Page 77 of Possession Under the Southern Stars

Whina meets my gaze steadily. “So,” she says. “We find ourselves in this position again.”

I look down into my cup. Louise has drawn a heart in the foam, something she’s never done before. I think she’s guessed that I’m in trouble. My throat tightens even more.

“Did Isabel call you?” I ask huskily.

“No,” Whina says. I stare at her, shocked. I’d assumed that would be the first thing Isabel would have done. “I was talking to Wiremu Roberts this morning,” she says. “He’s my brother-in-law.”

“Ah.” Shit. “I didn’t know that.”

“We were discussing the ball, and I asked if he knew how you got on with the letters. He told me that not only had you not been successful, but that Isabel had asked you to leave. He wasn’t sure why, but he joked that people were saying you’d been caughtin flagrante delictowith Hallie Woodford, and he confirmed that the two of you had acted like a couple all evening.”

I put down my coffee cup, rest my elbows on my knees, and my mouth on my clenched hands.

“Fraser,” she snaps, “honestly. I can’t believe you. After everything we’ve discussed… Couldn’t you give even a single thought to the museum’s reputation? It’s hardly in a stable position right now. And being so public about it—do you think Wiremu was the only one who noticed your behavior at the ball? How’s it going to look to potential donors if they hear the director has been screwing around with his employees and opening himself up to gossip or, even worse, to a complaint of sexual harassment?”

“Hallie wouldn’t—” I begin, horrified, but Whina cuts me off with a slash of her hand.

“You have no idea what might come out of this. You know what happened last time with other members of staff. It affects morale and stirs up trouble. It was very foolish of you, Fraser.”

I bristle, angry at her accusations, but also knowing they have a foundation in fact.

Her scolding executed, she gives a big sigh, and her formal expression gives way to concern. “Come on, tell me, what happened?”

So I tell her everything. About Isabel’s immediate hostility, and her resentment when Adam showed us the letters without her approval. About Hallie’s discovery of the secret letter. About being caught with Hallie in her private bathroom. And about Richard’s paintings, and Isabel’s fury that I’d discovered them.

When I’m done, I finish by saying, “None of it was Hallie’s fault. She had nothing to do with it.”

“You took her into the bathroom against her will?”

I give her a wry look. “No…”

She picks up her glass of water and has a few sips. Then she puts her glass down again.

“Let’s talk about the Williams family first,” she says. “Tell me more about the paintings.”

Surprised, I explain how I remembered Hogarth’sA Rake’s Progress, and that it prompted me to believe Richard’s other paintings might be hidden in the same room as Pania’s portrait.

“And you’re sure the one you found was painted by him?”

“As far as I can be. It had the same brushwork, the same muted tones as the portrait they display in the room. And it was obviously Pania. I don’t know if she modeled for him or if he painted it by imagination—I suspect the latter, as the secret letter suggested they hadn’t been able to meet for some time.”

“How many others do you think there are?”

“Not sure. There were six panels on the wall, though.”

“And Isabel’s worried about what implication the paintings might have on the Williams family?”

“Understandably so. Pania was only fourteen in the paintings and they’re pretty risqué for the time. The claim could easily be made that he was some kind of pedophile, an arrogant Pakeha who took an innocent Maori girl against her family’s wishes.”

“Do you believe that’s what happened?”

I remind myself that Whina is Maori and therefore sensitive to her culture’s history, but I’ve never shied away from the truth and I’m not going to start now. “No, I don’t. The letters are heartfelt, and both of them talk about their love for each other. But I can see how they could be spun to that effect, and why Isabel wants to keep them secret.”

I hesitate. “I was arrogant,” I admit, “and lectured her about the country’s right to have access to the paintings as historical documents. I was angry that she was going against her father’s wishes with the letters. I overstepped the mark, and I regret it. I regret everything that happened over the last two days.”

“Do you?” she asks.

I sink my hands into my hair for a moment. Then I lean back, feeling very tired. “Not everything,” I say. Because I don’t regret sleeping with Hallie. How can I, when it was so amazing? But I do regret finding myself in this position again.

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