Art Trade (2)

“Sir, you have a meeting with the foreign minister in an hour. Did you take a look at the documents that we sent you in preparation?”

The words rudely interrupt Sol from his thoughts, as he rips his gaze from the window. He was having such a pleasant time too, staring out at the white clouds passing over the blue skies. Today’s weather is exquisite, and Sol was idly thinking about having his lunch outside, perhaps seeking some shade under his favoured spot under the willow tree and watching as the ducks drift by, their yellow webbed feet paddling against clear waters.

He hesitates for a moment, ducking his eyes away from his secretary. She’s standing stiffly against the door, dressed in a smart grey glazer and matching pencil skirt.

“… No, I’m afraid not,” he manages to answer truthfully, and he hears just the faintest of sighs coming from a person who is too used to this.

“Please, sir, I’m sure you have many things to do, however you’re aware of just how important this meeting is and how we can’t risk any mistakes as this is could become a very public affair,” his secretary says in an almost lecturing tone, as she pushes her glasses up against her nose bridge and adjusts her already neatened bun.

Sol opens his mouth to speak up, but before he has a chance to protest, she’s already turning her back to him and letting herself out of his office.

“Have a look over the notes, it contains the minister’s biographies and his favourite books. I’m sure learning a phrase here and there could earn his favour and greatly boost our position with them. It shouldn’t take you more than fifteen minutes,” she says in a curt tone, to which Sol is letting out a petulant little groan. Must he memorise trivia now?

Out of the corner of his eye, Sol notices as his secretary places a colourful pink packet on a nearby bookshelf.

“Also, I got some of your favourite jam biscuits that you like with your tea during my break, please help yourself to it,” and then she’s gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

Sol blinks at the empty space that was once his secretary, and then his lips quirk into a smile. He thinks to himself that over the centuries, making the choice to hire her as secretary to the company that safeguarded his village was definitely one of the right decisions.

With thoughts of the past in his mind, Sol is briefly filled with a feeling of nostalgia, his thoughts bringing him back to the days when he was the guardian for a modest, small village. Watching over bonfires and stoking the flames in order to keep the many families warm during the winters, observing as shy and excited children tiptoed their way over to him to leave him little snacks, wrapped up in leaves and strings of ribbon that were tied by inexperienced hands. Things were certainly simpler back then, more straightforward. Now, he still does receive such gifts, but in a different way that he doesn’t find unwelcome. His people were always able to find a way to warm his heart, regardless of the time period.

As Sol reminisces, his mind idly drifts to the memory of running his fingers through long, soft strands of snow white hair, as he brushes it with utmost care. He feels a familiar twinge in his heart, though it goes as quickly as it comes, leaving Sol able to dwell contentedly in his memory. He lets out a soft sigh, wondering what Yue is doing now, and if he’s seen as many magnificent sights as he promised Sol he would.

No matter, Sol is sure that his old friend is finding much joy in his travels, as much as Sol finds joy in the people he watches over. He wonders who will have more stories to share between the two of them, should their paths ever cross again. Surely, it will be Yue, though Yue likely does not find himself caught up in as many schemes as Sol has found himself in over the many years. Sol can’t help but let out a laugh at the image of the two of them bantering and catching up to make up for all the time spent apart.

But memories are memories, and imagination is imagination, Sol reminds himself, as he gives his head a little shake to return back to reality. He stretches his arms and flexes his shoulders to rouse himself, turning his attention to the biscuits that were placed on his shelf.

Sol returns to his desk, jam biscuits in tow. Peering around the piles of documents that are heaped upon the mahogany wood, Sol finds the stack of papers that have eluded his attention for over a week now, labelled in large red letters: ‘FOR CEO’S PURVIEW: FOREIGN MINISTER VISIT’.

He hums to himself as he opens up the packet with one hand and takes the portfolio with the other, frowning at the many bullet points that pertain to this minister’s pastimes. He seems like a very frivolous man. After this meeting, he is definitely treating himself – and the ducks – to a nice lunch.