by Freda, Paula
"$5,000. Through the years we have recovered several of these replicas. They make excellent conversation pieces."
Lord Hayden scowled. "$5,000 for a conversation piece?"
"Take it or leave it. I can get three times that price at the auction tomorrow."
Lord Hayden studied the Apollo. He had seen many others like it, but the museum he represented did not have one. "All right," he said, taking out his checkbook.
"We have not finished digging," the official reminded him. "There may be other finds that our country can spare. How long do you plan to be in Palermo?"
"At least a month," Lord Hayden replied as he wrote out the check. "Maybe more."
"Well then, I’m sure we will do business again," the official said, as Lord Hayden, handed him the check. "There are crates and packing materials on the side of the table. Help yourself."
Hayden chose a medium-sized crate and filled it with straw. He dug a hole in the straw and carefully began to place the Apollo inside. Something caught his well-trained eye. Symbols grouped together under its base. On closer inspection, Egyptian hieroglyphics. He glanced at the official who sat making entries in a large black book. He buried the Apollo inside the straw and secured the lid. With the crate under his arm, he walked to the car he had rented at the airport. What Professor Elizabeth Eldridge would not give to be in his shoes at this moment, he thought, chuckling. Three Egyptian symbols had been clearly recognizable on the base of the Apollo... Woman, Opal, Truth. Bless Elizabeth’s spinsterish heart, and her theory about the Mystical Opal and the undiscovered tomb in the Valley of the Queens. There might be something to her theory. Lord Hayden checked the rear-view mirror as he inserted the key into the ignition. His eyes widened and he turned abruptly. "Miss Grace Quinlan, what a pleasant surprise," he greeted the red-gold-haired beauty sitting in the back seat.
Her smile was nothing short of guileless. "I took a taxi to the site, but he never showed to pick me up for the return trip. I thought you might give me a lift back to the hotel."
"My pleasure," Hayden replied, somewhat vindicated, starting up the car. "By the way, do you have any books to read?" Not expecting an answer, he began driving and turned into the main road. He stole glances at his passenger via the rear-view mirror, but remained silent. This time she would have to do the inviting.
"Lord Hayden, I noticed you examining the Apollo statuette. You seemed intrigued by something. May I ask what that was?"
Lord Hayden decided on the prudence of sharing his discovery. An article on the piece would bring attention and added visitors to the museum, not to mention a monetary contribution or two. "Join me in my hotel room, and we’ll examine the statuette together."
To Elizabeth Eldridge, now under the guise of Grace Quinlan, the implications registered loud and clear. If she accepted Lord Hayden’s invitation, he was sure to ask her to stay the night. The proposition had been there since their introduction on the plane. If she refused to go to his hotel room, she would be denied the opportunity of examining the Apollo and discovering what had suddenly enthralled Lord Hayden to the point of not seeing her when she had stood in plain view. Archeology, always closest to her heart, decided for her. If he took her answer to imply more than what it meant, then he would have only himself to blame. "I’d like very much to join you and examine the figure. Am I right in assuming you’ve stumbled on to something more than just a conversation piece?"
Lord Hayden’s dark brows knitted. How did she know what the official had said, or was it merely another coincidence? He glanced again into the rear-view mirror at his passenger and found her expression vaguely familiar; something about the way her small chin thrust out, her lips pursed, the eyes gazed intently. A fleeting familiarity, but he had to concentrate on the road. He shrugged. The lady was willing, and who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth. The image of a wooden Trojan horse rose in his mind. Lord Hayden cleared his throat nervously and focused on the turn ahead.
* * *
She joined him for dinner that evening. He liked the way she ate with gusto. Moreover, she was easy to talk with, somewhat like Elizabeth Eldridge. The resemblance had dawned on him over dessert. Not in her appearance, of course, but in certain mannerisms. In her voice, and in the way she listened, hearing precisely what he said, not what she wanted to hear. He was amazed at her knowledge of archeology. Their conversation made him anxious to get to his room and decipher the rest of the symbols under the base of the Apollo. He felt with his right foot for the crate under the table. He had not wanted to entrust it to the safety of his room, in case anyone beside himself suspected the sculpture’s possible importance. When they had finished eating, Lord Hayden suggested, "Well, shall we go upstairs and do some research—on the figure."
