Shadow Play

6

“I’d much rather have a hands-on role in a smaller museum than be stuck in an office for a larger one, not that there's anything small about this museum,” I assured him as we exited the elevator. “Excellent, because you will definitely be down in the trenches here. I’ve needed some help desperately and finding someone with the proper skills around here has been a bloody nightmare.” Lifting his hand, he guided me off the elevator and around to the glass door labeled ‘Administration.’ For the remainder of the morning, Fergus walked me through the office and explained the tasks I would be working on. We had a comfortable rapport and enjoyed visiting about our backgrounds during a sandwich lunch at the coffee shop. After lunch, we spent the afternoon touring the museum to help acquaint me with the exhibits. We roamed the halls as he gave explanations about the origins of each display. From the Dale Chihuly glass sculptures, to the Takabuti ancient Egyptian Mummy, he was a fountain of information. A couple 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 most of your day getting oriented,” I quickly assured him. “There’s not much left and I’m happy to finish on my own—I’m sure we’ll have some 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 I assumed must be his standard, high-energy manner. As much as I loved hearing the detailed background on the various works of art and historical artifacts, there was not much I enjoyed more than having some quiet time to myself to appreciate the pieces in a museum. I rounded the corner into the next exhibit, where a life-sized bronze statue of a stallion reared up on its hind legs caught my attention. 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 my eyes were on him, the harder it was to tell. His features were not particularly aged, but his eyes had a depth to them that spoke of great experience. 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. The expression captured in his eyes is so fierce, you can almost feel the life in him,” I said as I returned my eyes to the sculpture. “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 precisely spoken and his voice was deep and calming, like a warm comfortable blanket. His accent was a mystery, a proper 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?” I could feel those assessing eyes turn to land on me. “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 Pre-Raphaelite 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.” I was pretty sure he was listening, but his attention was focused on the paintings. He eventually stopped as his eyes landed on a piece with which I was familiar. He studied it for a good while and I started to think our conversation was over, but just before I started 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 was referring 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 depicted had pale skin, typical of that era, with long curling brown hair and 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 as his good humor seemed to turn to something similar to grief and I was suddenly extremely uncomfortable. I wasn’t even touchy-feely with family, so I certainly wasn’t interested in consoling a random stranger—that was way out of my comfort zone. “Well, I’d better get back to work, 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 nametag and forgotten about it, or 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 packed my things and wrapped up the first day of work at my new job. I reveled in a sense of rightness as I began my walk home, confident that I had made the right decision to come to Belfast. I was certain Fergus was going to be an amazing boss and the museum was even better than I had expected.