“I think I’m going shopping. Now that I’m extending my stay, I need a few things.”
They left the dining area, and he headed for his room while she asked the front-desk clerk about local stores. He told her about a volcano-shaped mall in nearby Nola. Tickled by the idea, she decided to drive to Il Volcano Buono for the day.
When she got to the mall, she laughed to herself. The replica building, partly covered in sod, looked reasonably realistic, but the concept had a whiff of hubris about it. If she’d had any faith in volcano deities, she would have expected Vesuvius to bury the place and show everyone who was boss.
Wishing she had someone to share the sight with, she paused to snap a photo with her phone. She accidentally hit the Send button and saw Chaz’s name in her contact list. He would find it hilarious.
She sent it to him and almost instantly got an LOL message back.
With Fortuna’s blessings, she finished her errands without an eruption and made it back to the hotel safely.
On the way out that evening, a different type of disaster threatened when Will Farber spotted the Pompeii party in front of the hotel and asked where they were going. While Chaz explained, Winnie dreaded the prospect of her boss tagging along.
“Would you like to join us?” Nico asked him, to her dismay.
Luckily, he declined the invitation. “The Pompeii night tour is a load of schlock cooked up for tourists. It’s hardly the way I’d spend my last night in Italy. I have a dinner meeting at the Grande Albergo Vesuvio in Naples. And since Charles and I are leaving early tomorrow, addio to those of you I won’t see again.”
Winnie tried not to look too pleased. “Buon viaggio.”
As he went inside and the rest of them climbed into Liz’s car, her spirits soared. No more Farber until the next in-service day, a month and an ocean away. She still had other concerns, but suddenly life felt brighter.
In the backseat, she ended up on the hump squeezed between Chaz and Luca. “ ‘A load of schlock,’ ” she quoted Farber, once everyone was inside. “Never let it be said that my department chair minces words.”
Liz laughed and backed the car out of the parking spot. “Schlock might be a fair assessment of this extravaganza. We’ll see.”
Winnie glanced at Chaz. “I guess this isn’t how you’d like to spend your last night in Italy either.”
Seeing a break in traffic, Liz yanked the car into the road with a lurch, and Winnie fell against his chest.
He looked down at her and grinned. “I have no complaints.”
She sat back up and didn’t dare respond. In the rearview mirror, she caught Liz’s laughing eyes watching her. Very funny.
To her relief, it was a short drive, and her companions had plenty to say about their anticipation of the tour.
At the start of the program outside the town walls, it looked like Farber’s assessment might have some merit. The recorded sounds of splashing and laughter emanating from speakers on the Suburban Bathhouse were more cheesy than informative, but they did help transport the group back to the time when Pompeii teemed with life. As they entered the Marine Gate and walked up the moonlit Via Abbondanza, the atmosphere felt electric.
Liz paused to peer down a side street. “The darkness camouflages some of the flaws in the buildings. When you look toward the far end of the street, the last 2,000 years fade away.”
“Except if you look in the opposite direction and see the volcano looming above that end,” Chaz said wryly. “Then the eruption and its devastation all come flooding back to mind.”
That was the paradox of the place, Winnie thought. The remarkably preserved architecture and interiors carried you back in a way that beguiled you. But around the next corner, you saw the volcano – or, worse yet, one of the plaster-cast bodies racked with despair – and the tragedy of the site came down on you like volcanic debris.
“Whatever direction you look in, the experience is intense,” she said.
When they stepped onto the grounds of the Temple of Apollo, the ominous silhouette of Vesuvius dominated the view. A wispy cloud clung to the summit. She tapped Luca on the shoulder and pointed to it. “Is that steam coming out of the volcano?”
He smiled. “Just a cloud formed by the wind stirring as it strikes the mountain.”
“OK.” She stared at the peak for another moment. Part of her didn’t quite believe him – not that she thought the volcano was erupting, but she had seen photos of steam vents in the crater. Hot gas was escaping all the time. She suspected the seeping energy had something to do with that cloud.
She walked back toward the temple gate and noticed Chaz tossing a coin into a pedestaled basin of water. As he turned away from it, she approached him. “Did you make a wish?” she teased him.
“I’m just leaving a modest offering at a sacred site. You might say I’m performing a bit of experimental archaeology of my own for my dissertation.”
Studying his profile, she tried to decide whether or not he was serious. She hoped not. “The Pompeians sacrificed at public temples, street shrines and household lararia, but all that devotion didn’t help them in the end,” she said.
He shrugged. “It probably made them feel good at the time.”
She considered his argument. Routine did provide comfort, and religious rites offered routine at life’s most emotional moments. It hadn’t been enough for her, but hers was an unusual case, one she didn’t want to dwell on tonight. “Fair point.”
Their tour guide, an older Italian woman, ushered them across the street to the Basilica. After a look around there, they moved into the Temple of Venus.
“Before the Romans took over Pompeii in the first century BCE, the Samnites had a temple to the goddess Mephitis here,” the guide told the group.
“Mephitis?” Winnie whispered to Chaz. “I’m not familiar with that goddess, but I do know mephitis is the genus for skunks. Her name seems to mean ‘stench.’ ”
He leaned close to her and responded in a low voice. “She’s connected with volcanic vents of poisonous gas, so she has an air of sulfur about her.”