Elizabeth replied, "I’m interested in the meaning of the symbols. They might lead to other finds and provide the basis for a fascinating article."
He nodded. "I concur."
Inside the elevator, he noted her silence and the soft blush on her cheeks. She kept her gaze lowered, but her hesitancy did not escape him. She was new at the game, he thought, or she did not play it with just anyone. Perhaps in her case he should be less forward. Perhaps this one was a little more special. Her silence intensified as they left the elevator and neared his room. He sensed the battle between her curiosity about the Apollo figurine and her reluctance to enter his room. Bluntness seemed the better course. He turned to her. "Grace, I promise, nothing disrespectful. We will examine the figure and work on deciphering the symbols. Then we’ll call it a night.
Her emerald gaze lifted to his, brightening. She smiled gratefully and followed him willingly into his room where she proceeded to work with him on the meaning of the symbols, as close as any colleague might. He was amazed that her joy at the message the hieroglyphics imparted was as unrestrained as his. "This is it!" Lord Hayden exclaimed. "This is the original, the one all the others were modeled after."
"What about the reference to the opal and the woman, and truth?" Elizabeth asked. The Apollo was another link with the inscription she had found in a very old book on Egyptology, the same inscription taken from a wall inside a tomb in the Valley of the Queens. Elizabeth fought to restrain her excitement. She longed to have the statue to herself to examine it thoroughly as Lord Hayden was doing. To do so in front of him would arouse his suspicions as to her true occupation. Archaeologists had a way about them, and Lord Hayden’s quick mind would guess. She would have to wait, bide her time, as he was biding his with regard to her as a woman, respecting her innocence along with her intelligence. No more, she thought, watching Lord Hayden examine the Apollo for the thousandth time. I can’t stand it. Let me take it to my room, her mind pleaded. Let the archaeologist in me examine it, unfettered by this disguise. "Lord Hayden, I really must go. I need to do more research on the excavation site for my article, and that means starting out early in the morning for the next few days."
Lord Hayden wondered if she realized her voice trembled. Gently he replied, "All right. But we can work together. I need to visit the site again as well and plan to stay in Palermo at least for a month. No need to pay a taxi when I can drive you back and forth."
"That’s kind of you," Elizabeth said.
Again he noted that blush, that shy lowering of emerald eyes, that pursing of softly tinted lips. Again there was that fleeting sense of familiarity. Becharmed, he asked, "I’ll call for you at six. Is that early enough?"
She nodded, smiling. Lord Hayden escorted her to the door, reached for the doorknob, but never quite grasped it. There was something he wanted to do much more. His arm settled about her shoulders. "Grace Quinlan," he whispered into the top of her hair, a deep rich auburn in the lamplight. The strands felt like silk. He turned her slowly toward him. She kept her gaze lowered and he had to lift her chin to make her look into his eyes.
Elizabeth’s heart hammered. His eyes were a deep dark brown. She was lost in them. His kiss was light and sweet, sweeter than any of the few she
had known in her student years. She suspected it would not remain so if she permitted him to continue.
Easier to climb to the surface from the bottom of the ocean than draw her mouth from his, but she must. I will not be just a pretty face, a temporary companion, someone with whom to share an adventure, a charming woman to pose with, and another newspaper clipping for my scrapbook. So much depended on her strength of purpose. She concentrated all that strength on the vision of the forgotten tomb, the opal, and the woman, wise and beautiful. How would she have reacted in this situation? Would she have dared what Elizabeth Eldridge had contrived? Elizabeth turned her face, and when Lord Hayden’s lips caressed her cheek, she backed away. "Lord Hayden, may I go now?"
Hayden frowned but did not protest.
She read the annoyance on his features, the deprivation, but foremost a gentleman, he released her and opened the door. "Six," he said simply.
