“Really? Is this some sort of British class-consciousness thing?”
He frowned. “Perhaps. I suppose that’s preferable to him simply despising me.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t despise you. Maybe he hates the show. I can kind of understand that – though trying to forbid you from doing it is pretty heavy-handed.”
During the drive to the Rentino estate, she confided some of her own family troubles – that Sam had been bipolar since childhood and had been distant lately. To lighten the mood, she added, “And my sister is just a pain in the ass.”
He nodded. “I have a brother like that.”
They moved on to discuss the excavation, both talking fast in their excitement about it.
Before she knew it, they had reached their destination. Lined with orange trees, a paved private road led to a walled sanctum behind iron gates. A servant at the other end of an intercom buzzed them in. The driveway turned into a crescent in front of a stucco mansion with a tiled roof, arched entrances and ornate window caps in varying shapes.
She grinned at Chaz. “Not a bad place to stay.”
They pulled up behind a line of cars already parked out front. She noticed Domenico close to the main entrance watching his driver pull a large black suitcase from the trunk of the Quattroporte. A gray-haired priest and a curvaceous young woman in a sleeveless designer dress stood by. The girl had long, wavy, chestnut-colored hair.
“Is that Enza with Domenico?” she asked Chaz, nodding toward them.
“Domenico?” He followed the direction she indicated and smirked. “Oh, right, you’re on first-name terms with Signore Rentino. Yes, that’s Enza with him.”
His gaze hung on the group, no doubt glued to the gorgeous female.
An unpleasant feeling stirred inside her. Definitely jealousy.
She looked away. Seriously? Hadn’t she hoped that the girl would reconsider a relationship with Chaz? She tried to squelch her possessive feelings and vowed to flirt with Domenico the first chance she got.
After popping the lever to open the trunk, she got out of the car. As she walked to the rear, she glanced back at their host again. Escorting the priest toward the house, he and his daughter hadn’t noticed anyone else had arrived.
When Chaz joined her behind the car, she asked, “Why is there a priest here?”
He pulled out her suitcase, set it upright on the drive and yanked out the handle. “Dunk may have mentioned something about the Church wanting to look for evidence of early Christianity during the dig.”
She took the handle. “Going into an excavation with your mind set on what you want to find doesn’t do much for objectivity.”
He grabbed his backpack and shut the trunk. “Would you say that puts the priest at cross purposes with us?”
A laugh burst out of her. “I might.” As they walked toward the house, she said, “How do you come up with this stuff?”
He smiled. “Pun-making is a common British affliction.”
“And the straight path to a linguist’s heart.” Hearing the words come out of her mouth, she looked away self-consciously, then hoped her reaction didn’t add weight to her words.
Turning up the front walk, she reminded herself to stop overreacting.
She rang the bell, and a matronly woman wearing an apron answered the door, smiling warmly. “Welcome to Villa Rentino. I’m Signora Vaccula, the housekeeper.”
“Buon giorno,” Winnie said.
She introduced herself and Chaz, and they stepped into a spacious hall marked by a grand curving staircase. Taking in her surroundings, she admired the paneled walls punctuated with formal painted portraits, presumably of Rentino ancestors. Large plants in neoclassic urns afforded the space a touch of earthiness. “The house is magnificent, Signora. Che bella.”
“Grazie, dottore.” The woman gestured toward the staircase. “Allow me to show you to your rooms. Leave your bags, and I will have someone carry them up in a moment. You will stay in the east wing with the other television people.”
Chaz smiled. “Brilliant.”
She led them up the stairs, talking to them over her shoulder. “Dinner is served at eight. Before then, please make yourselves at home, but if you explore the property, be sure to keep to the paths. The army was garrisoned here during World War II, and stray munitions may still be found.”
Winnie and Chaz exchanged alarmed looks.
Signora Vaccula continued ascending. “This is why the Rentino family has avoided exploring the ruins all these years. But don’t worry. The signore had explosives experts come in and inspect the areas where you will excavate. And, of course, the manicured gardens are safe.”
