Page 44 of Seduction Under the Southern Stars

I know she’s going to be at the museum this morning. I promised her I’d see if I could find out about the Bell Ring, and that I’d meet her for coffee and tell her what I found out.

I think about the way our eyes met last night, and the resulting shock that passed through my nervous system. I’m attracted to her, and I’m pretty sure she’s attracted to me, too. I feel an urge to act on that and see where it takes us, but now of course it’s been overshadowed by the story her brothers revealed to me last night. They implied she’s damaged, and the last thing she needs is me to complicate matters.

Once again, though, I feel a surge of rebelliousness and resentment. I might have compared her to a butterfly last night, but for some reason what they told me has only made her stronger in my eyes, not more fragile. She suffered that horrific assault, and it’s obviously affected her, I’m not denying that. But she could have let it destroy her, and instead she picked herself up and become a successful archaeologist, living in the city, surrounded by family and friends. And she’s so fucking beautiful and spirited. I have nothing but admiration for her.

I check the time—it’s just gone ten. I need to have a shower, check my emails, and then I’ll go and see her.

*

Forty-five minutes later, I walk into the museum and pause in the foyer. I’ve done a bit of research, and I know that Fraser took over as director of the museum five years ago. At the time it was old-fashioned and losing money, as much a relic of the past as the artifacts inside it. But Fraser brought youth, energy, and enthusiasm, and after successful applications for various grants, he’s been able to repaint and redecorate the building, and has completely reorganized the exhibits. He’s in contact with lots of different museums nationally and internationally, and he’s housed several big touring exhibitions, such as mummies from Cairo, dinosaurs from South America, and Viking exhibitions from Scandinavia that have brought in the crowds.

I can see him now, walking down the central marble staircase. He’s wearing another tweed jacket with leather patches on the elbows, and with his distinctive glasses he looks a lot like Harrison Ford’s Indiana Jones, when he’s in his professor mode.

“Why does it always have to be snakes?” I ask as he spots me and comes over.

His lips curve up. “Morning.”

“Morning.”

“How’s things?”

“Yeah, good. I was hoping to catch Elora.”

His eyes take on a dangerous glint. “Were you, now?”

“Ah, Fraser, come on, man. Don’t be like that. I’m off to Christchurch soon; there’s hardly time for me to cause an upset.”

“Have you seen what a tornado can do in fifteen minutes?”

I give a short laugh. “I just want to tell her about the Bell Ring.”

His eyebrows rise. “You’ve found it?”

“No. But I might know a man who has.”

He relents. “All right. She’s in the conservation room. She’s working on some bird bones for her MA.”

“Oh, fascinating.”

“Don’t be sarcastic,” he says. “Her thesis is going to be groundbreaking.”

“I wasn’t,” I say with some surprise. “I’m an archaeologist too, remember? I love osteology.”

His eyebrows rise. “Oh, yeah, I forgot.” His gaze skims down me. “You don’t dress like an archaeologist.”

“You mean I don’t have patches on my elbows? Not all archaeologists look as if they’ve stepped out of the nineteen-forties.”

“Harsh,” he says. “But there’s probably some truth in it.” He opens the door to the conservation room and goes in. “Spotted this reprobate prowling the corridors, looking for you,” he says to his sister.

I give him a wry look, then go over to where Elora’s sitting on a stool. The table in front of her is covered with bird bones, carefully laid out in the form of a giant skeleton.

“Fuck me,” I say, “is that a giant Moa?”

Her head snaps up. “Oh,” she says.

I move my gaze from the skeleton to her, and my eyebrows rise as I watch her turn the shade of a tomato.

“Morning,” I say with amusement.

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