* * *
Elizabeth slept fitfully. Dreams superimposed upon each other, tossing her to and fro. One finally supplanted the rest—
A woman with skin a dark alabaster and hair black as pitch sat in a royal chair upon a dais at the head of a huge audience chamber. Egyptian nobles and their ladies pressed as close as they dared to the dais to see the object she held in her hands. It was an opal, the size of a slender fist, held between her palms. It glowed brilliantly. The colors of the rainbow blended with colors to which Elizabeth could find no name and the opal levitated, rising slowly, and hovered in mid air. The woman kept her hands outstretched, her gaze mesmerized by the gem, as if it were consuming all her thoughts as it became a prism, the points of light spreading, encompassing the woman and her throne. Her subjects began to chant. They prostrated themselves and hid their faces from the light.
The woman’s form, visible now as a muted shadow inside the light, dissolved, stretched, an amoeba floating in a spectrum of silky pastels. The amoeba began to fuse with the light. The Egyptian nobles and their ladies chanted louder, their prostrated bodies swaying with the intensity of their chant. As though compelled, the subjects lifted their faces and gazed fully into the light. A loud, jarring ring shook the huge audience hall. The room undulated; colors ran like those of a fresh painting immersed in water.
Elizabeth opened her eyes. The alarm clock continued to ring. It was 5 a.m. Precisely at six, Lord Hayden knocked on her door. He wore heavy beige linen pants and long sleeved shirt. The simple work clothes did nothing to hide his broad shoulders or muscular torso. "Grace... Grace?" Lord Hayden repeated. He waved his hand in front of her eyes. "Wake up."
Elizabeth blinked several times. Since opening the door she had been staring at him trance-like. "I haven’t quite done that yet," she excused, shaking her head to clear it.
Lord Hayden watched her move about the room, collecting her safari jacket, slipping it on and buttoning it, straightening the matching skirt, and picking up her shoulder bag. She pulled the strap over her shoulder, trapping a few silky ends of her hair. How he would love to caress its velvety smoothness. As she freed the red-gold strands caught under the shoulder strap, he thought for the hundredth time that she was the loveliest woman he had ever seen, though mysterious.
Except for the clerk asleep at his desk, the lobby was deserted. The duo moved quietly out the revolving doors. The morning air was cool and dry, and Elizabeth breathed deeply. Lord Hayden escorted her to his car, black and slimmer than the domestic bulky cars in the States. When he sat beside her, about to key the engine, she told him, "Yesterday the official at the dig mentioned a newly excavated subterranean passage under the temple."
Lord Hayden listened attentively as she went on. "He thinks the passage may lead to another building. I’m inclined to agree with him. And if there are more Roman artifacts with Egyptian hieroglyphics inscribed on them, I am anxious to have a look at them. The archaeologists hired by the local government plan to explore the passage thoroughly tomorrow. The official at the site has agreed to allow me first entry, but he warned that whatever I find must be reported and handed over to him."
"How did you manage to obtain his permission?" Lord Hayden asked.
"Oh, I explained that my article would entice collectors to view the objects found and bring in added revenue."
"And," Lord Hayden appended, "this information was delivered with your charming smile in a most cordial tone." He was pleased to see her blush anew. "All this for your article." It was more a statement hinting at bewilderment than a question. Her enthusiasm in his field far exceeded that of any reporter he had ever known.
"Yes, of course," Elizabeth replied. "I will need lots of tangible proof. I never cheat my readers."
"Proof of what?"
Her hesitancy to answer was not lost on Hayden. When she did answer, he brought the car to a halt. She had said, "Perhaps I should have told you this before, but an acquaintance of yours is sponsoring my trip."
"An acquaintance of mine?"
"Professor Eldridge."
"Elizabeth?"
"Yes, Professor Elizabeth Eldridge. She supports the theory that the Temple of Psyche holds the key to the whereabouts of the mystical opal and the identity of its owner, by all indications an Egyptian queen."
"Did she make your reservations," Lord Hayden asked, his suspicions further aroused.
