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“…Williams letters, and of course the donation,” Whina is saying. “It’s a shame that his daughter is openly contesting her father’s wishes. But he didn’t put the donation in his will, and an email is unlikely to be enough to convince a judge. Isabel is saying that her father wasn’t well in December. Apparently a doctor was treating him for a bladder infection, and she’s making the claim that because of that he wasn’t of sound mind, and to be honest I think she has a good case.”
I hadn’t heard that piece of information, and my heart sinks. “So that’s it?” I ask. “We have to say goodbye to the letters and the donation?” I’m bitterly disappointed. I was hanging on to the hope of the donation as a way out of the hole I’ve dug for myself.
“Maybe,” Whina says. “Maybe not.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sebastian’s family is holding a ball in their father’s honor after the funeral. It’s going to be a huge event. He was intopolitics, of course, but he was also involved in lots of charities and environmental concerns, and everyone wants to come and pay their respects.”
“And pick at the carcass,” I say sarcastically. Every charity in the country is going to sniff around and see if they appear in his will.
“Fraser,” Whina scolds. “I know you’re upset, but there’s no need for offensive comments like that. He was a good, decent man, and he will be sorely missed.”
She’s right. “I apologize,” I say quietly, not looking at Hallie.
Whina clears her throat. “Anyway, I’ve managed to snag you a ticket to the ball. The funeral is on Tuesday—the family wants a small, private affair, so you don’t need to go to that. But the ball is on Wednesday, in the family house in Bethlehem, on the outskirts of Tauranga, and it’s going to be a big, public event. Adam and Isabel are going to be there, and it’s an opportunity for you to talk to Isabel face to face.”
I frown. “I don’t know that I’m comfortable with doing that. Isn’t she going to consider it inappropriate?”
“Fraser, I don’t think I have to convince you just how desperate our situation is. I don’t blame you personally—Hallie’s right, for all those grants to fall through at roughly the same time has been extremely unfortunate. But if we’re going to keep the museum open, first and foremost we need to find a way to pay for the work that’s already been done.”
“I know.”
“Look,” she soothes, “I’ve met Isabel. She’s not a bad person, and she’s not cold. You’re a man of inimitable charm when the mood strikes you. I think that if you can get in front of her and plead your case, explain how her father saw you speak and was won over by your argument, she might just cave.”
“All right,” I say. Well, I don’t really have a choice, do I?
Hallie clears her throat. “So how can I help?”
“I’d like you to go with Fraser,” Whina says. “I’ve bought two tickets. They weren’t cheap—the proceeds are going to a children’s charity that Sebastian was the patron for. But I’ve convinced the CEO of Heritage New Zealand to keep the grant open in case we’re able to get the letters. They want a conservationist to assess them and report back about their condition.”
“You want me to go to the ball?” Hallie asks. She glances at me, startled.
“Yes, please,” Whina says. “It’s a formal event, black tie, so you’ll need an evening gown.”
“Um… I don’t have anything suitable.”
“The museum can fund the cost of a dress,” Whina says. “We’ll consider it an investment. We need those letters, guys, and more than anything we need that donation. Do you understand?”
Hallie’s eyes meet mine again. They’re a gorgeous chocolate-brown color, fringed by long dark lashes. She has a pretty snub nose and full pink lips. Her hair is also chocolate-brown, and it’s exceedingly shiny. How does she get it so glossy? It looks as if it’s made of satin. It hangs past her shoulders, and when she leans forward it swings to hide her face. I can imagine sliding my hands into it, feeling the soft, silky strands curl around my fingers as I kiss her…
She’s staring at me, and I blink.
“Fraser?” Whina says. She asked me a question, and I wasn’t listening.
“Uh… Sorry?”
“So you’re in agreement?” she asks. “You will both go to the ball, Cinderellas?”
I can’t think how to back out of it. “Of c-course.”
There’s a slight pause.
“Fraser…” she says again, slowly this time. “I hope you’re being sensible.”
“N-naturally.” Fuck it.
“Do I need to be worried?” she asks.