The Adventures of Grace Quinlan and Lord William Hayden
The Complete Novel
Volumes 1, 2, 3, 4, 5
Revised, Expanded, Reformatted
New Edition July 2011
by Dorothy Paula Freda
(Pseudonym - Paula Freda)
Smashwords Edition
(Formerly titled: In Another Life
(from the Journals of Grace Quinlan
and Lord William Hayden)
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2005 - 2010 by the same author, Dorothy Paula Freda
(Pseudonym - Paula Freda)
Cover photo and inserts licensed by Paula Freda from iStockphoto.com
Author retains all rights. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof.
This novel is a work of fiction. Except for documented historical data and geographical locations, all names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
DEDICATION
With thanks to my Lord Jesus and his Blessed Mother Mary whose strength, guidance, and her Holy Rosary, are my anchor in this troubled world, I dedicate this novel to my husband, whose love, patience and kindness over the past 40 years have kept my dreams and my view of the romantic, alive and vibrant." Paula Freda
The Adventures of Grace Quinlan and Lord William Hayden
Along the Nile
Volume 1
CHAPTER ONE
June 1949
From the corner of her eye Elizabeth noticed Lord Hayden entering the library and head for the section on ancient relics. She pushed her glasses further up the bridge of her short, but inquisitive nose. The slim gold, grey-tinted glasses had a habit of slipping, which she encouraged. Her brown oxfords thumped across the tiled floor as she approached Lord Hayden.
"Good afternoon, Professor Hayden. Could you spare a moment? The meaning of this particular phrase eludes me." She did not wait for him to glance at her, but placed her opened book on top of his and pointed to a series of Egyptian symbols. "Would you be so kind?" She ignored his irritable frown.
Lord Hayden controlled his rampant urge to run. Lately she sought his advice daily and he suspected she nurtured a crush on him. Coincidentally, she had purchased the cottage opposite his. He had seriously contemplated moving.
Elizabeth normally left her home for Layton Hall at the same time he did. Two weeks ago, her car had conveniently stalled as he was starting his. Of course, he had been obliged to give her a lift.
Professor Elizabeth Eldridge was well known and respected in archaeological circles, even if she did her research and developed her theories from behind her desk. He might have welcomed her attentions if she was younger and attractive, or if her glasses did not constantly hang on her short nose, or if her hair was not such an intense, somber shade of dark brown, pulled painfully and tightly up into a bun to sit purposefully and ridiculously on top of her head, like a day-old toasted bagel. Perhaps if she was not almost as tall as he was, her legs not so spindly, her hips and breasts nonexistent, her wool suits so grey and her man-tailored shirts so stiff and high-collared, then he might have found her remotely attractive. Perhaps then, he might have considered a casual relationship, if only for the reason that her archaeological expertise was nothing to sneer at.
At thirty-five, she was his peer and easy to converse with, having long graduated college, and attended various schools abroad where she had earned degrees in Paleontology and Archeology. Her eyes under the grey tinted glasses held an eager expression whenever discussions centered on the sciences dear to his heart. Enthusiasm laced her lectures in class. Knowing that she would substitute for him during his exploratory trips, he need never worry that his students might fall behind in their studies. Her love of the ancient equaled and sometimes surpassed his.
He did not mind her company during lunch and breaks in the faculty lounge. She listened to him with unabashed interest, occasionally inserting comments—expert ones. On the rare occasions she attended a social function at the college and allowed herself a bit of unrestrained laughter, her face would light and color and the drabness momentarily vanish. On those rare occasions, he would think that she had been quasi-attractive as a girl. A loveless past may have kept her from blossoming into all that a woman could. He admired that she did not attempt to cover her plainness with layers of makeup, unashamedly simple both in her non-use of cosmetics and in her unconcealed quest for knowledge.
Elizabeth interrupted his flow of thoughts.
"Professor Hayden?" She cocked her head inquisitively and nudged his shoulder. She controlled a chuckle as he appeared momentarily startled, realizing he had not answered her question but had been staring at her.