Smiling she replied, "Yes, she did. Before leaving to visit some friends, she contacted me. Her collaboration, her expert opinions and your local museum’s complete cooperation are mine, so long as I report to her all my findings."
Lord Hayden shook his head incredulously. "It’s obvious she planned to throw us together, so I could help with your research."
"Are you angry with her?"
Lord Hayden laughed. "No, by no means. It seems she knows me better than I thought. I’ll have to thank her for sending me so lovely a partner." He found the silence that met that remark disturbing. Perhaps his remarks had been interpreted as contemptuous and she feared he would refuse to work with her, after all. He was quick to reassure her, "I don’t mind contributing to Professor Eldridge’s research. Layton Hall and the local museum value our research. I’m glad to help her. She’s one of the smartest women I’ve ever encountered—as well as one of the most unbiased. Just don’t tell her I said that."
"I think she would be flattered hearing your opinion of her."
"She would," Lord Hayden concurred. "The old girl has developed a crush on me."
Elizabeth winced openly. "I think that last remark would hurt her."
Lord Hayden resumed driving. "I would not enjoy hurting her," he said in earnest, accelerating, a finality to his tone. The subject of Professor Eldridge was dropped by mutual consent.
CHAPTER THREE
The passage under the temple wove deeply into the earth. Elizabeth and Lord Hayden held their lanterns high. Each scanned a side of the eight-foot walls, searching carvings in the rock that would give them a clue as to where it led. They had trod through the corridor for hours; stopping only to lunch briefly on sandwiches and juice they carried in their backpacks, and replace the batteries in their dimming lanterns. Rested, and their lanterns shining brightly once more, the two resumed their exploration.
"Quickly, look here," Elizabeth exclaimed. Lord Hayden joined her at once beside the opposite wall. "These carvings," they’re different from the ones we’ve encountered thus far."
They certainly were different, Lord Hayden agreed, studying them closely. Up until now they had found only carvings and drawings depicting everyday life in ancient Rome and Greece.
Elizabeth said, "If memory serves me correctly, they remind me of the ones etched on the bottom of the Apollo statuette."
"They’re definitely Egyptian hieroglyphics," Hayden confirmed. Elizabeth traced her fingertips over the carvings. She stopped when she came to a combo of the opal and the woman.
"Keep going," Lord Hayden urged.
The next carving was that of a man. He wore a garb that was neither Egyptian nor Roman. Neither Lord Hayden nor
Elizabeth could identify it. "The symbol above it—" Elizabeth began. "No, it’s not a symbol," she amended, "it’s a ragged circle, pitted and lined. It might be natural erosion.
Lord Hayden shook his head, though he was as puzzled as she was.
Elizabeth urged, "If not that, what does it signify? Let’s go on. I want to know more."
Lord Hayden nodded, his curiosity peaked along with hers.
They continued onward until they reached the end of the passage, and the entrance to a huge chamber.
"My God," Elizabeth whispered. This was the room in her dream.
Life-sized golden statues of Egyptian deities lined the walls of the chamber. Among them, Osiris, God of the Netherworld and Resurrection. He wore a tall, pharaonic crown with a feather on each side. In his left hand he held the heka scepter, the crook that symbolized the pharaoh’s power as the leader of his people. In his right hand, Osiris held the flail, tail end resting over his shoulder and representing his authority over the land. Beside him stood Isis, his sister and wife, considered by the Egyptian the ideal wife and mother, and the Goddess of pure love, a beauteous, lithe woman, wearing a crown of cow horns enclosing a sun disk. The third statue was that of Anubis, sculpted as a jackal with the body of a human, God of the Dead.
A hundred other mementos of past millenniums lay scattered on stone tables about the chamber—silver canisters, turquoise-blue glass goblets, gold and silver cups and dishes and beakers. The two archaeologists entered the room slowly, reverently. Lord Hayden and Elizabeth forgot each other’s presence. Moments like this were rare in the life of an antiquarian, and every second of them was required to touch and examine the past, relish it and relive it in the evidence of lives long consigned to the afterworld.
