"Yes, dinner sounds lovely," Stephanie said.
"We will excuse ourselves—" Carlo began.
"No, no! You two will join us tonight—I insist," Arturo said.
And so, they all trailed in to dinner together.
This time, Stephanie found herself between Grant and Clay Barton. She felt as if she sat between rival geysers, though surely, no one else had this perception, for the talk around the table was as casual and pleasant as could possibly be desired. Drew, Doug, Suzette, and Lena gave the archeologist and Grant a lively description of how the improv theater would run, and Carlo asked a number of questions and expressed his enthusiasm for the project and, naturally, asked about the work being done in English since they were in Italy.
"Reggie loves this area—the American lady who has bought the club. Like Lena, she is Italian-American," Arturo told him. "Because so little has really been done in many areas of Calabria to draw on tourism dollars, Reggie is trying to pull visitors not just from the United States, but from around Europe. Whether deserving or not," he said dryly, "English has become the second language of many other nationalities."
"And we'll all be working on our Italian," Stephanie said. "Eventually, we intend to work in shows that draw on both languages. To get the club up and started, we're working with English—and the premise, of course, that our world travelers are working hard on their Italian."
"But sadly, it seems, you have run into a bit of a snag already, eh?" Carlo said. "Down a cast member, as it is."
"There's no problem there," Grant put in. He had leaned back to stare at Stephanie. "She's a wonderful director, of course. But Steph has quite a resume. She's worked in touring groups, on Broadway, and, the last year, at the least, with a comedy improv group. She'll be able to step right in."
"That's what we assumed, of course," Lena said cheerfully.
"So, you will have your work cut out for you, Miss Cahill," Carlo said.
She shrugged. "I can fill in. It's just that we've started out so small. I would have preferred not to have to be on stage—there are too many technical aspects to be watched. I'd already intended to be my own stage manager, wardrobe mistress, and prop master."
"Each one of us can take on technical duty," Drew Cunningham reminded her, his tone serious and businesslike. She liked him, she thought, watching him from across the table. Both he and Doug were cutups, natural for their choice of profession. But she realized as well that they both had a deep core of determination. Like most actors and comedians, they knew their choice of work created a hard road to follow, and she was certain she was going to find them to be diligent in their ethics regarding discipline and principle.
"That's true, and it's what's going to happen, so it seems," Stephanie murmured.
Then, to her horror, Suzette chimed in. "And imagine! In this little corner of the world, you've accidentally run into your old boss, Stephanie. Surely, Grant, if we run into a problem here, the professional diggers will give you up for a night or two to help out here with your own speciality!"
Stephanie leaned forward, drawing a circle around the rim of her water glass, thinking quickly. "Grant is definitely a talented man. The Park Street Players win all kinds of awards, but hey, he's here to fulfill a dream—working with archeological experts. I wouldn't want to intrude on that."
"Seriously, just how much can you dig?" Lena asked. "There are other volunteers working, right? And many more professionals."
"But of course," Carlo said.
"If Stephanie wants or needs me, I'm sure I can be available," Grant said. He grinned then, suddenly, and it was a strange moment of normalcy in the midst of what felt like a very bizarre night to Stephanie.
"Steph is boss here. She likes being boss. And she's good. I don't like to step into a situation like that,"
Grant continued.
"But you've created and run your own company for years!" Lena said.
"My point. I like to be boss. So does Steph. And this is her baby."
"Are you saying that you don't think that you could listen to someone else's direction?" Clay Barton asked him politely.
"I don't know. It's been a long time since I haven't had total artistic control of such a project," Grant answered.
"Ah, well, it's hard in life. We all have to learn to listen—and take direction upon occasion," Clay said.
"Well, as to being the director of a theater group, I don't know," Carlo said, "but in the field, Grant is a wonderful worker." He laughed. "All that muscle! Many of my colleagues tend to be very scholarly—and not terribly athletic."
"I'm sure that Grant simply doesn't want to give up any time at the dig," Stephanie said, very aware of him sitting next to her, and watching her.
"But then again, we do have free time," Carlo said cheerfully.
"It would certainly be interesting to have Grant give us a hand," Suzette said.
"It's all really up to Steph," Grant said.