"Y-Yes, what can I do for you?"
The phrase, remember? I asked if you could help me decipher its meaning."
"Oh, yes." He studied the symbols.
"By the way, Lord Hayden, Happy Birthday. Thirty-eight, isn’t it? The years do have a way of piling up, don’t they?" Just one of many details she had quietly researched about him.
Not amused, he ignored her question and her comment, and replied, "Truth. These symbols signify truth. And this one," he pointed to another, "represents a woman. This other represents a valuable gem."
"An opal," Elizabeth revised, "reputed to have and bestow mystical powers. Its owner is said to have been a woman of royal descent, and a clairvoyant. Little is known about her except that she was beautiful in body and in soul. Upon her death, her priests placed the opal in the underground temple alongside her burial chamber, somewhere in the Valley of the Queens. Neither her tomb, nor the temple has ever been located." Elizabeth smiled, continuing, "Thank you. You’ve been most helpful. We will have to discuss the possibilities of finding her tomb, and the temple, and the opal. If they exist—" She did not need to elaborate. He understood.
"I’m intrigued," he admitted. "And I’m sure the Museum would be interested, but as for mystical powers attached to the opal, I venture its owner merely possessed a highly perceptive nature. The powers of the mind we take for granted today often savored of mysticism to the ancient Egyptian."
"Perhaps. Yet in all your travels and explorations, so vividly detailed in your published journals, you speak of mystical encounters."
Again he chose not to comment. "Do you plan to research the whereabouts of this lady’s tomb?" he asked.
"Most definitely. With summer vacation just a few days away, I plan to scour libraries and contact as many archaeological societies as I can within that time. What about you? Have you special plans?"
He regarded her slyly as though he suspected that she already knew the answer to her question. Giving her the benefit of the doubt, he replied, "I’m leaving for Europe. A pre-Roman building has been unearthed in an archaeological excavation in Sicily. The board has authorized the purchase of artifacts uncovered with it."
Both the College and Museum Directors considered Lord Hayden their best asset, and often sponsored his trips to obtain precious artifacts for outright purchase or lease for exhibition. "Another imminent entry to your next journal?" Elizabeth remarked. She removed her book from the top of his. "Enjoy yourself."
She felt Lord Hayden’s nonplussed gaze follow her as she retraced her steps up the aisle. He would be wondering, as her heavy oxfords pounded the floor tiles, was she actually attempting to secure his attentions? And how could a woman as smart as she ever imagine that he would form a sexual liaison with a skinny, spectacled, grey-eyed spinster, no matter if archeology was her first love?
Elizabeth reseated herself at the reading table. A sad smile played on her untinted lips. Lord Hayden was a gentleman and an adventurer rolled into one. She had gathered quite a dossier on him. He was a brilliant teacher and ingenious at discovering and acquiring relics that brought the past into the present. Never in her life had she felt such an affinity for another human being. And never in her life had she stood such small chance of requital. For years, she had followed his exploits, mentally devouring his published journals, as did most of the college staff and many of the students. His books often were best sellers, garnering him hefty royalties. He did not need to teach to earn a living. He was wealthy by birth and inheritance and owned estates in England, yet chose to live in a simple cottage a mile from the college campus.
Safely hidden in her dresser drawer were newspaper clippings of Lord Hayden and beautiful women who had shared his exploits. She could not deny jealousy, but mostly she felt grateful she would never qualify for one of those newspaper clippings. It would hurt too much to love and then find herself replaced. She knew he respected her intelligence. Several times they had collaborated on antiquarian reports. Whenever he returned from his trips with valuable finds, he discussed them freely with her. Those conversations when Lord Hayden forgot the plain wallflower, and saw only the eager archaeologist, became the happiest times she had ever known. He had never married, though most considered him quite a catch. His bride was Archeology. She recalled one evening during a staff meeting when she had contemplated asking him if she might accompany him on one of his searches. As she began to form her first word, she glimpsed herself in the window pane beside a lit lamp. The image of herself alongside the debonair, resourceful archaeologist had made her laugh aloud. She quickly cleared her throat, feigning a cough. That evening she realized how important it was to keep alive his respect for her intelligence.
