for a year, since the first time I met her. It’s why I haven’t dated anyone else since then. And it’s why, I realize now, I’ve been so frustrated, watching her being so unhappy with someone else.
But I haven’t spoken to her about it. I don’t have any idea how she feels about me. And Whina’s right. I can’t just throw my whole career away because of sex. Hallie wouldn’t want that, I’m sure. I need to talk to her about it first.
I turn and face Whina. I’m not going to talk to her about the intricacies of my relationship before I’ve spoken to Hallie.
Instead, I say, “I’m sorry about the letters. I was convinced I could talk Isabel into giving them to us, but I didn’t even come close. That is my fault, and I take full responsibility for it.”
“All right,” she says softly. “No need to throw yourself on your sword. Isabel is a difficult customer, and I suspected you might not be able to convince her. I just thought it was worth a shot.” She gets to her feet. “Thank you for telling me the whole story. Let’s take a few days to think things over. I’ve got a few avenues to explore,” she says mysteriously. “We’ll talk again on Monday. I’m busy in the morning, but maybe I could stop by around 12:30 p.m.”
“Of course.”
“Okay. Take care of yourself, Fraser. You’re a good lad.” She leaves the office.
Amused at being called a lad, I sit in my chair, lean back, and lose myself in the clouds as I think about what she said.