Geoffrey never personally turned up to a florist or picked out floral arrangements himself, why should he when his secretary did such an amazing job for him. Standing in the array of colors and scents he found himself overwhelmed by the choice. Normally, his secretary ordered an extravagant arrangement of Australian natives which would hold their color for weeks to ensure his gallery date would remember him every time she walked past. Bec deserved the best – something as special, different and deserving as the lady herself.
Roses – too predictable and presumptuous. He didn’t want to scare her by overplaying how he felt. Orchids were beautiful but too fragile. Mixed arrangements too ordinary.
Then, he saw a collection of potted African Violets. Small, perfect petals with the cream of her skin, the blonde of her hair and the deep violet blue of her eyes. He restrained the urge to buy them all, and selected the one with the most mature growth.
As he drove to her unit, feelings of self doubt overcame him. What if she saw them as the gift of a friend, rather than a future partner. He didn’t even know if she had allergies? What if, what if, what if. Scenarios played out in his head and refused to be shaken.
He never over thought these events before – what happened to him? All the nerves and self doubts he remembered as a school boy on his first ever date.
Although in truth, tonight promised to be the first, first date since his wife died which meant something. The thought of allowing himself to move on scared him more than he cared to admit even to himself.
Resting the plant against his hip as he approached the door, Geoffrey wiped his sweaty palms. He regretted not bringing a bottle of wine, even though he didn’t know what she liked or whether she would think he would expect to share it with her either before they left of afterwards.
He even considered turning around and walking away – not sure if he was ready for this, ready for Bec.
And then she opened the door. An obvious and unavoidable intake of breath and long sigh as he took in the vision before him. Bec stood in her doorway, oblivious to how breathtaking, physically breathtaking she looked. Every part of him wanted to take her in his arms, carry her to a bed strewn with rose petals and love her until she couldn’t be loved anymore.
Instead, he forced by common decency to hand over the seemingly inadequate flower pot with and express his own inadequate feelings, “You look beautiful.”
“I can’t believe the colors in all their work – so earthy yet bright,” Bec walked from painting to painting, dazed by the works from the Australian First Nation peoples. “I’ve never seen anything like these before – I don’t know what I expected.”
“You look like a kid in a candy store,” Geoffrey smiled, taking her hand as he lead her through the gallery entry.
“I don’t know what I expected, perhaps a couple of paintings and some painted digeridoos.”
“Sorry to disappoint, I’m promised tonight is a full cultural experience awash with raw pain and artistic celebration.”
“You are making that up – or you read it from the brochure,” Bec snuggled against him.
“The Professor is correct,” they were joined by a casually dressed man in his mid thirties, greying beard and long dark hair tied back into a bun. “Geoffrey, glad to see you. Please introduce me to the most beautiful woman in the world, I mean, the room.”
“Daku, your words flow as easily as your art,” Geoffrey hugged him, “Rebecca Garran, my good friend and curator of this event, Daku Freeman. He has agreed to give us a personal tour. This is his first event since coming back from the First Nations Curator Exchange program.”
“Miss Garran,” he kissed her hand, “I don’t know what you see in this old man …”
“Watch it,” Geoffrey chided, taking Bec’s hand back.
“Please call me, Bec, and thank you for offering to show us around.”
“Seriously, we are grateful to the Professor. Every year he is a generous benefactor of the gallery, but this is the first time he ever asked for a personal tour.”
“I’m impressed,” she turned to Geoffrey, “Surprised, and impressed.”
“I didn’t want to lose you to headsets and bar codes,” Geoffrey shrugged as Daku commenced the tour.
“Most of the works are on permanent display in local galleries across Australia. I had a vision of bringing the best from artists representing each language group and each of the first nations.” Daku introduced each artist’s work as a friend, unravelling the stories hidden in each piece.
“They are all magnificent,” Bec said as they moved towards the Torres Strait Islander exhibition. I love the bronzed sculptures – what are they?”
Daku smiled, “It’s a dugong – a large herbivore mammal that prefers to live in the shallow coastal waters.”
“It looks like a large seal,” Bec said, moving closer. “I can’t believe how intricate the carving is.”
“Seals are carnivorous and aren’t related, but the dugong is related to the seacow. The Torres Strait Islanders hunt them as part of their traditional life and for food but I’m glad to say that commercial fishing of them is banned.”
“They are beautiful,” she moved to the artefacts at the back wall.
“I’m glad you like them. Unfortunately, we were restricted by space. Many of our finer pieces are on permanent display in the main gallery.”
“Oh, Geoffrey,” she turned in excitement, “I think I’m asking for a second date!”
“If the Professor isn’t smart enough to accompany you, it would be my greatest pleasure,” Daku broke in.
“I think I can handle the lady’s request,” her body tingled as Geoffrey’s finger played with her palm.
“Whatever,” Daku laughed, “I’d be happy to show you lovebirds around, just in case Bec comes to her senses and decides to trade you in.”
“That head-dress looks like the ones worn by the Native Americans,” Bec noted.