Before she had plunked her book over the one Lord Hayden was reading, her astute eye had caught the title of the chapter that held his interest. Sicily—Archaeological Digs—The Lost Temple of the Goddess Psyche. Yes! she quietly cheered. Elizabeth closed her book with a snap, startling several of the library’s visitors, including Lord Hayden, and herself. She lowered her gaze shame-faced. With regard to the eminent professor, she was turning into a lovesick puppy. This simply would not do. Something must change. Rising grimly, she tromped out of the library. An idea formed in her mind as she drove home. It was a wild, crazy, idiotic idea. But she was smart—it just might work!
* * *
"Nice to see you again," the captain greeted as Lord Hayden boarded the plane to the Continent.
Hayden acknowledged the greeting, smiling and touching the rim of his hat. Suited in grey linen, none could deny his handsome profile. The stewardess on board inspected him openly, not attempting to hide her appreciation as he removed his hat and slid his traveling bag into the overhang. He made sure to return her look of appreciation. She was slender, attractive and blonde. He might have continued his appraisal except that another female caught his eye. Lovely, like autumn leaves. She sat a few seats further up the aisle, gazing out the window. Possibly, she sensed his interest, for she turned and briefly gazed at him.
She was indeed lovely, her slight makeup, meticulously applied; a hint of blush on her cheeks, eyebrows tweezed and finely penciled, lips tinted a soft coral pink. She wore a fitted blue suit. Her hair was her best asset. Shoulder-length and wavy, it caught the sun’s brilliance streaming through the window and shone the colors of autumn—muted, velvety amber reds and dark yellows, and mixtures thereof, as though in her case nature had not been able to make up its mind. He had already made up his mind to meet her. A little relaxation before plunging into the Sicilian Dig. And that vision of loveliness, if she found him appealing, might provide that relaxation nicely. He settled into his seat in preparation for takeoff.
The woman who had sparked Lord Hayden’s interest turned and glanced again at her admirer. She could just make out the top of his head. A smile parted her softly tinted mouth. She had caught Lord Hayden noticing her, his glance definitely loaded with enthusiasm. Yes, she thought, breathing out gently. A wild, crazy, idiotic idea. But it just might work!
CHAPTER TWO
Elizabeth congratulated herself. Her well-kept secret would remain a secret. The world of the 40s and 50s did not expect a female professor of archeology to be auburn-haired, non-spectacled, slim and lovely. The standards of her time rarely equated beauty with intelligence. Such a professor would be a distraction to the male students and create envy among the females. Thus, she had created a facade acceptable to the world of her time and Layton Hall. Weekly she saturated her hair with the most horrid brown rinse she could find. She wore rest glasses tinted grey. Wore underclothes proportioned to hide her graceful lines, and long-skirted man-tailored suits and grey business sheers to make her legs appear thin and unappealing. But of late, she nurtured a desire to frequent Lord Hayden’s company. For the first time since her student years, she had discarded her facade. Her hair washed of the rinse and free of the confining hairdo, glowed red-gold, and wove and fell softly about her shoulders. A dab of rouge smoothed lightly over her cheeks added a lively rosiness to her face. Her green eyes, minus the grey lenses, sparkled like emeralds. All this and the fetching blue suit purchased at a fashionable boutique, underwear made to uplift rather than camouflage, and a splash of sweet smelling eau de cologne, had transformed the flounder into a sultry catfish.
When the plane had settled into a belly squat above the clouds, Captain Craig joined the stewardess to check on the passengers. Lord Hayden thought this moment propitious to ask the Captain to introduce him to the russet-golden haired woman who sat a few seats in front of him.
