The Five-Day Dig (2 page)

As she started to close the drawer, something else inside it caught her eye – a small paperweight of her father’s in the shape of the symbol the ancient Egyptians had called
tyet
. Similar to the better-known
ankh
, its meaning was less clear, but it was generally taken to represent life or resurrection. Being somewhat of a linguist, she’d noted that the name sounded like
tied
in English and that the symbol looked like a knot. Unfortunately, that didn’t clarify what it stood for.

The red stone artifact was small for a paperweight, yet too big to make into jewelry, which is why it usually lay in a drawer, unused. She picked it up and contemplated it. Like the symbol, her father’s work remained obscure to her. Not only had he never finished the book he’d been writing, the journal he’d carried everywhere had been lost with him in the boating accident.

In spite of all the years she’d had to soften the pain, a tear rolled down her cheek. It had been so unfair to lose not just him but his legacy.

Opening her computer bag, she placed the amulet in an inner pocket, planning to take it with her on her trip. She didn’t believe in charms or luck – not with the way her life had gone – but the object would remind her that being in
Italy
she would be closer to her father, not just physically but possibly in understanding what had driven his work.

She snatched a tissue from a box on the desk and blew her nose. Her cocky teaching assistant had been spot-on with his advice. She needed to approach the trip in a productive way.

Allowing herself a last sniff, she dragged her attention to the present. She had to make arrangements for her trip: prepay bills, get someone to water her plants, have her mail held, etc. Then there was the matter of her brother. In the two years since her marriage had gone awry, she and Sam had gotten used to toughing out their problems together – and he had plenty of problems. If he needed support while she was away, she hoped her sister would be able to fill in.

But before she could worry about that, she had papers to grade. She took out her computer and got to work.

***

A
MONTH LATER
, Winnie stared out the window of a 777. She never slept well on planes, and the flight had felt interminable. Now she could detect the first violet rays of dawn, and relief washed over her.

As she made out the snow-capped peaks below, she felt something even stronger. A sense of magic, buried deep inside her, bubbled to the surface. To her surprise, a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Italy
. On this boot-shaped peninsula, the ancient past came alive like nowhere else. People still left bouquets on the altar where Julius Caesar’s funeral pyre had burned, and the inhabitants of
Pompeii
still lay frozen in the positions they’d died in 2,000 years ago. You stepped out of a Metro station in
Rome
,
and the Colosseum gobsmacked you. And you could drink spring water from the same aqueducts the Vestal Virgins had relied on.

Trying to pick out Pliny the Younger’s beloved
Lake
Como
among
the miniaturized
Alps
, she looked forward to the conference without reservations for the first time. Thanks to it taking place near
Pompeii
, the event would draw top scholars in archaeology, art, architecture, classics and even geology. Her father had called
Pompeii
the most evocative site in the world, and she agreed.

She pulled her gaze back inside the dim cabin, where
she had a whole row to herself – the latest little boon in the string of luck
that included the conference invitation and the review in
The Times
. She almost felt as if a guardian angel or the goddess Fortuna had pulled strings to coax her back to
Italy
.

Ridiculous thought
.
No otherworldly being was watching over her. In the darkest hours of her life, when she had begged for help from above, she’d received nothing. Now, she didn’t look for it.

The sounds of cart drawers and microwave doors slamming at the rear of the plane signaled that the attendants had started heating breakfast. An elderly woman waddled down the aisle toward the restrooms, reminding Winnie that she should run back and wash her face before everyone woke up and formed a line.

She got up and wove her way around elbows and knees jutting into the aisle, whispering,
“
Mi
scusi
.” Her Italian was rusty. The sooner she started using it, the better.

When she returned to her seat, more passengers had raised their window shades and were gazing out at an orange sunrise. Trying not to be conspicuous, she dabbed on face powder and shaded her eyelids and lips. The prospect of facing Will Farber without make-up didn’t faze her, but encountering her teaching assistant barefaced was another story. She hated the idea of her fresh-faced students viewing her as an old hag, assuming they didn’t already.

Someone plunked down next to her. “
Buon giorno,
bella
,” a familiar voice with an Anglo accent enounced.

She snapped her compact shut and turned to find Chaz grinning at her. He looked like he’d just woken up – eyes slightly puffy, hair tousled, black stubble lending shadow to his pale complexion.

“
Buon
giorno
.” She smiled back. He looked adorable.

What a thought.
She turned away and stuffed her compact in the seat pocket in front of her. He was her student and almost a decade younger than she was. If she was starting to have those kinds of thoughts about kids, maybe it was time to look for someone
suitable
to date.

“What do you say to stealing out of the conference early on Sunday and taking the train to
Rome
for the day?” he asked. “That leaves us Monday as a buffer before we fly home on Tuesday.”