“Ah, I see. Maybe that’s why the Romans replaced her with Venus.”
He muffled a laugh. “And if she had anything to say about them replacing her, maybe that’s why Pompeii got wiped out.”
At their next stop, she enjoyed seeing the forum with its open space and enormous broken pieces of architecture. But when they continued to the area near the large theater, the column-lined street next to it sparked memories from her visit with her family. In the moonlight, the setting felt alive, and uneasiness brewed inside her.
They walked into the seating area of the open-roofed arena, and she remembered sitting on one of the benches with her father telling her about the pantomimes, farces and Greek plays the Pompeians watched there.
As she stood staring at the stage, Chaz stepped up beside her, reciting Euripides: “When good men die, their goodness does not perish, but lives though they are gone. As for the bad, all that was theirs dies and is buried with them.”
A tear swelled in her eye and rolled down her cheek. She swiped at it – but not before he saw it.
He frowned. “You’ve been here before, haven’t you? With your father. I’m so sorry I chose that quote.”
“No, it’s perfect for the setting.” She sniffed. “It’s funny that Shakespeare wrote the opposite: ‘The evil men do lives after them; The good is oft interred with their bones.’ ”
He nodded. A moment passed, then he said, “It makes you wonder if Shakespeare got Euripides wrong or was playing on his predecessor’s words.”
“I love Euripides, but Shakespeare’s version fits my father’s case better.” She let out a rueful laugh. “At least I hope so. I don’t actually know what went down with him. He drowned in the Tyrrhenian. They never found him.”
Passing by, Liz motioned for them to follow her toward the exit. “Come on. We’re moving on to the Temple of Isis.”
“Go on without us,�
� Chaz said. “We’re going to cut out early. We’ll meet you out front when the tour’s over.”
She stopped, looking surprised, but after glancing at Winnie’s face, she nodded. Pulling a business card out of her handbag, she handed it to him. “We should only be another half-hour, but call my cell if you need me sooner.”
Winnie shook her head at him. “You can’t miss the Temple of Isis because of me.”
“I’ve seen it before.” He jammed the card in his pocket, then put his arm around her shoulders and steered her toward the theater exit with Liz beside them.
His touch felt warm and protective. Though she deplored her lack of will, Winnie couldn’t resist leaning into him. Liz dropped back behind them, then disappeared.
Outside the theater, she let him guide her away from the group and back toward the Marine Gate. The distraction of the physical contact anchored her mind in the present, and her lapse into emotion faded as they retraced their steps.
Going through the turnstile forced them to step apart, and once they passed through, she kept her distance. She fished in her bag for a tissue to dry her eyes, then looked up at him and smiled. “I’m fine now. Thanks for getting me out.”
“Glad to be of service.”
“Don’t try to tell me it’s part of your job,” she joked.
He shook his head, his face serious. “No, not this.”
They stood on the modern sidewalk with cars zipping by and street vendors calling to them from across the road. The grip of the past – both its good parts and bad – was broken. Would a day come when she could view memories of her father at Pompeii with the same pleasant nostalgia she felt for the ruins themselves? she wondered.
“There’s a wine bar across the street,” Chaz said. “Want to grab a drink? We can keep an eye open for the crew from Weiland from one of the street-side tables.”
She agreed, and they made their way over.
After getting a couple of glasses of Chianti, they sat down, staring at the lighted walls of the ancient town. In Pompeii’s last years, its need for fortification had waned under Rome’s protection, and parts of the walls had been knocked out to make way for luxurious homes for the wealthy. Even in ruins, the lavish villas looked fabulous.
She sighed. “Imagine what this view was like when the river Sarno still flowed through here, instead of this congested road.”
“That must have been something, but we’re lucky even to have this view.”
“True.”
They sat quietly, enjoying their good fortune until the tour group began filing out of the gates across the street. Spotting their companions among the first to leave, they waved.
Liz saw them and led the others over to join them.
Some of the other tourists made their way to the bar, too, and the atmosphere bustled.
While the five of them sat chatting about the tour, their guide and an older man wearing a badge marked volontario or “volunteer” stopped by the table and asked if they had enjoyed it.
“Very evocative,” Liz said.
“And informative?” the guide asked.
“Sure, but we work in the field, so we were already familiar with the site. We came to Italy for the Conferenza Archaeologica di Campania.” She pointed her thumb toward Winnie and Chaz. “And these lucky folks from Growden University are staying for an excavation at the Rentino estate.”
The man raised an eyebrow. “That is fortunate.” He revealed that he was a retired professor of archaeology and had always wanted to explore the Rentino property.
“The project is limited,” Winnie said, embarrassed that they'd stumbled into a position he had dreamed of his whole life. It wasn’t fair. “We only have five days to work in a designated area.”
“Five days? Ridicolo.”
She laughed. “It is ridiculous.”
He wished them well, and the pair started to move on, but she called for them to wait. “You’re both veterans of local archaeology. Is there any chance you knew my late father, Royston Price? He worked in the area twenty years ago.”