"Excuse me, Miss Grace Quinlan," the Captain touched her shoulder. "An acquaintance of mine would like to be formally introduced." He turned to allow Hayden who stood behind him to show himself. "This is Lord William Hayden, an explorer and instructor, currently teaching at Layton Hall."
Elizabeth Eldridge gazed straight into Lord Hayden’s face and saw not even a thread of recognition. Instead, what she caught was that glint of admiration and that hint of a smile he normally reserved for those fortunate enough to spark his interest. Lord Hayden extended his hand. "May I join you?"
"If you like," she answered, accepting his handshake. He contemplated her smooth, slim hand, holding it longer than necessary, as Captain Craig retreated discreetly. "I’m on my way to Palermo, to visit an archaeological dig," Hayden said, settling down beside her.
"The lost Temple of Pscyhe?"
"Why, yes. You’re familiar with the dig?"
"I’m a writer, Lord Hayden, enroute to the site to research an article on the temple."
"Then we have something to talk about."
"It appears we do," Elizabeth replied, annoyed. So that was how Lord Hayden operated. The photos of the handsome, aristocratic instructor and the beautiful women who frequently shared his travels and the poses, flashed through her mind. Had they been as besotted as she had become. Elizabeth felt humiliated.
"Where will you be staying?" Lord Hayden asked.
"Hotel Internazionale," she said, casually.
Lord Hayden arched his brows. Another coincidence. "That’s the hotel I’ll be staying at as well. It seems we’re fated to see more of each other."
Emerald green eyes narrowed. "Not necessarily. I’ll stay out of your way, if you promise to stay out of mine."
Hayden opened his mouth, but all at once he seemed not sure what to say. He finally stammered, "N-no, on the contrary, I was hoping we might have... dinner together."
"Really, Lord Hayden?" Elizabeth inquired.
"Yes. And please call me William," he said with renewed self-assurance. He leaned back smugly.
"Lord Hayden—William," she corrected. I have a lot of reading to do on Sicilian archeology. So if you don’t mind, we can pick up this conversation at the hotel."
Hayden’s mouth fell open. His face clearly showed his emotions running the gamut of surprise, confusion and downright indignation. "Y-yes, of course," he mumbled, plainly alarmed at his lack of affect on one attractive, seemingly intelligent female. He stood up. "See you around."
Elizabeth did not answer him. With an air of dismissal, she bent to rummage inside the tote bag at her feet. But from the corner of her eye she noted Lord Hayden’s mouth quirk wryly as she took out a book from her bag and immersed herself in reading.
Elizabeth smiled as Lord Hayden returned to his seat. No doubt, his ego deflated, he must be fuming and wondering was he growing old and losing his touch?
The following day, Lord Hayden’s anticipation of seeing, touching, smelling, tasting, and if it were possible, hearing, the Sicilian artifacts unearthed during the dig in the Sicilian countryside, temporarily blanked his memory of the auburn-haired beauty. Even the knowledge that she occupied the room opposite his, elicited little reaction compared to his excitement as he beheld the marble figurine of the Goddess Psyche. Tables behind which a government official supervised, had been set up outside the dig. Lord Hayden picked up the figurine with the care it deserved. The ancient artist had sculpted Psyche as a young girl in flowing robes, her hair loose and streaming about her small-boned cheeks, her tiny feet bare, toes finely hewn, and her hands at her sides, delicately carved fingers spread apart as if to feel the air rushing through them. "How much?" Lord Hayden asked the official.
"The statuette is not for sale," the official replied.
Hayden entreated, "For such a piece as this, the museum I represent would be willing to pay, let’s say—five thousand."
The Italian official laughed outright. "Signore, my country would not sell it for a hundred times that price. The statuette will be placed in our national museum. However, you may choose to bid for one of these lesser pieces." He pointed to an assortment of gold bowls and utensils, and several other pieces of art, among them, a miniature of the Apollo Belvedere.
Lord Hayden frowned. Why display the statuette with the other artifacts if it was not for sale. The answer he reasoned—to attract buyers for the other artifacts. Not an unheard of business tactic. He would have to settle for the Apollo. He picked up the Apollo. "And the cost?" he inquired.
