The Five-Day Dig (9 page)

While they ate, she asked him about the everyday routine during filming – how long the workdays would be, where they would eat their meals, how often the cameras would be on them. To her surprise, he told her that due to the series’ official
cancellation,
they would have to make do with a reduced budget and a limited crew.

“But don’t worry,” he added. “When we first started out, we worked that way all the time. We’ll recruit local students and enthusiasts to help with the grunt work. Domenico has offered to supply some paid laborers, too.”

He turned the conversation to her current book, and she got caught up in expanding on her ideas. The next time she looked at the clock, it read eight-thirty.
“Uh oh!”
She jumped up. “I have to run.”

During the short walk to her hotel, while he talked about his hopes for the special episode, her mind wandered. Silently, she rehearsed how she would present the news to Farber about “The Five-Day Dig.” Should she act excited and hope that her mood would be contagious? Or should she adopt a deferential attitude and apologize for not consulting him before accepting? The thought of toadying to him disgusted her, because she was still annoyed about his lack of support for her that afternoon.

As they stepped up to the hotel, she only wished she had told him as soon as she’d agreed to do it. She should have known that the longer she waited, the harder it would be to broach the subject.

S
EI

A
FTER
D
UNK SAID
goodnight to her, Winnie entered her hotel lobby alone. She had just about resolved to take the chicken’s way out and e-mail Farber with her news when she spotted him talking to a clerk at the front desk.

Wishing she’d peeked in a window before coming inside, she avoided looking his way and tried to slip by unnoticed behind him.

“Winifred!” he called, just as she thought she’d made it. “Wait up.”

She slowed her pace so he could catch up but continued to the elevator and pushed the “Up” button.
“
Buona sera
, Will.”
Faced with him for the first time since her presentation, all thoughts of acting deferential vanished, and she decided to put him on the spot. “Did you enjoy my lecture today?”

“Oh, I got held up with a potential donor and had to skip it. But that’s not important.” He dismissed the topic with a wave of his hand. “What’s this I hear about you appearing on a reality TV show?”

“Reality TV?” She bristled. The news had spread fast, but she supposed “The Five-Day Dig” had fans as well as cast members at the conference. Naturally, Farber was already making judgments about her decision. In spite of her own doubts, she had to defend the show. “It’s more of an archaeology exposé for laypeople.”

His eyes narrowed. “I’ve seen the show once or twice. I know what it is.”

“Who told you about the offer?”

“I just saw Charles going in to the wine bar down the street. He mentioned the plan to film on Rentino’s estate and that you both agreed to appear on the episode.”

So the kid couldn’t keep his mouth shut.
And, apparently, he hadn’t sold the project to Farber as well as he’d predicted. That didn’t make things any easier for her.

She gathered her thoughts. “You have said again and again what an excellent archaeological prospect Domenico Rentino’s estate presents. I figured that we couldn’t refuse. Growden won’t even have to finance the excavation – though it would be nice if you could come up with the cost of the flight change for Chaz, considering how little we pay him.”

“Certainly.
I just wonder whether this type of program will show the university in its best light.”

The elevator opened. They stepped inside, and she hit the buttons for her floor and his. “Actually, I doubt we’ll even get much airtime. From what I understand, the show regulars do most of the talking. If you’re concerned, I’ll ask the producers if we can avoid mentioning we’re from Growden.”

“No, no, no.” He hesitated. “But perhaps Growden would benefit more by sending someone who is accustomed to speaking for the university.”

The nape of her neck grew hot with suppressed rage. First, he hinted that he didn’t approve of her appearance on the show; now he was suggesting that someone else should take her place?
Him, probably.
Obviously, he had a problem with her rather than “The Five-Day Dig.” She fought to keep her composure. “Both
Mortill
and Rentino read my book and felt I was the person for the job. Their objective is to get inscriptions translated, not promote our school.”

“Did they ask for Charles, too?”

She stared at him, unsure where he was leading, but his expression looked blank. “I suggested Chaz to them,” she said, “because his dissertation is on sacrifice in Roman religion, and there’s a fresco onsite that depicts ancient rites. He’ll bring a lot of insight to the project, and the experience is a windfall for him.”

The old elevator seemed to take forever to reach the fifth floor. She looked up at the numbers over the door. The “3” went dark, and the “4” lit up.

“Five days isn’t enough time to excavate a site near
Pompeii
,” he said. “The number of finds could be vast.”

“I agree, but we can’t do anything about that. What Chaz and I can do, if we’re onboard, is make sure everything is properly documented.”

“Could they use someone with more experience? I’ve authored books on Roman pottery, silver and glass.”

