Alison Muir and Peter Thorn on their wedding day in 1991 View image in fullscreen Alison Muir and Peter Thorn on their wedding day in 1991 The moment I knew Australian lifestyle The moment I knew: I thought he was a handsome, arrogant colleague – then the tension between us broke At work, Alison Muir ’s relationship with Peter Thorn veered between flirtation and hostility, until one day he stopped sidestepping his feelings
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Prefer the Guardian on Google I n 1990, I’d started an exciting job as executive assistant to the director and chief curator of the not-yet-opened Museum of Contemporary Art in Sydney. On my first day, I was introduced to Peter, the museum’s talented publications manager. I smiled as I shook his hand, but he made no distinct impression.
As I settled into my role, I felt as if he was deliberately avoiding me. I chalked it up to his apparent conceit as, along with good looks, he had a swagger and confidence that made half the female staff infatuated with him.
December came and the office was sweltering. My desk fan blew a memo on to the floor. While collecting it I noticed Peter walking by carrying a heavy box. He was tall, blond and wearing a white T-shirt that showed his tanned skin and strong arms. Suddenly I noticed how truly handsome he was. All this, compounded with his offhandedness, made him catnip. I paid attention.
‘Stop flirting with me and leave me alone,’ he said. I told him to sod off and stop thinking so highly of himself Post-meetings I’d pop into his office with “leftover” fresh coffee and shortbread. When he arrived at the director’s office I gave an extra-warm smile and a friendly hello. He wasn’t overly keen on my attention. Then one day I mentioned his motorbike and he asked if I’d like to go for a ride. “Sure,” I coolly replied.
The next morning he arrived with an extra helmet, and by noon we were on an epic lunchtime ride to a harbourside park. He handled the curves like a pro and when we reached the beach he complimented my skills as a pillion. After that outing we were much more friendly.
A few weeks later, I was grabbing lunch and spied a last slice of delicious-looking chocolate cake. Knowing Peter was a fan, I bought it.
I popped the slice into his pigeonhole in the print room along with a friendly note dated 13 February 1991. I was photocopying when Peter came in to get his mail and found the cake. I had a smile on my face waiting for him to thank me. But his response was totally unexpected.
He was furious. How dare I write him a note, especially on the day before Valentine’s Day! “Stop flirting with me and leave me alone,” he said.
Incensed, I told him to sod off and stop thinking so highly of himself. It was only a piece of cake. I decided he really was arrogant.
Read more A couple of weeks passed, and we hadn’t spoken unless absolutely necessary. The tension was so great that one time a colleague walked into the print room as we were separately doing tasks, then retreated with an, “Oh, I’m sorry” and a knowing smile. We looked up quizzically before ignoring each other again.
In March we still weren’t speaking. Then I was tasked with refiling an ad hoc system involving spreading files across the floor before re-cataloguing.
I was sitting in the middle of this mess when Peter appeared with a notebook and coffee on his way to a meeting. I thought: if he cuts across, it’s love; if he goes the long way around, it’s war. I looked at h…