The Five-Day Dig

by Jennifer Malin

  But now was no time to dwell on that.

  The next couple of days passed in a whirlwind of sessions, symposiums and big Italian meals. Winnie kept donor development in mind but made it her priority to ask other attendees if they’d known her dad.

  During her conversations, she learned about a dozen projects that attendees had underway and even received a few invitations to join forces. Unfortunately, none of the proposals had the aura of prestige that her boss required. She pitched several ideas to him, but he invariably dismissed them, then asked if she’d seen Domenico Rentino.

  She hadn’t. And she had been looking – not because she thought she could persuade him to let Growden excavate his property, but because he intrigued her.

  He wasn’t the only one out of sight, either. She barely caught a glimpse of any acquaintances. Liz kept busy attending geology sessions to support her colleagues. Chaz was following an Ancient Religions track that didn’t hold much interest for her. And Farber spent most of his time networking at meetings and meals that he didn’t deign to share with her.

  On Sunday morning, she woke up dreading her presentation. There would be experts in the room more well-versed than she about some of the points on her outline. And if no one else criticized her, she could count on her boss to do it.

  When she took the podium, however, she couldn’t spot Farber among the audience, and the attendees sitting up-front looked alert and interested. She had practiced so many times that her speech came to her automatically, so that aspect presented no problem.

  “My late father, an archaeologist, introduced me to the classics with Herodotus,” she began. “When I first read The History as a teenager, I couldn’t believe how modern the author seemed: how meticulously he observed, questioned and recorded his findings; how he presented multiple points of view and rationally analyzed them. Thousands of years of time closed up for me, and I felt as though I were walking among the ancients.”

  From there, she explained how her love of the classics drove her to study ancient languages. During that period of her life, she’d begun to jot down similarities between words that both fascinated her and helped her understand our ancestors. Eventually, she’d had several notebooks full of thoughts.

  “I chose the most provocative ones for my latest book,” she said, “and we’ll explore some of them here.”

  She ran her visual presentation, laying out examples from Latin, ancient Greek and Egyptian and comparing them with modern words in English and the romance languages. Enough audience members looked engaged – nodding or smiling at the points she made – that she began to enjoy herself. Before she knew it, she reached the final slides.

  The display behind her showed the Egyptian phonetic hieroglyphs for neteru morphing into the English word nature.

  “And, finally,” she said, “the ancient Egyptian word for the gods, pronounced neh-teh-ru, is uncannily like the modern English word nature. ”

  On the screen, the word nature transformed into mother.

  “Since n is known to shift into m over time in some cases, we may surmise that mother belongs to the same prehistoric root group.”

  The screen showed a beautifully executed depiction of Mother Nature with forest animals. Winnie smiled at it, then at the audience. “I find it interesting – even comforting – that though Western culture lost its goddesses ages ago, the goddess-like Mother Nature survives in modern iconography.”

  Positive-sounding murmurs in the crowd encouraged her. Most of the people in the front looked thoughtful, like they were considering her argument.

  “In my book,” she said, “I explore other provocative, if conjectural, etymological connections like the ones I’ve shared with you today. I hope that, eventually, linguists more skilled than I will verify my ideas, and I hope today’s lecture has stirred your mind.”

  She left the podium to hearty applause – nothing wild, but a notch or two above polite. Relieved, she began packing up her things.

  A handful of people came up and complimented her on the talk, some probably only being kind, but a couple with real enthusiasm.

  After about ten minutes, the last one wandered off, and only Chaz remained behind. As he closed his laptop and got up from the front row, she felt the last remnant of tension lift from her body.

  “Brava. Epic presentation.” He glanced at the projector and computer she had used. “Can I help you with this equipment?”

  “Thanks, but the tech people will handle it.” She stuffed her notes and the flash drive holding her files into her bag and swung the strap over her shoulder. “We just need to lock the room when we leave.”

  He walked with her to the door. “Are you going to the luncheon reception now?”

  “Definitely.” They stepped into the hall, and she made sure the door locked behind them. “After this, I need a drink. And Dr. Farber will expect us to take one last stab at donor development.”

  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 femi
nine 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.

  Apparently, meeting an Italian girl who liked archaeology trumped hanging out with his TV idol, Winnie thought, peeved at being left alone with the poser. So much for her chance to schmooze Domenico, too. Maybe Chaz could schmooze the daughter.

  That prospect didn’t excite her as much.

  “Your lecture was brilliant,” Dunk said.

  “You think so?” Assuming he was just being polite, she sipped her drink absently.

  “I daresay you’re spot-on about nature being akin to neteru.”

  That comment got her attention. “You really did attend. And you listened.”

  He gave her a boyish, lopsided grin that she remembered well from his old sitcom. She had never met a television personality before, and she couldn’t deny that he exuded charm like no “regular” person she knew. She began to see how he’d made it in show business.

&
nbsp; “I’ve read both of your books, too,” he said.

  Yet another reader? This was getting weird – unless, of course, he was lying. Maybe he’d just read her bio in the lecture notes, or Domenico had been talking about her.

  He snatched a glass of wine from the tray of a passing server. “I dabble in all things ancient – and not just due to my advancing age. It may be my role to speak for the layperson on the telly, but I don’t want to look completely daft.”

  She nodded, though not convinced that looking daft bothered him, from what she’d seen of his show.

  Sampling the wine, he leaned back in his chair. “I take it you have heard about the Roman temple on Domenico Rentino’s estate?”

  “I’ve heard the rumors.”

  “How would you like to see the site now? It’s only five minutes away.”

  She did a double-take. He couldn’t be serious. He was a comedian, and he was setting her up for some sort of joke. Choosing her words carefully, she said, “I’d love to, but Domenico is very protective of his ruins.”

  His dimples appeared again. “True, but his daughter is a fan of ‘The Dig.’ I told him I wanted to show you the temple, and he kindly offered his car and driver to us.”

  She stared at him, unsure what to think. He might have been a joker, but he was also a celebrity. Presumably, that opened doors for him. “You’re kidding.”

  He nodded toward the road adjacent to the garden, where a Maserati Quattroporte waited with a chauffeur inside. The driver looked over, saw them watching him, and tipped his cap.

  Her jaw dropped. Dunk wasn’t joking. Excitement built inside her, but she tried not to show it. She didn’t want to fawn over a two-bit TV personality.

  On the other hand, she couldn’t pass up an opportunity like this. If the rumors held any truth, the ruins on Domenico’s property could be amazing.

  “Ha,” she said finally. “Well, you don’t have to ask me twice.”