Page 70 of Possession Under the Southern Stars

I debate whether to ask what’s happened, but Isabel looks so furious that I decide retreating is the best option. “Excuse me,” I say softly, gesturing at where they’re blocking the door, “I’d like to go with Fraser.”

“You should steer clear of him,” Isabel snaps, moving aside. “The man is a menace. He’s nothing but trouble.”

“I appreciate he’s strong willed and determined,” I say quietly, “but he’s a good man, Isabel. You should remember that.” I slip past her, then run down the steps and up the drive toward the figure striding out toward the front gate.

It’s nearly dark now, and the estate is filled with dusky purple twilight. Aruruor morepork—a native owl—hoots from the elm trees lining the drive, and in the distance, maybe deep in the bush surrounding the house, I hear the high shriek of a kiwi bird looking for his mate.

“Fraser.” He’s walking so fast I’m having trouble catching up with him in my high heels. “Fraser!”

He looks over his shoulder, then stops and turns as he realizes it’s me. He’s half in shadow from the elms, and because he’s not smiling, he looks stern and forbidding.

“Go back to the party,” he says as I approach.

I stop, breathing heavily. “No, I’m coming with you.”

“Hallie—”

I walk past him, heading for the gates. After a moment, he joins me, and we walk in silence, going through the gates and out onto the road.

The Uber pulls up as we get there. Fraser opens the passenger door for me. “You’re sure?” he asks as I pass him.

I nod and slide in, tucking my skirt in. He closes the door, goes around the other side, and gets in.

The Prius slides away silently, heading for Tauranga and our hotel.

I look at Fraser. He’s leaning an elbow on the sill, his fingers resting on his lips, looking out of the window.

“Will you tell me what happened?” I ask softly.

“Not here.” His voice is curt.

I’ve never seen him like this. He’s normally so genial and laid back, so funny and warm, that I’m kinda shocked. I don’t know how to deal with him in this mood. Should I push him to talk to me? Or will he get angry? Ian could get into black moods for days, and I knew it was best to leave him when he was like that.

Depressed and upset that he won’t talk to me, I look out of the window too, fighting tears. What can possibly have happened to have caused Isabel to ask him to leave? I guess he tried to argue with her about the letters again, and she lost her temper with him. I’m surprised at him—as Whina pointed out, he’s a skilled diplomat, usually able to talk anyone into anything. Joel once said, “He could make the devil sign a prayer book,” which Fraser scolded him for, but we all thought was funny. So to hear that he’s pushed Isabel too far and upset her enough to throw him out is quite shocking.

We’re silent for the rest of the journey. Fraser sighs several times, though, and gradually I see his shoulders release the tension they’re carrying, as he relaxes back into the seat. His anger is turning to melancholy, which, again, isn’t very Fraser-like.

The Uber finally pulls up outside the hotel, and we thank him and get out. Fraser stands on the pavement, facing the ocean, closes his eyes, and lifts his face to the stiff sea breeze. I watch it ruffle his hair, and observe the way the starlight playsacross his features. I don’t need to ponder the issue anymore—I know I’m more than half in love with him. But I still don’t know if there’s a future for us.

“Come on,” I say gently. “Let’s go inside.”

He lets me lead him up the path and along to our suites. He doesn’t argue when I open my door, take his hand, and draw him inside. I let the door close behind us, and we go into the room. He takes off his shoes, then unbuttons his jacket and lets it slide off his shoulders. He hangs it over a chair and walks over to the window, looking out at the view.

Leaving the lights off so the room is lit by moonlight, I put my clutch on the table and ask, “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

He shakes his head. “No, thank you.”

Well, he came into the room—he didn’t go to his suite, or head to the beach for a walk on his own. He must want to talk, even if he doesn’t know what to say.

I walk up to him and rest a hand on his shoulder, feeling the satin of the back of his waistcoat beneath my fingers. “Tell me what happened,” I murmur.

He inhales, then lets out a long sigh. “I went to find Isabel, to try to talk to her about the letters again. I was sure I could convince her, if only I could have spent a few minutes alone with her. But I couldn’t find her, and I thought she was probably in one of the rooms they’d marked private. So I went into the dining room and thought I’d wait there to catch her when she came out. I was looking up at Pania’s portrait, and suddenly it just popped into my mind.”

“What did?”

“Hogarth’sA Rake’s Progress. Eight paintings hidden behind a secret recess in a London museum.”

“And you thought that might be the case with the paintings referenced in Richard’s letter?”

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