“Good to know,” Chaz said with a hint of cynicism.
Winnie made a mental note to ask Domenico for more details when she saw him.
Her bedroom turned out to be fabulous – large and decorated in Italianate style with meticulously preserved antiques, including a canopied bed, two nightstands, a dresser and a full-size desk with a chair. A glance through an open door confirmed that she had her own bathroom, which looked equally well appointed. Best of all, a pair of French doors opened onto a balcony with a bistro table and two chairs.
She stepped outside and looked out at the front lawn with a sigh. Off in the distance, above the treetops, she could make out the peak of Vesuvius.
Someone rapped at the door. “Signorina, I have your suitcase,” said a male voice with an Italian accent.
She opened the door to a uniformed servant, who introduced himself as Aldo. He took a rack from the closet, which she noted contained spare blankets, pillows and a cot. After laying her case on the rack, he smiled at her. “Is there anything else you need?”
“Not at all.”
After he left, she unpacked her clothes and carried her toiletries into the bathroom, which featured a modern shower, toilet, bidet and marble-topped vanity holding a soap dish, toothbrush holder and a medieval-looking Madonna and Child statuette.
Raising an eyebrow at the latter item, she murmured, “You again.”
Carved in black wood, the stoic figures had unpainted faces, while their robes gleamed with a gold coating. Oddly, their eyes appeared to be closed. The mother held the child in one arm and a golden orb in the other hand. On her head rested a gold crown with a tree design in the center. Curious.
Winnie picked up the piece and turned it over. “Madonna di Oropa,” the bottom read. “Fatto in Italia.” No clue to what the tree was about. Her mother had been raised Catholic but defected as an adult. Sometimes Winnie wished her mom had stuck with the religion, so she could understand the symbols. But did even good Catholics know where all of their traditions originated?
She set down the statuette and finished finding places for her toiletries.
Afterwards, to kill some time, she took a book out to the balcony and sat down to read.
Half-an-hour later, the sound of gravel crunching in the drive drew her attention below. Peeking over the railing, she saw Dunk get out of a silver Fiat Panda, accompanied by a young woman sporting thick, dark hair and a sleek business suit – probably one of the other cast members.
Another flashy dresser, she noted, thinking of the Rentinos. Maybe I should have bought dressier clothes on my shopping trip. Dressing up for an excavation hadn’t occurred to her.
While she rued the inadequacy of her wardrobe, the woman below picked up a suitcase, only to have it flop open and spill out stiletto shoes, scarves and belts. She waved off help from Dunk and stooped to collect her things.
Witnessing her clumsiness made her fashion sense a little less intimidating. Winnie remembered she did have one dress with her – a cute, color-blocked sheath in black and shades of blue. She decided to wear it to dinner.
That evening when she ran into Chaz in the hallway, the dress won her an appreciative ogle from him. His gaze slid down her body before he yanked it back up to meet her eyes. “You look amazing.”
She struggled to tame her pleasure into a
casual smile.
He wore dark jeans and a button-down shirt in a light teal that only a British guy could pull off, but he looked as cute as ever.
“You’re not half-bad either,” she said, her good mood making her less reserved than usual.
Downstairs, Dunk introduced them to the woman she’d seen from her balcony, Amara Sandhu, production assistant for “The Dig.” She had changed out of her suit but still looked prim in a ruffled white blouse and pinstriped black skirt.
Enza met them at the door to the dining room wearing a snug half-sleeve top and a short embroidered peasant skirt. She was all boobs and legs, and suddenly Winnie felt a notch less attractive.
Waiting inside with the priest, Domenico looked handsome in a perfectly tailored, silver-gray suit. He introduced Father Giampiero from the local church, Santa Isidora di Campania, then urged everyone to be seated at one end of an enormous table.
Enza and Giampiero jumped into the spots on either side of the host, while Winnie found herself between Chaz and an empty chair. Fortuna, what are you doing to me? she thought, casting a wistful look at Domenico.