Her gaze shot to meet his. Did he really think she would give up her place to him? As many doubts as she had about the show, she wasn’t about to let him steal an opportunity like this from her. She lifted her chin. “I believe the regular cast includes a Roman expert.”

Finally, the elevator stopped on her floor. She stepped out into the hall, while he remained inside. As the doors started to close in front of him, he called, “Tell them I’m available if needed!”

The doors closed, and she stood there in disbelief. He wanted her to get him on the show
in addition
to her and Chaz? Shaking her head to herself, she walked away. Having him on the team to find fault with her continually would almost be worse than him taking her place.

At least now he knew, she thought as she entered her room.

Once settled in, she got started on her remaining list of things to do. Rearranging her plans with the hotel and airline went surprisingly smoothly. If Farber wouldn’t approve any funds for her costs, she didn’t mind dipping into her own savings. Living alone was expensive, but the book had brought her some extra money.

Next she had to let her sister know about her change in plans. She picked up her phone and sat on the bed, staring at it. Christina always meant well – or
seemed
to mean well – but she had a way of pushing Winnie’s buttons like no other person on the planet. Even when Christina tried to be supportive, she usually ended up saying something hurtful.

She pulled up the number on her phone and punched it. As she waited for it to ring, she glanced up at a Romanesque Madonna and Child print hanging above the bed. The stylized, emotionless figures of medieval painting rated among her least favorite types of art. Oddly, she did like Egyptian artwork, which was just as stylized. She guessed her father’s interest in
Egypt
had influenced her.

“Hello?” her sister’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Hi, Christina.
It’s me.”

“Hey, I’m glad you called.” She sounded more tense than glad, though. “How did your lecture go?”

 
Winnie leaned back with one elbow on the pillow.
“Pretty well.
Will Farber didn’t even attend, but a few of my peers complimented me on it.”

“I knew you would ace it. Maybe it will open up some doors for you.”

“As a matter of fact, an amazing opportunity came up. I’m going to need to stay here a couple more weeks.”

“A couple weeks?”
Christina’s tone hardened. The note rang all too familiar. “Are you sure it’s important?”

Winnie let herself flop back on the bed. “Why? Is something wrong at home?”

“I’m worried about Sam. I think he’s on one of his downslides.”

A knot wound in her stomach. Bipolar disorder had probably had a hand in destroying their father, and mood swings had stalked their brother since childhood. “He’s disappointed that he didn’t find anything among Dad’s papers?”

“I don’t know what’s going on. He left Mom’s three days ago, but he hasn’t been home, as far as I can tell. I tried both his house and cell, then stopped by his place this morning. My message was still on the machine.”

“Did Mom say he was upset when he left?”

“He seemed fine to her. But she didn’t ask him anything about going through Dad’s things. She didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Ugh.” Winnie drew in a deep breath. “I’ll call his cell. Or I’ll text him. He may respond better to that.”

“Better say a prayer, too.”

The knot in her gut tightened. “You know I don’t do prayers.”

“Not even for your brother?”

“Why do we have to talk about this?” This was why she didn’t like to call her sister. “It only stirs up bad memories. We’ve been over it a thousand times since we were kids.”

“
Which only proves you’re being childish.
”

A candle and a matchbox on the nightstand caught her eye. “I’ll tell you what: I’ll light a candle. There’s one right here.”

“Well, that’s something, I guess.”

Of course, it wasn’t enough. With Christina, nothing ever was.

Winnie picked up the matches, but she needed both hands to light one and decided to do it after the phone call. As she tossed the matchbook back on the table, the Madonna painting caught her gaze again. The mother sat on a throne with her child balanced on her knee. In the background, something was written. Winnie made out the words
Sedes Sapientiae
– Latin for “Seat of Wisdom.”

Curious.

Gears began to turn in her brain. The intellectual side of her personality kicked in, squelching the emotional side. She went still as she focused on the text. “Christina, what would the words ‘Seat of Wisdom’
mean
inscribed on a Madonna and Child painting?”

A couple ticks of silence passed. “Why?”

“There’s a painting in my room with those words in Latin.”

“I guess it’s one of the Virgin’s titles.” Her voice was dull. “She has a lot of them.”

“
Mary
is the Seat of Wisdom?” Winnie stared at the poker-faced woman in the painting. “Why is she associated with wisdom?”

Christina let out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t know. She is the Mother of God. She’s associated with good things in general.”

“There must be more to it than that – some kind of tradition that explains the title – though it’s possible the origins have been lost to us. It’s interesting that although ancient women weren’t often educated, representations of wisdom are traditionally female. Sophia and Athena are two other examples.”