A lump hardened in her stomach. Her family had spent several days in
Rome
. She reminded herself they’d only been to a few sites, and it was a big city. Anyway, it didn’t matter. She had other obligations on Sunday. “The conference hasn’t even started, and you’re talking about leaving early already?” she asked more sharply than she intended, annoyed more with her own fretting than with him.

He held up a book she hadn’t noticed he had with him: Ostia by Carlo
Pavolini
. “I’ve been reading about the ruins in Ostia, the ancient city port. I reckon it’s the perfect place to spark ideas for my dissertation about sacrificial offerings in Roman religion. Besides the Capitoline temple in the forum, Ostia has sanctuaries for Jove
Serapis
, the Bona
Dea
, Magna Mater and Bellona.”

Now she felt like an ogre for snapping at him. It wasn’t as if he had multiple opportunities to get to
Italy
for research. She met his gaze. “You’re absolutely right. You should go. My talk is on Sunday, so I can’t skip out, but you don’t need to be there.”

His eyes widened
. “I didn’t realize Sunday was the day of your presentation. Forget I mentioned it.”

“Why?
Ostia
is
more important for you to see than my lecture. You’ve already heard me practice
mos
t of it. You’ve even read the book.”

He snorted. “I’m your TA. There’s no way I’m going to miss your talk.”

His loyalty surprised her. Latching on to it was tempting, because her department chair would probably rip her presentation to shreds – but that wouldn’t be fair to Chaz. “You can’t miss
Ostia
on my account.”

“
Ostia
’s been there for two millennia. It’s not going anywhere soon.” He got up. “I better get back to my seat before the attendants block the aisles with carts.
Ciao
until we touch down in
Naples
.”

“
Ciao
,” she said faintly. She felt guilty, but he seemed to have his mind set. Maybe she could make it up to him by steering some other good resource for his dissertation his way. Lots of academics with projects would be at the conference. She would keep her ears and eyes open.

D
UE

“B
E ON THE
alert for opportunities at the welcome reception, Winifred,” Will Farber said from the passenger seat that evening, while Winnie focused on the Italian cars darting all around her tiny Fiat Punto rental. “You heard what the dean said about concentrating on development. Our department in particular is strapped for cash this year.”

Fundraising made her uncomfortable, and she couldn’t imagine getting very far with it. She checked the GPS screen and the mirrors,
then
merged into the center lane. “You’re the master at that kind of thing, William. Can you give me any guidance? Am I looking for wealthy enthusiasts? Corporate sponsors?
Other organizations’ projects that we may be able to join?”

He let out an exaggerated sigh. “All of the above, plus any other possibilities you can sniff out. You have to have a nose for opportunity. I know it’s not your forte, but make an effort.”

She frowned. It was going to be a long five days in his company. She hoped she could avoid having meals with him, and she suspected she’d be going to bed early every night. What a way to spend her time in
bella Italia
.

Chaz leaned forward from the back seat. “Perhaps one of your readers will prove a fortuitous connection, Winnie. You’ve received some enthusiastic fan letters from other academics. Some of them may be here.”

She laughed.
“Fan letters?
I got a few notes, yes, but I wouldn’t call them fan letters.”

Farber laughed, too – a little too heartily. “Still, however tenuous the potential, we must explore it. Our financial situation is that urgent. Turn up the charm all the way.
 
And I don’t want to hear a word from you tonight about jetlag.”

As if she would complain to him about jetlag. When did she ever complain to him? She clenched her teeth. “That goes without saying.”

Glancing in her mirrors again, she stepped on the gas and shot into the fast lane. The sooner they got to the reception, the sooner she could get away from her boss.

Ten minutes later they arrived at the university campus where the conference would take place.
After following signs to the parking lot and leaving the Punto there, the three of them walked to the hall where the reception was scheduled.
The conference literature had mentioned that the sixteenth-century building once served as a palace for a powerful bishop. Apart from the floodlights and signs, it still looked like one.

They entered a lobby decorated with statues on pedestals and plants in big urns that appeared to be examples of ancient
dolia,
which the Romans had used for storing grain and other food. She sighed. “A little more polished than our digs in Pennmar Hall at Growden, eh?”

Chaz laughed. “Surely there’s a Renaissance palace somewhere in
Pennsylvania
that we can annex.”

Another group of arrivals who were familiar with the campus led them to the right room. As she admired the decor, her
boss eyed up
the crowd. “Judging by the motley attire here, most of the guests appear to be students and professors, but I do see a few well-heeled businesspeople. They’re our best prospects.”

His predatory survey made her cringe. She didn’t want to be part of his hard sell. “Should we split up to maximize our networking potential?” she asked.