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"Being married to a surgeon, especially one as highly specialized as Drake and Michael, means long hours alone," she said as we stopped in front of a painting. "Build your own life and do it right away or you'll grow very sad and lonely very quickly while you're here. Believe me, I learned from experience."
I knew Claire was right. But I would never take Sefton's class. Maybe he could be completely professional but I wasn't sure I wanted to take the risk and have it go sour, have him thinking it meant anything.
I watched him as he circled the room, speaking with small groups of faculty and students. Everyone seemed drawn to him, eager to speak with him. His works of art were impressive and I felt I could learn from him but the fact he might have been at the dungeon and knew I was a submissive… There would be no way to keep a professional tone in our relationship.
Why couldn't men take women seriously? Why did they have to immediately think of getting into our panties? I wasn't some empty-headed coed looking to party. I was serious. I had talent I wanted to develop and an artistic voice I wanted to hone. I didn't want some gorgeous man flirting with me all the time. I had one at home who did much more than flirt.
I didn't need any man's attention but Drake's.
About half an hour later, after I'd met a couple of other faculty members and a few students, Claire came back and took my arm.
"Hungry for something more substantive? Nial and a few of his students are planning to go to Splendid for a meal. A favorite with expats. We've been invited."
Despite the canapés I'd eaten, I was hungry for something meaty.
"Sure," I said, wishing I were back home with Drake. I liked Claire, but she had this way… A bit bossy, a bit cheeky. She was very friendly and knowledgeable but was a real social butterfly like the society ladies I'd met through my father's charities in Manhattan. But she was Michael's wife and Drake seemed to love Michael like an uncle. I wanted us to get along.
We made our way to the door and while Claire spoke with Nial, Sefton came over to me. He extended his hand to me.
"Glad to meet you, Kate," he said, all business and proper now that we weren't alone. "I hope you find a class to take, but if you don't, I'd be only too happy to have you in my studio course."
I didn’t want to shake his hand, but I also didn't want to insult him in front of the others so I offered my hand simply to be polite. He took my hand in both of his and shook.
Nial came over and smiled. "So, I see you two have met. Sefton has a studio class you could take."
"I've already tried to tempt her into taking my course."
"That's wonderful, Sefton." Nial turned to me, his eyebrows raised. "Sefton's offering an open studio class for students who have more experience than our usual first year students and experience painting."
I nodded, pulling my hand from Sefton's.
"Are you coming to Splendid with the rest of us?" Nial asked.
I turned to Claire. She was smiling. "Yes, we're leaving now."
"Good," Sefton said and turned away. He motioned to a few other people who I assumed were joining us. "Let's go. I've made a reservation."
We left, and I was not happy that Sefton was coming to dinner. If I had known he was, I would have turned down the invitation but it was too late now. I'd be spending the meal hoping Sefton wasn't going to give me too much attention, but with other people there, I expected he'd be the center of attention.
I hoped.
We drove in separate cars to a small restaurant with a decidedly European feel to it. I grabbed my cell from the charger and followed Claire into the restaurant. As we exited the car, a couple of people from the exhibition joined us and one of them, a female faculty member from Egypt, began speaking to me about the restaurant. I didn't have time to check my mail or messages for fear of appearing impolite.
"Splendid is popular with European ex-pats and has food you'd find in London or Paris, so I come here a lot," she said as we discussed the décor.
Splendid was like any restaurant I'd find back home, with white tablecloths, candles on the tables, rich mahogany floors and crystal chandeliers. A room in the rear of the restaurant with a long table was reserved for us and we arrived first. We took seats in the back of the table against the wall and waited for the rest of the party to arrive. One by one, the faculty from the Institute arrived and took places around us, and I was glad I wouldn't have to sit next to Sefton. When he arrived with two other young men, he sat directly across from me, but I was determined that he would not intimidate me.
We spent the first half hour reading the menu, getting our drinks and talking about the local news reports about recent violence in the city. Sefton studiously ignored me, as he was fielding questions from others present about his recent work with a local Nairobi band, doing artwork for their new CD. He was intent on meeting my eye although he didn't engage me in conversation, and that was fine by me. He seemed pretty full of himself, speaking animatedly about his work, his studio class, and his experiences.
Our food was French, with small portions of very artistic and flavorful meats and vegetables, paired with a glass of wine. It was delicious.
Finally, about an hour in, after my second glass of wine, not counting the one back at the Institute, I went to the washroom.
On my way out, I met Sefton, who was also leaving the men's room. He stopped in front of me.
"Your … fiancé wasn't able to join you tonight?" he said, his hands in his pockets, a grin on his face.
"He's got a trauma case and will be working late."
