Page 75 of Possession Under the Southern Stars

“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 Maori 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?”

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