“Price, you say?” The man exchanged a confused look with his colleague.
The woman shook her head slightly. “It’s not the same man. She said her father passed away.”
He turned back to Winnie. “I’m afraid not.”
She was about to ask what Price they did know when her phone lit up on the table. The screen revealed she had a text message from Sam. When she glanced up again, the tour staffers were approaching another table.
Eager to see what her brother had to say, she checked the message.
“just letting u know i’m ok. 2 busy to write much now. be in touch soon. x.”
She made a face. “Well, I finally heard from my brother, but he’s too busy to tell me what he’s up to. Typical, but at least I know he’s alive.”
Remembering the tour staffers, she looked around for them but couldn’t spot them.
Oh, well, she thought. Price was a common name. She doubted their acquaintance was related to her.
They stayed another hour, then drove back to the hotel. The Weiland team got off at Floor 3, then she found herself alone with Chaz. Only too aware that he would be gone for the next week, she vowed not to cast any wistful looks his way.
They walked down the hall without speaking. While they had sat in the wine bar waiting for the others, their silence had felt comfortable, but now an awkwardness hung between them. Not speaking when you had nothing to say was one thing; not speaking because you were afraid of what you might say was another.
She stopped at her door, and he waited while she fumbled for her key in her bag. “Thank you for buoying me up tonight,” she said, too conscious of how close he was.
“My pleasure. Thank you for letting me crash your outing with your friends.”
“Such as it was.” Locating the key, she held it up to show it to him with a self-conscious smile. “Have a safe trip.”
His gaze on her felt heavy. “Will you be all right in Italy on your own? You wrestled with some memories tonight.”
“Sure.” She tried to shove the key in the lock but failed. “Liz will be here for a few days. After that, I’ll cram on Roman initiation rites for ‘The Five-Day Dig.’ ”
He leaned one hand on the doorframe near her shoulder, practically enclosing her with his arm, like he had when he walked her out of Pompeii.
She froze and looked up at him. The intensity of his gaze made her suck in her breath. He couldn’t be thinking about kissing her.
The elevator bell dinged, and Farber stepped into the hall carrying an open laptop. “Ah, Charles,” he called. “I hoped I’d catch you before bed. I’m having trouble checking in online for my flight.”
Chaz dropped his arm and sighed. “Why didn’t you just call me?”
“I was in the business center anyway, so I thought I’d run up.” He handed his laptop to Chaz, then looked at Winnie. “I’m not interrupting, am I?”
“No, I’m on my way to bed.” She managed to unlock her door and open it. “Goodnight, guys. Have a safe trip.”
Over the top of the laptop, Chaz grimaced at her. “I’ll see you next week. If you need anything, let me know.”
“I will.” She stepped inside the room and shut the door behind her, leaning against it. Her breathing came quick. Instead of feeling relief, an ache curled inside her.
Don’t even think about it, she warned herself. She needed something to distract her before she started imagining all sorts of impossible things.
She went to the dresser, pulled her laptop out of a drawer, and plugged it in. Might as well get started on her research. The more she knew about Roman mystery religion, the less of a fool she would make of herself on TV.
Other ways she might make a fool of herself were beyond even considering.
OTTO
WINNIE SPENT A couple of days sightseeing and dining out with Liz. Even after her friend flew home, she never had a whole day alone. She visited several minor museum
s and sites, mingling with other tourists, and on two occasions, she joined locals she’d met at the conference for a meal.
The only unpleasant moments came with news from home. Her sister still hadn’t heard from Sam and didn’t accept the single message Winnie had gotten as proof that he was all right. Christina tried contacting his friends and learned that he’d been out of touch with them, too.
Winnie didn’t like his secretiveness, either, but it wasn’t the first time he’d gone incommunicado, so she told herself not to panic. She hoped he was off on a sunny beach somewhere, self-medicating with umbrella-laden drinks.
In contrast, she heard frequently from Chaz. She resisted calling him but couldn’t seem to keep from e-mailing or texting. She would see artifacts on her museum visits that she knew he’d want to hear about. He would run thoughts by her about his dissertation. She’d get information about “The Five-Day Dig” that she wanted to share. One way or another, they ended up in touch throughout every day.
As for her research into rituals, she didn’t get far. Ancient initiates had been sworn to secrecy, and it seemed they had taken the oaths seriously. The sources she found were limited and vague. She worried that Dunk and company would come up with nonsense for the rites, and she would have nothing better to suggest. Her best strategy remained trying to stay in the background.
When the week ended, she drove the Punto to the airport to pick up Chaz. On recognizing his form coming out of Customs carrying a large backpack, she felt a rush of excitement.
Spotting her, he broke into a grin, which she automatically returned. He rushed over and gave her a peck on each cheek, European style. “Thanks for collecting me.”
The gesture made her heart race. She tried to contain her giddiness. “My pleasure. How was your visit with your parents?”
“As insufferable as ever. I can’t wait to get back to work.”
While they walked to the car, he told her that his father didn’t approve of his plans to appear on television. “He actually tried to forbid me. He’s mortified that my public involvement in a frivolous pursuit will besmirch the family name.”
The Five-Day Dig Page 7