Page 76 of Possession Under the Southern Stars

“I screwed up big time. I didn’t get the letters, and I… ah… upset Isabel Trenton.”

“How did you manage that?”

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

She perches on the desk. “And that’s why Whina’s coming?”

I lower my hands, lean back in my chair, and give her a sorrowful look. “I’m so sorry.”

Her lips curve up. “Why?”

The words stick in my throat. If Whina’s coming to say what I think she’s going to say, Louise might not have a job soon. My actions might have led to the whole museum being closed.

But I can’t tell Louise that, not yet. Her husband is currently on sick leave following an accident where he works, and I know she’s worried he’s going to lose his job. She has a young baby who needs daycare, and she struggles to make ends meet at the best of times. Such is life in the city. But I can’t tell her she might not have a job in a month’s time.

It’s only now that the full idiocy of what I’ve done hits me like a frying pan to the head. All I’ve thought about is myself. I started work on the west wing before I had the money because I wanted to finish it early and impress Whina and my father. I assumed I had a right to the Williams’s personal property because I thought it was in the country’s best interests, and I walked over Isabel’s personal feelings to try to get the letters. I trespassed on her private property to seduce the sweetest, kindest girl who ever lived, going down on her in a bathroom of all places—could I have been any more unromantic? And I poked my nose into their family life, treating Richard and Pania’s story like some kind of erotic romance novel that I, in my arrogance, thought everyone had a right to read.

In doing so, I’ve put the whole museum and everyone who works in it in jeopardy. Yeah, Fraser. Whina and your father are going to besooooproud of you.

“Want me to call Whina and tell her you can’t make it?” Louise asks with a PA’s protective concern. “I could make up some excuse. Say the government has called you in for an emergency consultation on an archaeological site on Stewart Island or something.”

That makes me laugh. “No, I need to face the music.” I brush a hand across my face. “And take my punishment, whatever it ends up being.”

“Fraser,” she says gently, “don’t tell Gaz what I’m about to say, but you’re the sweetest, kindest, most honorable man I’ve ever met. Whatever happened, I’m sure you meant well.”

I think about Hallie in the bathroom, and my lips curve up, just a little. Yeah, my motives were honorable. Kinda.

“Drink your coffee,” Louise says, “and I’ll bring you a muffin. You need to keep your strength up.” She goes out.

I stare moodily at my laptop. I miss Hallie already. She said she was going to see her mum. Is it about her father and the letter he sent her? I’m sure it’s been on her mind since the letters arrived. I’ll go and see her this afternoon and ask her how she got on.

Or maybe I shouldn’t.

I huff a sigh. Then I pull a manila folder toward me and sit up in my chair. I might not have a job in an hour, but that’s no excuse for slacking. The Hemsworth Grant isn’t enough to save the museum, but I’m not going to pass up the chance to bring any money in.

I work solidly for the next hour, as it’s the only way to take my mind off the upcoming conversation. But by 11:55 I’m constantly glancing at the clock, and eventually I close my laptop and start pacing the floor.

I’m on my seventh length of the office when there’s a knock at the open door, and I look over to see Whina Cooper standing there.

Whina is in her early sixties and only five-foot-two, but she more than makes up for that in personality. At the reopening of the museum, she came in a long blue dress and high heels, and she wore her hair down in a mass of beautiful silver curls. She was stunning.

Today, she’s in a smart gray business suit, and she’s tied her hair back in a bun and secured it with a Maori bone comb.She looks stiff and formal, and she doesn’t smile as she comes into my office.

In her youth, she was a field archaeologist and an expert on Maori pa or forts, and she traveled the length and breadth of the country working on sites and speaking to local groups. She’s written five books on archaeology, as well as eight historical fiction stories. She speaks five languages and has traveled extensively. She’s been married for thirty years, and she has four children and five grandchildren. The woman is a force of nature, and I admire her greatly.

She’s been much more than the board chairperson to me. It was she who convinced the rest of the board to give me the position of Museum Director, even though I was far too young and inexperienced. She pointed me toward a personal friend of hers when I decided I wanted to learn Maori, and she’s helped me a lot with the language, and guided my pronunciation on many occasions. She’s the one who argued that I should keep my position after the incident with Ginger, when others on the board wanted me fired. She’s been my mentor and my guide, and I’m sure she sees herself almost in a motherly role, too.

Feeling about twelve years old, I stand and say, “Ahiahi marie.” It means good afternoon.

“Ahiahi marie, Fraser. Thank you for fitting me in at such short notice.”

I refrain from pointing out that I didn’t have a choice and say instead, “You’re welcome. Come in, have a seat. You want a coffee?”

“Louise is getting me a glass of water.”

“Okay.” I take one of the armchairs as Whina lowers herself onto the sofa. Louise comes in with a glass of water for Whina, a coffee for me, and a plate of chocolate biscuits. She gives me a surreptitious ‘good luck’ wink before exiting the room and closing the door.

I lean forward, lift my coffee cup, and cradle it in my hands. I can’t bring myself to take a sip. My throat has closed up.

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