He caught her looking at him and shot her a knowing smile. She had forgotten just how smooth he was. Too smooth for her, really, but she smiled back.
Chaz tapped her on the shoulder. “Who are we missing on the other side of you?”
“That would be Jack Tobin’s place,” Dunk said from across the table. He looked at Domenico. “I’m afraid that tardiness is the norm for him, so don’t bother holding dinner. But please don’t judge him harshly, either. When it comes to his work, he’s meticulous.”
Once everyone present had a good start on the antipasto, Domenico raised his glass. “I salute my new friend Duncan, who has made possible the exploration of the ruins here – as well as my old friend, Father Giampiero. Welcome, also, Winnie, Chaz and Amara. May you all find what you seek here.”
Everyone nodded and drank. Then Dunk held up his glass for a second toast. “And to you, Signore, for giving us this amazing opportunity.”
“It was Enza’s idea.” He gave his daughter an affectionate look. “She believes your work is vital to understanding our rich culture and history.”
Dunk turned his gaze to the young woman. “We’re flattered to have your good opinion. To Signore Rentino and the lovely Enza.”
Enza flashed him a brilliant smile.
She has inherited her father’s fine teeth, Winnie thought without pleasure, drinking to their hosts.
As they set their glasses back down, a gruff male voice came from the doorway. “Forgive me for being late.” Jack Tobin looked about sixty and had wild, white hair. He dressed even more eccentrically than Dunk, decked out in a rumpled blue sweater and dark-green corduroy pants. “I was drawing up the plan for the excavation and lost track of time.”
Amara pressed her lips together. “Despite my reminding you to come down half-an-hour ago.”
The effect of her reprimand was ruined when she set her glass down on top of her knife handle, and it fell over, splattering white wine over the tablecloth. She gasped. “Oh, I’m sorry!”
A male servant swooped in with a towel to soak up the spill almost instantly. He smiled at her. “Una cosa da niente, signorina.”
Jack took his seat, grinning. “You’re a peach, Amara.”
As the servant poured another wine for her and a first glass for Jack, Dunk introduced the newcomer to those who hadn’t met him. He wrapped up by adding, “Jack is lead archaeologist – and staff absent-minded professor.”
“And, no doubt, very busy,” Domenico said with his usual grace. “We’re pleased you can join us, Jack.”
“Thank you, Signore.”
The Italian laughed. “Will everyone please stop calling me Signore? It’s Domenico – or, Dom, if you like.”
Watching him from down the table, Winnie thought that he was so not a Dom. The more formal Domenico fit him much better.
He saw her staring again and slid her another smile. The way his gaze clung to hers felt intimate. Of course, he was an Italian. She smiled back.
Chaz cleared his throat. “Jack, can you give those of us who are new to ‘The Dig’ an idea what to expect tomorrow?”
“Sure.” He paused for a sip of wine. “Dunk and I will begin the excavation in the temple. You and Winnie will open Trench 2 on a small structure adjacent to us. And a large building nearby that we believe housed priests will, fittingly, be delegated to Father Giampiero. He’ll be joined by your colleague, Dr. Farber.”
Winnie almost choked on her gnocchi and pesto. “Dr. Farber?”
“How did Dr. Farber end up on the program?” Chaz asked. “He didn’t tell us he’d be here.”
Jack helped himself to salami and cheese from the antipasto plate. “Our usual Roman expert got an offer too good to pass up. Actually, he’ll be speaking at the museum at Growden University.”
“Your expert is speaking at Growden?” Winnie’s instant of disbelief mutated into dread. Obviously, Farber had engineered this. With him on the team, she was sure to be demeaned in front of millions of TV viewers. She tried not to show her disgust. “What a coincidence.”
“Yes, a fortunate one.” Jack picked up his fork and stabbed a rolled cold cut. “When Dr. Farber realized we’d be left without a Roman expert, he generously offered to step in. It was all rather last-minute. I suppose he didn’t have time to update you. He should arrive late tonight.”
The news left her without an appetite. She took a deep breath and looked at Chaz.