"$5,000. Through the years we have recovered several of these replicas. They make excellent conversation pieces."
Lord Hayden scowled. "$5,000 for a conversation piece?"
"Take it or leave it. I can get three times that price at the auction tomorrow."
Lord Hayden studied the Apollo. He had seen many others like it, but the museum he represented did not have one. "All right," he said, taking out his checkbook.
"We have not finished digging," the official reminded him. "There may be other finds that our country can spare. How long do you plan to be in Palermo?"
"At least a month," Lord Hayden replied as he wrote out the check. "Maybe more."
"Well then, I’m sure we will do business again," the official said, as Lord Hayden, handed him the check. "There are crates and packing materials on the side of the table. Help yourself."
Hayden chose a medium-sized crate and filled it with straw. He dug a hole in the straw and carefully began to place the Apollo inside. Something caught his well-trained eye. Symbols grouped together under its base. On closer inspection, Egyptian hieroglyphics. He glanced at the official who sat making entries in a large black book. He buried the Apollo inside the straw and secured the lid. With the crate under his arm, he walked to the car he had rented at the airport. What Professor Elizabeth Eldridge would not give to be in his shoes at this moment, he thought, chuckling. Three Egyptian symbols had been clearly recognizable on the base of the Apollo... Woman, Opal, Truth. Bless Elizabeth’s spinsterish heart, and her theory about the Mystical Opal and the undiscovered tomb in the Valley of the Queens. There might be something to her theory. Lord Hayden checked the rear-view mirror as he inserted the key into the ignition. His eyes widened and he turned abruptly. "Miss Grace Quinlan, what a pleasant surprise," he greeted the red-gold-haired beauty sitting in the back seat.
Her smile was nothing short of guileless. "I took a taxi to the site, but he never showed to pick me up for the return trip. I thought you might give me a lift back to the hotel."
"My pleasure," Hayden replied, somewhat vindicated, starting up the car. "By the way, do you have any books to read?" Not expecting an answer, he began driving and turned into the main road. He stole glances at his passenger via the rear-view mirror, but remained silent. This time she would have to do the inviting.
"Lord Hayden, I noticed you examining the Apollo statuette. You seemed intrigued by something. May I ask what that was?"
Lord Hayden decided on the prudence of sharing his discovery. An article on the piece would bring attention and added visitors to the museum, not to mention a monetary contribution or two. "Join me in my hotel room, and we’ll examine the statuette together."
To Elizabeth Eldridge, now under the guise of Grace Quinlan, the implications registered loud and clear. If she accepted Lord Hayden’s invitation, he was sure to ask her to stay the night. The proposition had been there since their introduction on the plane. If she refused to go to his hotel room, she would be denied the opportunity of examining the Apollo and discovering what had suddenly enthralled Lord Hayden to the point of not seeing her when she had stood in plain view. Archeology, always closest to her heart, decided for her. If he took her answer to imply more than what it meant, then he would have only himself to blame. "I’d like very much to join you and examine the figure. Am I right in assuming you’ve stumbled on to something more than just a conversation piece?"
Lord Hayden’s dark brows knitted. How did she know what the official had said, or was it merely another coincidence? He glanced again into the rear-view mirror at his passenger and found her expression vaguely familiar; something about the way her small chin thrust out, her lips pursed, the eyes gazed intently. A fleeting familiarity, but he had to concentrate on the road. He shrugged. The lady was willing, and who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth. The image of a wooden Trojan horse rose in his mind. Lord Hayden cleared his throat nervously and focused on the turn ahead.
