The Five-Day Dig (5 page)

They started toward the garden where the event was taking place.

“There were heaps of curious tidbits in your lecture,” he said. “I didn’t peg you for a goddess-worshiper.”

The comment confused her. “I’m not.”

He looked skeptical. “Yet you’re ‘comforted’ by Mother Nature iconography.”

“Being comforted is hardly the same as worshiping.”

“Then what’s behind the comfort?”

“That’s an interesting question.” She took a moment to consider it. “Maybe
it’s
genetic memory – something encoded in my genome from ancient ancestors. Or maybe it’s just a trace of superstition.
Silly, really.”

“Not at all.
Surely we can acknowledge our spiritual side without being superstitious. Your audience clearly related to the idea.”

“Thank goodness for that.” Through a pair of glass doors at the end of the hall, she could see people milling around in the garden beyond. The June weather looked fabulous. “Presenting a load of speculation in front of academics is a scary thing. I was sure they would all think it presumptuous of a classicist to write a book about etymology. It’s not my field.”

“It’s not a huge leap.” He opened one of the doors and held it for her. “And academics love speculation. You’re just so used to Dr. Farber’s negativity that you expect it from everyone.”

They stepped outside, and she held back from responding. Criticizing the department chair to a student wouldn’t be appropriate or wise, but she wasn’t about to defend the man either.

Surrounded on three sides by the winged building they had left, the garden looked out on a hilly countryside, the view somewhat marred by a campus driveway with cars parked along it.

They wandered toward a large tent set up with portable tables and folding chairs. Clustered in the shade, small groups of academics sat chatting, sipping wine and noshing on hors d’oeuvres.

Along the way, a waiter carrying a tray of fluted glasses filled with effervescing white wine stopped next to them. “Prosecco?”

“
Sì, grazie
,” she said, taking a glass.

Chaz grabbed one, too, and the server moved on.

Finding an empty table, she set down her things and took a seat. “I couldn’t spot Dr. Farber at my lecture. Did he tell you what he thought of it before he left?”

Sitting down across from her, he held his wine up to his nose, staring into the glass. “He left before it started.”

“My own department chair walked out?”

He gave her an uneasy-looking smile. “Be happy about it. Now he can’t give you a critique.”

“He’ll find a way.” The words slipped out before she could remind herself again about discretion. Taking a swig of her drink, she tried to think of something else to say but couldn’t get past her boss blowing off her talk. Finally, she forced herself to smirk. “
Maybe Dr.
Farber had a meeting with Domenico Rentino.
Development
vincit omnia
, after all.”

Chaz laughed and slid
her a
mischievous look. “I’ve been meaning to ask: Have you had much chance to ‘use your feminine wiles’ on Signore Rentino?”

She almost spit out a mouthful of wine.
“None at all.
And, believe
me,
I’m aware how ridiculous it was – on so many levels – for Dr. Farber to ask that of me. How ironic that the one skill he credits me with is so far removed from anything I can actually do.”

“You’re too modest. The suggestion may have been tactless, bordering on harassment, but I saw the way the signore looked at you at the Welcome Reception – the lingering gaze, the glint in his eye. You had him eating out of the palm of your hand.”

She snorted. “He’s Italian, Chaz. And, as an Italian guy told me my first time in the country,
gli uomini italiani
hanno
il fuoco
.”

“An Italian used that line on you? And you were fourteen the last time you were here?” He rolled his eyes. “Ah, yes. If only we Englishmen ‘had the fire.’ ”

“Oh, I think
you
have plenty of it.” On hearing her own playful words, she almost clapped her hand over her mouth. Why on earth was she discussing libido with one of her grad students?

He laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She looked into her glass, searching her mind for a change of subject. After a long couple of seconds, she asked, “Do you think it’s true that a temple complex is buried under Rentino’s estate?”

He shrugged. “Dr. Farber’s been grilling everyone at the conference about it, and from what he
says,
those who have worked in the area seem to think it’s an important site, perhaps rivaling the ancient villas around
Pompeii
. Needless to say, he’s itching to excavate.”

“Along with every other archaeologist here.”
She surveyed the crowd. “The local ones have probably been trying to wear Rentino down for years. I get the feeling he’s pretty protective of his ruins.”

“The buzz is that he won’t even talk about the site. Some of the locals even think he’s hiding something.”

“Yet he’s here at an archaeological conference. Could that be a sign he’s loosening up?” She felt a stir of curiosity. “Maybe I
should
be making more effort to track him down and
schmooze
him.”

“You’d have an edge over Dr. Farber.” He grinned at her.

