Page 34 of Possession Under the Southern Stars

He laughs and gets to his feet. “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

We order an Uber, and it’s only a short journey to where the Bay of Plenty Archaeology Group meets in a community room attached to the library. We go into the building and follow the sound of conversation.

I’m surprised to see nearly fifty people in a large room, most of them already seated in the rows of chairs that have been put out facing a podium and a table.

Fraser introduces himself to the woman on the door who’s handing out a flyer about tonight’s talk, and suddenly there’s a flurry of activity. The head of the group, an elderly Maori guy called Wiremu, comes up to us. They shake hands, and then he and Fraser solemnly exchange ahongi—a traditional Maori greeting in which they press noses.

Fraser introduces me, saying, “This is Hallie Woodford, conservationist extraordinaire.”

“I’m having that put on my business cards,” I tell them, and everyone laughs. Fraser grins at me. He told me he gets nervous before he speaks, but he doesn’t look it. He seems quite relaxed as he goes to the front of the room, takes out his laptop, opens it up, and attaches it to the HDMI cable leading to the projector, all the while chatting to Wiremu and a couple of other members of the group.

I find an empty chair to one side of the room and take a seat. I haven’t seen him speak in public before. I know he’s extremely knowledgeable, and I’ve been in several meetings where he’s impressed me with his experience. But our friends—especially his siblings—tease him for being pompous, so he doesn’t tend to talk as much when we’re all together, and onlyinterjects with short facts or jokes. It’s going to be interesting to watch this talk.

Despite him teasing that he was going to make it up as he went along, he’s prepared a presentation with slides and photos, and he brings up the introductory slide and smiles as Wiremu calls for quiet, then introduces him. Everyone claps and then falls quiet, and Fraser begins speaking.

Wiremu has clipped a lavalier microphone to Fraser’s lapel, so he doesn’t have to stand behind the podium, and he walks up and down in front of the table, his hands behind his back, clicking the button on his wireless mouse to change the slides as he talks.

To my surprise, he begins by giving a welcome speech in Maori. He speaks fluently, without notes. I hadn’t realized he spoke Te Reo. I recognize some of the words, but I don’t have to worry about translating because he repeats it in English afterward in a rough translation.

“Tena koutou katoa, e nga mana, e nga reo, e nga karangatanga maha o te motu, nau mai, haere mai ki tenei kaupapa whakahirahira. Ko Fraser Bell ahau, he mihi maioha tenei ki a koutou katoa mo to koutou taenga mai i tenei ra. Me mihi hoki ki nga iwi o tenei rohe, nga hapu, nga kaitiaki o tenei whenua, mo to ratou manaakitanga. No reira, tena koutou, tena koutou, tena koutou katoa.”

He switches to English. “Hello everyone, welcome, I’m Fraser Bell, and I want to thank you all for being here today. I also acknowledge the tribes of this area, the guardians of this land, for their hospitality to us all.” He smiles at Wiremu, who nods.

“I’m Director of the National Museum of New Zealand in Wellington,” Fraser continues. “I’m going to start by telling you a story. Once upon a time, there was an old, rundown museum in Wellington Harbour that was due to be closed down. Visitorswere few and far between because the displays were outdated and fading, and there was no money for improvements or new exhibitions. And then along came a superhero to save the day…” He grins, and everyone laughs. “Seriously, though,” he says, “this is the story of how my team saved the museum, and how we’ve turned it into one of the most successful in the country.”

He continues to talk about his ‘team’, but he’s just being self-deprecating, because he’s almost single-handedly responsible.

He skips over the details, but I know that he was working in the fundraising office when he heard that the current director had quit and that the board was considering closing the museum because it hadn’t made a profit in several years. So he came up with a five-year plan for turning the museum around and took it to the board. It was a bold move, but it paid off because his vision obviously impressed Whina Cooper, and she was brave enough to decide it was worth giving him time to see if he could implement any of his ideas.

He explains the major methods of fundraising he’s used, then goes through the various things he’s changed, from improvements to the physical building, to the virtual reality experience the kids love, to the numerous new exhibits. He goes into detail about how he’s worked with schools to develop educational workshops, and how he’s also maintained close contact with localiwior Maori tribes to ensure that their culture is honored and preserved.

Like everyone else in the room, I sit captivated as he talks, spellbound by his deep voice and his unique blend of storytelling ability and the incorporation of fascinating facts he weaves into it. This guy certainly knows how to entertain an audience. I had no idea he was so good at it.

His gaze flicks over to me frequently, and he mentions me occasionally and even asks me a couple of questions whenit comes to conservation, which I answer shyly, conscious of everyone’s gaze turning to me. But I appreciate him treating me like an equal, and managing to make me sound as knowledgeable as he is, even though I’m far from it.

When he finally rounds up and asks if there are any questions, a dozen hands shoot up, and it takes another twenty minutes before he’s finally able to call it a day. Everyone gets up and moves to the tables serving tea and coffee and biscuits, and I accept a cup of coffee, then smile as one of the members approaches me and asks me a question about the conservation of wooden objects found on excavation sites.

I answer as best as I can, and soon discover I have my own audience of half a dozen members around me in a semi-circle, so I adopt Fraser’s approach and tell a funny short story about the time I was helping Elora to separate the bones of half a dozen birds found on a Maori pa site, and I backed into the table and knocked all her carefully separated piles of bones off onto the floor.

“Don’t listen to her,” Fraser says from behind me, and I realize he must have been listening. “She’s the most knowledgeable conservationist we have.” He rests a hand in the middle of my back as he tells them how much I impressed him with my restoration of a nineteenth-century Scottish officer’s sword, explaining how I also managed to save most of the scabbard it was found in.

My face flushes, firstly from his compliments as he tells them how skillful my work was, and also from his touch. His hand is warm even through my suit, and although it’s hardly an intimate touch, it feels like it. He’s taken off his jacket, and I can smell his cologne, warmed by his body, rising from his crisp white shirt. He looks so sexy in his waistcoat, too, mixed with the professorial look his glasses give him that I adore.

I’ve never felt like this about a guy before. Never felt my senses stirred in such a way. Never felt confused, unable to get my brain to work properly, because all I can think about is his scent, and how it might feel to have his arms around me, and his mouth on mine.

He’s right; kissing me was a huge mistake. Because soon we’re going to be returning to the hotel, and he’s told me he wants to talk to me again, and I can’t help but think it’s going to be fatal. I don’t want to hear how being with Ian was a mistake. About all those years I’ve wasted. Because if I do, how am I going to be able to resist climbing onto Fraser’s lap, wrapping my arms around his neck, and kissing him until I’m breathless?

Chapter Nine

Fraser

Hallie has people flocking around her, listening to her talk about conservation and archaeology with just as much—if not more—knowledge than I exhibited during my presentation. She’s the star of the show, and she has absolutely no idea.

Even though I’ve spent many evenings with her, I’m only just beginning to realize how quiet she is in company, and how she tends to let the rest of us take the lead in the conversation. I knew she was smart—she has a top-class degree, and she’s always spoken confidently about her subject—but I hadn’t understood quite how wide her knowledge was. Tonight, she discusses Henry VIII’s flagship, the Mary Rose; the preservation of the Lascaux cave paintings in France; and the conservation of Pompeii, as well as maintaining Waitangi’s historic buildings and carvings.

A couple of people from the local museum are present, and they have numerous questions for her regarding their conservation office, so I leave her holding court and wander over to the table to refresh my coffee cup and help myself to a biscuit.

“You’re a lucky man,” Wiremu says, appearing at my side and gesturing to Hallie. He speaks with a distinct Maori accent, his voice rising at the end of the sentence.

---