* * *
She joined him for dinner that evening. He liked the way she ate with gusto. Moreover, she was easy to talk with, somewhat like Elizabeth Eldridge. The resemblance had dawned on him over dessert. Not in her appearance, of course, but in certain mannerisms. In her voice, and in the way she listened, hearing precisely what he said, not what she wanted to hear. He was amazed at her knowledge of archeology. Their conversation made him anxious to get to his room and decipher the rest of the symbols under the base of the Apollo. He felt with his right foot for the crate under the table. He had not wanted to entrust it to the safety of his room, in case anyone beside himself suspected the sculpture’s possible importance. When they had finished eating, Lord Hayden suggested, "Well, shall we go upstairs and do some research—on the figure."
Elizabeth replied, "I’m interested in the meaning of the symbols. They might lead to other finds and provide the basis for a fascinating article."
He nodded. "I concur."
Inside the elevator, he noted her silence and the soft blush on her cheeks. She kept her gaze lowered, but her hesitancy did not escape him. She was new at the game, he thought, or she did not play it with just anyone. Perhaps in her case he should be less forward. Perhaps this one was a little more special. Her silence intensified as they left the elevator and neared his room. He sensed the battle between her curiosity about the Apollo figurine and her reluctance to enter his room. Bluntness seemed the better course. He turned to her. "Grace, I promise, nothing disrespectful. We will examine the figure and work on deciphering the symbols. Then we’ll call it a night.
Her emerald gaze lifted to his, brightening. She smiled gratefully and followed him willingly into his room where she proceeded to work with him on the meaning of the symbols, as close as any colleague might. He was amazed that her joy at the message the hieroglyphics imparted was as unrestrained as his. "This is it!" Lord Hayden exclaimed. "This is the original, the one all the others were modeled after."
"What about the reference to the opal and the woman, and truth?" Elizabeth asked. The Apollo was another link with the inscription she had found in a very old book on Egyptology, the same inscription taken from a wall inside a tomb in the Valley of the Queens. Elizabeth fought to restrain her excitement. She longed to have the statue to herself to examine it thoroughly as Lord Hayden was doing. To do so in front of him would arouse his suspicions as to her true occupation. Archaeologists had a way about them, and Lord Hayden’s quick mind would guess. She would have to wait, bide her time, as he was biding his with regard to her as a woman, respecting her innocence along with her intelligence. No more, she thought, watching Lord Hayden examine the Apollo for the thousandth time. I can’t stand it. Let me take it to my room, her mind pleaded. Let the archaeologist in me examine it, unfettered by this disguise. "Lord Hayden, I really must go. I need to do more research on the excavation site for my article, and that means starting out early in the morning for the next few days."
Lord Hayden wondered if she realized her voice trembled. Gently he replied, "All right. But we can work together. I need to visit the site again as well and plan to stay in Palermo at least for a month. No need to pay a taxi when I can drive you back and forth."
"That’s kind of you," Elizabeth said.
Again he noted that blush, that shy lowering of emerald eyes, that pursing of softly tinted lips. Again there was that fleeting sense of familiarity. Becharmed, he asked, "I’ll call for you at six. Is that early enough?"
She nodded, smiling. Lord Hayden escorted her to the door, reached for the doorknob, but never quite grasped it. There was something he wanted to do much more. His arm settled about her shoulders. "Grace Quinlan," he whispered into the top of her hair, a deep rich auburn in the lamplight. The strands felt like silk. He turned her slowly toward him. She kept her gaze lowered and he had to lift her chin to make her look into his eyes.
Elizabeth’s heart hammered. His eyes were a deep dark brown. She was lost in them. His kiss was light and sweet, sweeter than any of the few she had known in her student years. She suspected it would not remain so if she permitted him to continue.
Easier to climb to the surface from the bottom of the ocean than draw her mouth from his, but she must. I will not be just a pretty face, a temporary companion, someone with whom to share an adventure, a charming woman to pose with, and another newspaper clipping for my scrapbook. So much depended on her strength of purpose. She concentrated all that strength on the vision of the forgotten tomb, the opal, and the woman, wise and beautiful. How would she have reacted in this situation? Would she have dared what Elizabeth Eldridge had contrived? Elizabeth turned her face, and when Lord Hayden’s lips caressed her cheek, she backed away. "Lord Hayden, may I go now?"