Inspired by her interest, Geoffrey watched as Daku gave Bec a history lesson in American indigenous art before returning to the headdress. “Did you know that for First Nations peoples, including Inuit, Maori, Torres Strait and the Native Americans, headdresses are restricted items. Generally, they are even restricted within each culture to men as a recognition of specific achievement.”
“Sort of like students wearing a gown and at graduation?”
“I guess, if you want some sort of analogy. You wouldn’t go to a shop and buy a degree.”
“Some of my students probably wish they could – but what I hate are people of claim fake degrees when they get a job. I don’t even like it when my university gives out honorary doctorates. I worked bloody hard for mine,” Geoffrey grimaced.
“Exactly. I love sharing culture and watching people admire these artefacts, but nothing annoys me more than when people buy them as souvenirs to wear.”
“Wow, I had no idea,” she squeezed Geoffrey’s hand, “I think I need to go back home and check out the Smithsonian again.”
“You should,” Daku agreed, “When I was on exchange in Canada, they sponsored a trip to see the National Museum of the American Indian at the Smithsonian Institute. This here,” he waved his hand, “Was inspired by that visit.”
After Daku left them, Bec remained conscious of Geoffrey by her side, his arm gently around her, warding off any other male suitors. She felt protected, special and a little surprised how lost she felt when he left her side briefly to get them drinks.
He caught her eye in apology when his return to her was delayed by acquaintances stopping him for conversation. Bec didn’t know if their relationship had reached the point where she could join him and introduce herself. What if he introduced her as a colleague or friend? Not only would she be embarrassed, but so hurt and feel stupid in having built up the relationship in her mind to something he wasn’t ready for or interested in.
AHHHHHH, she thought, moving towards the bar to get herself the drink he promised her rather than stand alone.
&
nbsp; “Bec, my darling, I’m glad you are here!”
“Derek! I didn’t expect to see you.” Bec said as the head of the consulting firm she worked for greeted her warmly.
“I assume you are here on a date – with Geoffrey?” he asked, looking around.
“Derek, I don’t know if you would call it a date …” she started.
“Well, I would,” A wave of jealousy had washed over Geoffrey when he saw Derek approach Bec. They had been friends long enough for Geoffrey to have witnessed Derek’s reputation with women was well founded. He refused to let Derek spend one minute alone with his Bec.
Geoffrey quickly excused himself from his old friends to reclaim his place at Bec’s side.
Unfortunately, Derek wanted to be the life of the party and gathered other friends around.
“Sorry,” Geoffrey whispered to Bec, “I didn’t expect this night to become a group event.”
“No problem, they have an interesting way of letting me get to know you,” Bec giggled as each of his friends shared stories and gently ribbed them about their budding relationship.
“Wait until they start in on you,” Geoffrey warned, at the same time looking forward to getting to know Bec better through her answers to his friends’ questions.
“So, Rebecca,” started one of the wives, “Have you ever been married? Do you have any children?”
Darn, he thought.
“Bec,” he said softly, his arm around her waist, feeling her stiffen and then shrug. He tried to pull her away from the group.
“It’s okay, Geoffrey,” she refused to move, “It was an innocent question,” her beautiful eyes glistened with the threat of tears. Turning, in a controlled voice she said, “I was married. He died eighteen months ago of cancer. We didn’t have the chance to have children.”
The woman who had asked the question looked mortified and for a moment, the group collectively didn’t know where to look or what to say.
Thankfully, Derek, quickly diverted attention to juicy gossip about one of his competitors who recently returned from holidays with a “completely refreshed look.”
“Are you okay?” Geoffrey whispered to Bec as she let him lead her away from the gallery crowd.
“I think so,” she replied, picking up a glass of water from a roaming waiter. “I didn’t expect to meet your friends, nor did I expect to answer questions about my husband.”
“I’m sorry, she had no idea. I do blame Derek for gatecrashing our date,” he tried to coax a smile from her in vain.
“Don’t blame Derek. I shouldn’t be so sensitive, I should be over it by now.”
Geoffrey saw her pain and desperately tried to find the right words. He settled for stroking her arm as she held the empty glass and motioned to a waiter for another one.
“Sweetheart, whatever you are feeling, I assure you that it is natural for you, right now. What can I do?”
“Nothing,” she said too quickly.
The magic of earlier vanished and in an instant Geoffrey felt they returned from almost lovers back to friends. He struggled to find the words to respond.
“Do you want to get out of here?” he said after they completed a lap of the room, without Bec showing any interest in the pieces. She nodded gratefully and he collected their jackets.
Geoffrey wanted to place his hand over hers as they lay quietly folded in her lap as he drove back to her unit. Any thoughts of romance and seduction were lost back in the gallery. Now he needed to help Bec move past her grief and bring a smile to her face again.
Bec clenched her knees together to stop them from trembling. What would Geoffrey thing of her – shaking for her dead love while on a date with him! Did he think her stupid for trying too soon to date again or callous for trying to move on.