He stared back at her with round eyes and a grim mouth.
“Can I help with the digging?” Enza asked. “I have not trained formally for it yet, but I have watched many of your programs.”
Domenico laid a hand on her shoulder. “We must not interfere, carina.”
“On the contrary, we’d love the help.” Dunk gave the young woman one of his prime-time smiles. If not for his funny eyes, he would have been leading-man material. “You can work with Jack and me.”
She countered him with a dazzling smile of her own. “Mille grazie, Signore Mortill.”
“Milli Vanilli, as you Italians say.”
She looked at him, her head tilted in confusion. “We don’t say this. It is not Italian.”
He laughed.
“If it were Italian,” Chaz said under his breath, “it wouldn’t be suitable for mixed company.”
Knowing that the word vanilla was derived from the Latin for little sheath or vagina, Winnie shook her head to herself, refusing to acknowledge him.
Two servants entered with the main course, a flaky baked fish that she barely tasted. She tried to come up with a bright side to look on. At least Farber had been assigned to a trench with Father Giampiero and not her. From what she’d been told, their working hours would be long. Hopefully, she wouldn’t see much of him in the field, and then at night everyone would go to bed early. She knew she would.
While she mulled over these thoughts, the conversation shifted from what to expect during the excavation to current events.
Jack looked down the table to the priest. “Excuse me, Father, did you see the news that two young girls found a natural image of the Virgin in a cave near Salerno?”
Giampiero shook his head. “No, I hadn’t heard.” He turned back to his fish, apparently not interested in the potential miracle.
Dunk’s eyebrows tilted upward in the middle, giving him a skeptical look. “Does the Church take that sort of thing seriously?”
“Only if three authentic miracles can be attributed to the image.” Giampiero eyed a plate of tiramisu that a servant placed in front of him. “If the girls’ story is corroborated, the local diocese will monitor it.”
While Jack went on to talk about a trip he had made to the site of another Virgin appearance, Medjugorje in Herzegovina, Winnie’s mind wandered back to the machinations of her department chair. Leave it to him to try to steal the spotlight from her. Well, let him have it. If the team from �
�The Dig” did a lousy job on the project, now Farber could be the one to try to explain Growden’s participation to the academic world.
When the servants returned to clear the dessert plates, everyone rose to retire early, anticipating an early morning. While the cast regulars paused to discuss logistics over a clipboard that Amara whipped out, the Rentinos and Father Giampiero headed for the family wing of the house.
As Winnie and Chaz made their way upstairs, she couldn’t resist venting a little. “I can’t believe that Dr. Farber horned his way in on this project.”
“He’s a born salesman. He sold himself to the producers of ‘The Dig.’ ”
“I guess so.” She let out a humorless laugh. “Frankly, I don’t see his charm, but he does bring in more grants than anyone else in the department.”
“Well, don’t let him take credit for involving us in this project. You’re the one who got us here.”
She shrugged. “I’m not sure I’ll want credit for that. We’ll see how it goes.”
As they reached the upstairs landing, the regulars from “The Dig” started climbing up behind them. Jack and Amara moved slowly, still engrossed in conversation, but Dunk caught up with Winnie and Chaz.
“You two were quiet toward the end of the meal,” he said. “Not sold on that Virgin Mary story?”
Unwilling to admit that Farber joining the dig bothered her, Winnie jumped on the excuse. “Why do people always find images of Mary in the weirdest places, like on an expressway underpass or in a grilled-cheese sandwich?
Chaz grinned at her. “Perhaps it’s not Mary at all. Perhaps it’s another goddess that everyone is ignoring, and she’s fighting to get attention.”
“Well, that would explain it.”
As they moved along the hall, Jack and Amara called goodnight to them and went into their respective rooms.
Dunk waited until his colleagues shut their doors, then leaned closer to Winnie and Chaz. “Do you find it strange that the Catholic Church has sent a priest to monitor our work?”
The comment surprised her. “I assumed the Rentino family invited him.”
The Five-Day Dig Page 8