Hayden frowned but did not protest.
She read the annoyance on his features, the deprivation, but foremost a gentleman, he released her and opened the door. "Six," he said simply.
* * *
Elizabeth slept fitfully. Dreams superimposed upon each other, tossing her to and fro. One finally supplanted the rest—
A woman with skin a dark alabaster and hair black as pitch sat in a royal chair upon a dais at the head of a huge audience chamber. Egyptian nobles and their ladies pressed as close as they dared to the dais to see the object she held in her hands. It was an opal, the size of a slender fist, held between her palms. It glowed brilliantly. The colors of the rainbow blended with colors to which Elizabeth could find no name and the opal levitated, rising slowly, and hovered in mid air. The woman kept her hands outstretched, her gaze mesmerized by the gem, as if it were consuming all her thoughts as it became a prism, the points of light spreading, encompassing the woman and her throne. Her subjects began to chant. They prostrated themselves and hid their faces from the light.
The woman’s form, visible now as a muted shadow inside the light, dissolved, stretched, an amoeba floating in a spectrum of silky pastels. The amoeba began to fuse with the light. The Egyptian nobles and their ladies chanted louder, their prostrated bodies swaying with the intensity of their chant. As though compelled, the subjects lifted their faces and gazed fully into the light. A loud, jarring ring shook the huge audience hall. The room undulated; colors ran like those of a fresh painting immersed in water.
Elizabeth opened her eyes. The alarm clock continued to ring. It was 5 a.m. Precisely at six, Lord Hayden knocked on her door. He wore heavy beige linen pants and long sleeved shirt. The simple work clothes did nothing to hide his broad shoulders or muscular torso. "Grace... Grace?" Lord Hayden repeated. He waved his hand in front of her eyes. "Wake up."
Elizabeth blinked several times. Since opening the door she had been staring at him trance-like. "I haven’t quite done that yet," she excused, shaking her head to clear it.
Lord Hayden watched her move about the room, collecting her safari jacket, slipping it on and buttoning it, straightening the matching skirt, and picking up her shoulder bag. She pulled the strap over her shoulder, trapping a few silky ends of her hair. How he would love to caress its velvety smoothness. As she freed the red-gold strands caught under the shoulder strap, he thought for the hundredth time that she was the loveliest woman he had ever seen, though mysterious.
Except for the clerk asleep at his desk, the lobby was deserted. The duo moved quietly out the revolving doors. The morning air was cool and dry, and Elizabeth breathed deeply. Lord Hayden escorted her to his car, black and slimmer than the domestic bulky cars in the States. When he sat beside her, about to key the engine, she told him, "Yesterday the official at the dig mentioned a newly excavated subterranean passage under the temple."
Lord Hayden listened attentively as she went on. "He thinks the passage may lead to another building. I’m inclined to agree with him. And if there are more Roman artifacts with Egyptian hieroglyphics inscribed on them, I am anxious to have a look at them. The archaeologists hired by the local government plan to explore the passage thoroughly tomorrow. The official at the site has agreed to allow me first entry, but he warned that whatever I find must be reported and handed over to him."
"How did you manage to obtain his permission?" Lord Hayden asked.
"Oh, I explained that my article would entice collectors to view the objects found and bring in added revenue."
"And," Lord Hayden appended, "this information was delivered with your charming smile in a most cordial tone." He was pleased to see her blush anew. "All this for your article." It was more a statement hinting at bewilderment than a question. Her enthusiasm in his field far exceeded that of any reporter he had ever known.
"Yes, of course," Elizabeth replied. "I will need lots of tangible proof. I never cheat my readers."
"Proof of what?"
Her hesitancy to answer was not lost on Hayden. When she did answer, he brought the car to a halt. She had said, "Perhaps I should have told you this before, but an acquaintance of yours is sponsoring my trip."
"An acquaintance of mine?"
"Professor Eldridge."
"Elizabeth?"