"Oh, well, we've gotten to spend the day with Stephanie," Suzette told him. "And she's wonderful, not hung up at all on being boss. She listened to every one of us. I know that she would always do what was best for the show, and Stephanie, I mean that as the most sincere compliment!"
A murmur of agreement went up around the table, and Stephanie forced a smile. With the size of their group, it wouldn't hurt at any time to have Grant's help, and he was capable of being the ultimate professional.
"Well, we'll see how things go," she said lightly. "Oh, my Lord, Arturo!" she added, grateful for the distraction of the food coming toward their table. They'd already been served a fantastic antipasto and huge salad; now, waiters were bearing huge plates of different pastas. "We'll all be playing very fat world travelers soon."
Food was passed around the table. Suzette asked Carlo and Grant more about the dig.
"It's fascinating!" Carlo assured her. "Well, if you have the patience to dig very carefully, dusting away layers of dirt with little brushes—and never, never rushing."
"Lena and I were there, remember?" Suzette said. "You two were busy and students showed us around, but we got a taste of what it takes."
"Hard work," Carlo agreed. "But to me… well, there is a truly wonderful history to this area, much of it revolving around the Crusades. We were a stop on the way to the Holy Lands, and once many a lord or knight found his way here, he wanted to stay behind and live—and conquer. There has long been a story told in Italy about Norman conquerors—and a great battle between them that rocked the area. A nobleman named Conan de Burgh came beneath the flag of the king in Paris, and set his hand upon the land. As the story goes, he wound up being part of the land, respected and loved by the locals. He fell in love with a native Calabrian woman, but she was a known witch, wicked through and through! She was known to schoolchildren simply as Valeria," Carlo told them dramatically. "She seduced de Burgh, but then left him for a man more ferocious in the art of conquest, a kinsman of the French king named François de Venue, and so, in time, a great battle ensued. It was quite terrible; the witch controlled heinous monsters—they said that she created them by forcing the dead in the cemeteries to rise and become fighting demons. De Burgh went to battle against the two, but was so smitten that, in the end, he tried to prevent the local people from executing the witch, and at that moment, the earth began to tremble
and quake, and nature herself decided that they must all die. The stories were half legend and half history, and now—since the earth shifted again for us!—we are able to prove the history part of what occurred.
Naturally, since I was a child hearing all these stories, this dig is very special to me," Carlo finished.
"What a wonderful story! Witches and demons!" Lena said with a pleasant little shiver.
They were all startled then when a woman suddenly burst into the restaurant, crying out in Italian. For a moment, she stood in the center of the room, spinning around, obviously looking for someone. Stephanie thought that she was probably in her mid-forties, and that she had spent her years in hard work. Her hair was gray and drawn back in a bun, she wore no makeup, and was wearing a dress that fell nearly to her ankles; her features showed the aging of a life spent in the sun.
Then, she looked directly at Stephanie, and screamed.
Chapter 4
Stephanie leapt up, but by then, the woman had turned again.
"What is it?" Stephanie asked Arturo, alarmed.
"I am trying to understand," he said, rising.
The woman's eyes lit upon the two town policemen, Merc and Franco, who were dining at another table. She rushed to them, and in her excitement, fell to her knees at the elder man's feet. She tugged at his sleeve, though the man was already giving her his undivided attention.
Lena said, "She's talking about her daughter. Her daughter has disappeared."
"Why did she look at me, and scream?" Stephanie asked.
"Oh, I don't think she was really looking at you… or at us," Lena said. "She's just very distraught, you know. A bit hysterical."
Arturo started toward the table. Carlo Ponti excused himself as well, approaching the table behind Arturo.
The talk was very excited and mournful, and Arturo tried to speak with the woman, his voice soothing, as was that of the policeman. Merc rose, drawing the woman to her feet.
Uneasily, Stephanie glanced over at Grant.
He was staring at her, eyes grave. Whatever the others thought, he knew, too, that the woman had stared directly at her.
Or had she stared at him ?
He offered her a shrug. She turned back to the action, and felt his hand on her shoulder, briefly. He meant to be reassuring, she knew. She stiffened, not wanting him to think that she was afraid, or that she had been unnerved in any way.