A flush of warmth made her look away.
“Hardly.
But exploring a temple complex would be a coup for your dissertation, wouldn’t it? What deity was the temple on Rentino’s estate dedicated to?”

“No one seems to know. Apparently, the sole attempt at excavation in the 1960s ended prematurely with some kind of catastrophe – a collapse or something.”

“Really?
Bracing methods have improved since then, but a project at an unstable site would be expensive, and funding is a problem for us.” She tapped her chin. “Well, if I can find Rentino, I could at least ask him if we can tour the estate before we leave
Italy
. You don’t see him here, do you?”

 
They both looked around. At that moment, two long-haired, dark-eyed female students in short dresses passed the table, giggling to each other. Not surprisingly, his gaze followed them. “No, but I do see a few hotties.”

“Italian girls are well acquainted with fending off hot-blooded men, Chaz,” Winnie teased him. “You don’t stand a chance.”

He gave her a look of mock offense. “You just work on getting that tour from Rentino, and I’ll worry about the female population.”

She laughed.
“
Touché
.”

He looked past her, and his eyes opened wider. “There he is now, coming this way.”

She turned around and saw the Italian walking with a second middle-aged man, although age was where the similarities between them stopped. Rentino embodied that Italian concept of deportment and style summed up in the term
bella
figura
. The other guy wore a funky jacket, black jeans and an
untucked
lavender dress shirt that screamed British eccentric. To be fair, he was handsome in his own right, with temples just beginning to gray and big blue eyes that looked a little wild. As the men got closer, she thought he seemed familiar.

“Who’s that with him?” she asked Chaz
sotto voce
. “It looks like that comedian from the old Britcom ‘Home to Roost.’ ”

“It looks like Dunk Mortill to me.” He sounded excited.

“Right.
Him.”

“He used to have a sitcom?” He stared across the garden at the man. “I only know him from ‘The Five-Day Dig.’ ”

For a moment, she’d forgotten how young Chaz was. She had also forgotten that Mortill had hosted that stupid newer show for years. A couple of times, she’d channel-surfed onto it, but the cast’s careless attitude toward science turned her off. “Ah, yes, the TV
show
that makes a race out of archaeology. Great premise.”

“You don’t like it?” He gave her a surprised look.

They had no time to debate, though, because the two men headed straight for them. She held up her glass to shield her mouth from their view. “
Shh
. Here they come.”

When they reached the table, she looked up from her drink and met Rentino’s gaze. He had a glint in his eye again, and it sent a little charge of pleasure through her. “Signorina Price – just the woman I seek.”

“
Buon giorno, Signore
.
It’s actually
Doctor
Price, but Winnie works best.” She gave him a big smile to soften her correction.

“
Mi dispiace
, Winnie.”
His smile widened, so apparently he took it well. “You must call me Domenico.”

“Domenico then.
Won’t you join us?” She motioned for him and Mortill to take seats. Sensing Chaz watching her, she met his gaze and was surprised by the sardonic look he gave her. He must have thought she was following Farber’s plan to ensnare the Italian, despite her protests. The realization embarrassed her.

“Here is someone else eager to know you,” Domenico said as the newcomers sat down. “May I present Duncan Mortill?
Duncan
,
la bella dottore
.”

She offered her hand to Mortill.
“Pleased to meet you.”

He shook it firmly. “I’m a great admirer.”

“It’s kind of you to say so.” She nodded toward Chaz. “This is Chaz Frazer, one of my grad students at Growden. I believe he’s a fan of ‘The Five-Dollar Dig.’ ”

“ ‘The
Five-
Day
Dig.’ ” The TV host shot her a sly grin, as if he suspected she’d made the mistake on purpose but the thought amused him.

While she murmured an apology, Chaz shook his hand enthusiastically. “I grew up watching ‘The Dig.’ It’s what made me want to become an archaeologist. I was gutted to hear it wasn’t renewed this year.”

Mortill waved off his concerns. “Don’t count us out yet. I’m working on an idea for a special episode that the network won’t be able to turn down.”

Domenico looked at Chaz. “My daughter Enza also is a great fan of
Duncan
’s program. She thinks of studying archaeology at
Growden
University
. I don’t like her going to the States, but maybe you can share with her how it is to be a foreign student there?”

“Certainly.
Is she here?”

“Yes. I can introduce you now.”

“I’d be honored.” Chaz stood up and looked back at Mortill. “Good to meet you, Mr. Mortill.”

The man dimpled. “It’s Dunk. Please.”

Chaz grinned and nodded to him, then walked away with Domenico.