Curse And Craving

4

For the remainder of the morning, Fergus walked me through the office and explained my tasks. He was easy to talk with and even told me all about his background during a sandwich lunch at the coffee shop. We spent the afternoon touring the museum to help acquaint me with the exhibits, roaming the halls as he explained the origins of each display. From the Dale Chihuly glass sculptures to the Takabuti ancient Egyptian Mummy, Fergus was a fountain of information. A couple of hours into our tour, he paused to glance at his phone. “Ach lass, Claire in the office is texting me, says there’s a call I have to take.” “That’s no problem. I know I’ve taken up most of your day getting oriented,” I quickly assured him. “There’s not much left, and I’m happy to finish on my own. We’ll have plenty of time to discuss the remaining exhibits another day.” “Aye, Becca, I’ll just be a few moments. Come and find me in the office once you’ve finished up.” “Will do.” He hurried in the direction of the stairs with what seemed to be his usual high-energy manner. As much as I loved hearing the detailed background on the various works of art and historical artifacts, I also enjoyed having some quiet time to appreciate the pieces in the museum. My love of historical artifacts was the whole reason I’d gone to school to be a curator. Each item told a story if you were patient enough to listen. I rounded the corner into the next exhibit centered around a life-sized bronze statue of a stallion reared up on its hind legs. As I approached, I found that I was mesmerized by his captivating eyes. “Masterful craftsmanship, is it not?” I started with a gasp at the rich voice coming from behind me. A young man stood not three feet away. At least, I thought he was young at first glance. The longer I looked, the harder it was to tell. His features were not particularly aged, but his eyes had an agelessness to their profound depths. He was trim, just about five or six inches taller than me, and had short hair so light that it was hard to tell if it was blond or white. His pale-blue eyes crinkled at the corners, and his thin lips were curved up in amusement. With his hands clasped behind his back, he gazed at the statue. “Yes, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anything like it.” My gaze turned back to the statue. “The expression captured in his eyes is so fierce, you can almost feel the life in him.” “Indeed, as if the very ground quakes from his pounding hooves. All he needs is a commanding rider with a shining sword, and the visage would be complete.” His words were spoken precisely, and his voice was soothing, wrapping around me like a warm blanket. His accent was a mystery. It sounded like aristocratic English but colored with something else that I couldn’t discern. “That would make for quite the image,” I agreed. “Have you been in Ireland long?” My skin warmed with the touch of his assessing gaze. “Brand new, actually. I just got in last week,” I responded as I met his eyes. “And how are you adjusting?” He strolled to a small collection of PreRaphaelite paintings. They weren’t necessarily my favorite genre, but I had studied the style and was familiar with some of the pieces. “Very well, although I’ve hardly had much of a chance to explore the area.” As he listened, he focused his gaze on the paintings. He slowed to a stop as his eyes landed on a piece I had studied in school. He gazed at it for a good while, and I started to think our conversation was over. But just before I began to back away, he spoke again. “Look at her confidence, her passion. That, at least, Sandys got right. That and the timing, but I’m sure that was more luck than anything else,” he said with a glint of amusement in his eyes. He referred to a work entitled Morgan le Fay painted by Frederick Sandys in 1864. The work was not particularly large, about twenty-four by sixteen inches encased in an ornate gold frame. The woman had pale skin, typical of that era, with long curly brown hair. She was draped in leopard skin and silks while in the throes of concocting a spell over a burning fire. “Are you referring to the Asian silks and symbols? If I recall correctly, the orient was popular at the time Sandys painted the piece. The elements were included in the painting even though they would not have been present during the time the Arthurian legends purportedly occurred.” “Indeed,” he said almost as a lament. His reaction felt odd, engulfing me in a similar unease as my conversation with the man on the street had the night before. “Well, I’d better get back to work,” I said in an attempt to escape my discomfort. “I hope you enjoy the rest of your afternoon.” He eyed me with an intensity that made me pause. “Rebecca, it was very good to see you. Please do be careful while you’re here.” He gave a slight bow of his head and abruptly walked away. I floundered in confusion at what had just happened. Had I given him my name? I examined my blouse, wondering if I had worn a name tag and forgotten about it. Perhaps he knew Fergus and was told about my employment. Yes, that had to be it. But then, why had he said good to see you and not good to meet you as if we had met before? I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being pranked, as if men with cameras would jump out at any moment to tell me I was part of an elaborate setup. This country was full of unusual characters, and I begrudgingly admitted that it would at least keep things interesting. When I finished touring the museum, it was nearly six o'clock. After checking in with Fergus, I wrapped up my first day on the new job and started home. A sense of confidence and rightness put energy in my steps. Until this moment, I hadn’t been sure about my decision. Doubts and insecurities had haunted me, but after meeting Fergus and walking the paces, I knew I could do this. Belfast might have been quirky, but it was my new home, and I belonged there. “HOW WAS YOUR FIRST DAY? Tell me all about it!” Ashley arrived at the apartment an hour after me, throwing down her coat and bags in pursuit of a bottle of wine. “It was great. Fergus was just as friendly in person as he had been on the phone.” I gave Ash a rundown of my day as I continued cooking dinner. “Bec, I’m so happy for you! I can’t believe that just a couple of weeks ago, you were taking orders in a no-name restaurant, and now, look at you. You’re a part of a museum and doing work that you love.”