It didn’t matter, she thought, a wonderful date with a man she wanted to get to know more of, now over – ruined. He wouldn’t try and kiss her again, and even if he did, how would she respond? While ever a simple question rendered her speechless and tearful, she could never think of opening her heart to anyone.
“Thank you for the evening, I’m sorry …” She didn’t invite Geoffrey inside, nor did he attempt to give her more than a hug. If he said anything in the car or before she left, it was a haze.
The following morning, she awoke to her pillow still wet from her tears, but feeling refreshed. A night of crying and looking through old photos of her married life had been therapeutic. She loved her husband and married him with the promise of “until death do we part.” There were no regrets about loving him, only sadness at losing him so young.
Finally, Bec felt it possible to put her memories back inside the box in her heart, and face her future. Hopefully with Geoffrey.
Taking things slow
“Hey, you,” Geoffrey smiled when Bec answered the phone. Three weeks since the gallery - a relationship conducted mostly by text and phone message with the occasional coffee or quick lunch. Not the physical, unemotional experience he wanted or was used to. In fact, other than relatively chaste kisses, they hadn’t progressed past holding hands.
“Hey, yourself. Good timing – my flight only landed half an hour ago.” He could barely hear her over the background noise of Sydney airport and imagined her juggling her phone, carry on luggage and briefcase.
“I know it’s late notice, but did you want to grab a bite to eat? It would be my pleasure to make sure you get home cooking.”
“I assume you mean Petro will do the cooking and we either eat at the restaurant or get some takeaway,” she laughed, and he thought it had been years since a woman knew him so well."
“Either, whichever your heart desires.”
“I appreciate the offer, but …”
“You are busy, I get it,” he cut in, trying to keep the exasperation from his voice.
“Sorry, I brought a heap of work back with me and have 48 hours to turn it around – and the clock started when I left Perth six hours ago. Rain check?”
“You realize I am going to cash in on all your rain checks one day,” resigned to another night alone.
“I’m counting on it, talk to you tomorrow.”
Bec dropped her phone in her hurry to cancel the call and check in with her office. An insanely busy life, rushing all over the place and she had never been happier.
More and more clients were reaching out to her for consultancy work and once they got used to her American accent, most were welcoming of her advice. Clients who knew they needed advice and were willing to take it were the rarest and best clients – deserving of her one hundred and ten percent effort and ability.
Hence, no time to see Geoffrey. By now, friends had warned her of his reputation and promised if she played hard to get, he would move on. She knew enough contacts in town to be confident if and when he hooked up with another undergraduate, she would hear about it.
Instead, he had been the epitome of good behavior. Courteous, charming and demonstrating over and over again he wanted to pursue her with serious intentions. His overtures were not without her own interest. A lot older than her husband, he radiated a presence she wanted more of if only they found the time.
Thinking about him, made her smile, spontaneously and without any reason other than he was Geoffrey.
Even though she barely spent time with him in weeks, she shuddered at the memory of his eyes boring into her soul in silence. Whatever his question, her answer would be “yes.”
One night they tried to video chat and ended up debating almost any topic – they were both well read and opinionated – his eyes sparkled as he attempted to end debate with a well thought out statement or thesis.
Over coffee, she now made a game of either filibustering until he ran out of energy to debate, or to close down the argument with a stroke of his hand or cheek.
They were certainly taking things slowly, and if ever work eased up, she wanted to speed up their relationship. At least moving past the kisses and hand holding. Too often, she found herself distract
ed in meetings imagining his hands and wondering whether they would be powerful and in command of her body, or whether they would be soft and gentle.
She hoped they could be both.
Then again, until she started clearing her schedule, she would never find out.
“This woman will be the death of me!” Geoffrey shouted, throwing the hole punch across the room. As expected, his assistant heard the commotion and came in.
“Professor, now what did the poor piece of stationery ever do to you?” Layla stood over the offending object now lying peacefully on the floor.
“It is never available to me when I need it, or want it. It is always busy helping other people. Damn it,” Geoffrey laughed in spite of himself – being frustrated in more ways than one.
“The Vice Chancellor called while you were on the phone. Professor Edwards has taken an immediate leave of absence and the VC wants you to take over the classes. Apparently,” Layla looked at the hole punch now safely in her hands, “You can be trusted with his students, just not stationery.”
“Layla, tell him I’m already busy.”
“That would be difficult, I’ve already cleared your schedule and his notes and slides are in your directory. Your first class is tomorrow and I’ve emailed all the tutors to get a briefing on your expectations for later today.
“Damn women in my life, you think you have me under control.”
“I don’t know about the mysterious Miss Garran, but I certainly wish I had you under control.” The closed door protected the hole punch from finding Layla as it’s new target.
Despite his protests, he understood why Paul Edwards needed the leave – cancer. He also knew he couldn’t decline the classes, there was no one better qualified and Paul needed to focus on fighting the dragon, not whether his students were falling behind.
At least, he would have something to focus on rather Miss Unavailable. Every time he started to think Bec was avoiding him on purpose, he received a random text signed off with emojis.
Trusting his Heart Page 5
