Page 22 of Possession Under the Southern Stars

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 dothat 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 Maori text having been translated at the time from the English by Sebastian’s ancestor, Henry, and close to 540 Maori signed it in 1840. Unfortunately, though, the Maori text is not an exact translation of the English text because some words in the English version didn’t translate directly into the written Maori language of the time.

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