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Chapter One
Sunday January 28th
Hallie
The National Museum of New Zealand is bathed in summer sunshine.
I stand in the foyer and look up the sweeping central staircase, watching motes of dust dancing in the shafts of sunlight streaming through the high windows.
Before Fraser Bell became Museum Director five years ago, the building was run down and old fashioned, the kind of place that only people who are real history nerds would think of visiting. The sun’s strong rays had faded its painted walls and signs, and its dated displays sagged with the weight of passing years.
But Fraser is skilled at sourcing funds, and now the museum gleams with a fresh coat of paint and new tile floors. It looks modern and welcoming with its carved rimu wood reception desk, its colorful interactive displays, and interesting exhibitions from across the world.
I’ve loved working here since the day I started just over a year ago. Today, though, I’ve been dreading coming in.
I start walking up the stairs. It’s Sunday, and technically I don’t work on weekends, but this morning Fraser sent me a text asking if I could come in for a meeting. He didn’t explain what it was about, but I’m convinced he wants to discuss the fact that, on Friday evening, at his sister Elora’s dinner party, I flirted with him in an extremely unprofessional way.
It doesn’t matter that we’d all had a few glasses of wine, or that he responded in kind and flirted back. The fact is that I initiated it, and it was unprofessional, and it put us both in a difficult position. He’s one of the good guys, and he’s not thesort of man who would’ve come down hard on a friend when they were stepping out of line, especially when he knew I’d just broken up with my boyfriend. But I’m sure he wants to make it clear that it was unacceptable.
I could kick myself for letting it happen. I’ve kept my feelings for him under wraps for the whole year, and it was stupid to let the wine loosen my tongue. But he was sitting next to me on the sofa, and he’d focused all his attention on me, and under the spotlight of his blue-eyed gaze, I’d forgotten about my ex, forgotten that Fraser was my boss, forgotten everything except the fact that I’ve been attracted to him since the day I started working for him, and everything else went out of the window.
I’m sure he’ll be nice about it, but I’m still nervous about having the conversation, which is why my feet are moving in slow motion, the sunlight that’s coating the steps sucking at my sandals like golden syrup.
At the top, I turn left and cross the mezzanine floor, then go through a doorway into the row of offices. They’re quiet today, most of them locked up, so I walk along the corridor to the end without seeing anyone.
He asked me to come in at 9:45 a.m., and it’s just after 9:30, so I’m a little early. It’s an odd time for a meeting, but I guess he has something else planned for ten. I pause in his secretary’s office. Louise isn’t in either today, and her chair is tucked under her desk, which is clear except for a closed diary and a pot of pens.
Should I sit in the small guest area for a bit? His door is open, and normally I’d walk straight into his office, but I have no desire to rush into my formal reprimand.
I’ve just lowered onto one of the chairs when Fraser appears in the doorway.
“Oh!” He smiles. “Morning! Didn’t realize you were here already.”
I leap to my feet, bang into Louise’s desk, and promptly knock over her pot of pens. “Oops.” I fumble to put them back into the pot. “Yes, um, well, I didn’t want to be late, and then I was too early, and I wasn’t sure whether to wait, and… um…” I stop talking as I look up and see the amusement on his face.
Fraser turned thirty on New Year’s Eve. He’s the spitting image of a young Harrison Ford, and, because he’s an archaeologist, he usually makes the most of this by dressing like Indiana Jones in corduroy trousers and jackets with patches on the elbows, stopping just short of donning the hat or carrying the whip.
Today, though, presumably because it’s Sunday and he’s not officially working, he’s wearing faded jeans and a gray T-shirt with a slogan that says ‘Archaeology - like history but dirtier.’ Ooh. The tight tee reveals that the nerdy professor has impressive pecs and biceps a girl could swing on. Wow. I didn’t realize he was hiding all that under his shirts. As I watch, he lifts his dark-rimmed glasses up onto his hair, revealing his eyes, blue as the summer sky through the window.
“Want a coffee?” he asks, going over to the coffee machine and switching it on.
I’ve convinced myself that I’m here for a dressing down, but he doesn’t look angry. Puzzled, I say, “Coffee would be great.”
He pops a capsule in the machine and presses the button to start it pouring. “Thanks for coming in,” he says. “I’m guessing you’re wondering why I asked you in on a Sunday. Well, Whina Cooper is calling at ten, and I wanted to catch up with you before she rang.” He pronounces the ‘wh’ in her name in the Maori way, as an ‘f’, so it sounds like ‘Feena’.
Whina Cooper is the museum’s board chairperson. Oh shit. Has he reported my behavior to her? Is she going to give me an official warning? My stomach flips, and I feel suddenly queasy.
“I need to give you some background to the situation,” he continues, turning to pass me the mug of coffee. “There’s milk in the fridge.”
“Thank you.” Background to the situation? I’m getting more and more confused.
He makes himself a coffee while I pour milk with a shaking hand, then gestures for me to precede him into his office. I slip past him, catching a whiff of his cologne, something with woody and spicy citrus notes that makes my mouth water.
His office has a great view across Wellington Harbour. The water is a little choppy, topped with white horses, but otherwise it’s a gorgeous day.
Fraser gestures to the light-gray suite on the other side of the room from his desk and says, “Take a seat,” before picking up the remote control and switching on his air conditioner. I sit on the sofa, watching as he angles the blinds covering the big windows to cut out a little of the sunshine, then comes over and sits in the armchair facing me.
He leans forward, his elbows on his knees, cradling his coffee mug. His square jaw and the angular planes of his face encourage the comparison to an old-fashioned Hollywood movie star, like Cary Grant or Charlton Heston. He’s so handsome. He’s given me goosebumps since the moment I first shook hands with him, here in his office. If only I hadn’t been with Ian… My mood sinks at the thought of how different my life might have been if he hadn’t been in the picture.