"Yes, Professor Elizabeth Eldridge. She supports the theory that the Temple of Psyche holds the key to the whereabouts of the mystical opal and the identity of its owner, by all indications an Egyptian queen."
"Did she make your reservations," Lord Hayden asked, his suspicions further aroused.
Smiling she replied, "Yes, she did. Before leaving to visit some friends, she contacted me. Her collaboration, her expert opinions and your local museum’s complete cooperation are mine, so long as I report to her all my findings."
Lord Hayden shook his head incredulously. "It’s obvious she planned to throw us together, so I could help with your research."
"Are you angry with her?"
Lord Hayden laughed. "No, by no means. It seems she knows me better than I thought. I’ll have to thank her for sending me so lovely a partner." He found the silence that met that remark disturbing. Perhaps his remarks had been interpreted as contemptuous and she feared he would refuse to work with her, after all. He was quick to reassure her, "I don’t mind contributing to Professor Eldridge’s research. Layton Hall and the local museum value our research. I’m glad to help her. She’s one of the smartest women I’ve ever encountered—as well as one of the most unbiased. Just don’t tell her I said that."
"I think she would be flattered hearing your opinion of her."
"She would," Lord Hayden concurred. "The old girl has developed a crush on me."
Elizabeth winced openly. "I think that last remark would hurt her."
Lord Hayden resumed driving. "I would not enjoy hurting her," he said in earnest, accelerating, a finality to his tone. The subject of Professor Eldridge was dropped by mutual consent.
CHAPTER THREE
The passage under the temple wove deeply into the earth. Elizabeth and Lord Hayden held their lanterns high. Each scanned a side of the eight-foot walls, searching carvings in the rock that would give them a clue as to where it led. They had trod through the corridor for hours; stopping only to lunch briefly on sandwiches and juice they carried in their backpacks, and replace the batteries in their dimming lanterns. Rested, and their lanterns shining brightly once more, the two resumed their exploration.
"Quickly, look here," Elizabeth exclaimed. Lord Hayden joined her at once beside the opposite wall. "These carvings," they’re different from the ones we’ve encountered thus far."
They certainly were different, Lord Hayden agreed, studying them closely. Up until now they had found only carvings and drawings depicting everyday life in ancient Rome and Greece.
Elizabeth said, "If memory serves me correctly, they remind me of the ones etched on the bottom of the Apollo statuette."
"They’re definitely Egyptian hieroglyphics," Hayden confirmed. Elizabeth traced her fingertips over the carvings. She stopped when she came to a combo of the opal and the woman.
"Keep going," Lord Hayden urged.
The next carving was that of a man. He wore a garb that was neither Egyptian nor Roman. Neither Lord Hayden nor Elizabeth could identify it. "The symbol above it—" Elizabeth began. "No, it’s not a symbol," she amended, "it’s a ragged circle, pitted and lined. It might be natural erosion.
Lord Hayden shook his head, though he was as puzzled as she was.
Elizabeth urged, "If not that, what does it signify? Let’s go on. I want to know more."
Lord Hayden nodded, his curiosity peaked along with hers.
They continued onward until they reached the end of the passage, and the entrance to a huge chamber.
"My God," Elizabeth whispered. This was the room in her dream.
Life-sized golden statues of Egyptian deities lined the walls of the chamber. Among them, Osiris, God of the Netherworld and Resurrection. He wore a tall, pharaonic crown with a feather on each side. In his left hand he held the heka scepter, the crook that symbolized the pharaoh’s power as the leader of his people. In his right hand, Osiris held the flail, tail end resting over his shoulder and representing his authority over the land. Beside him stood Isis, his sister and wife, considered by the Egyptian the ideal wife and mother, and the Goddess of pure love, a beauteous, lithe woman, wearing a crown of cow horns enclosing a sun disk. The third statue was that of Anubis, sculpted as a jackal with the body of a human, God of the Dead.
A hundred other mementos of past millenniums lay scattered on stone tables about the chamber—silver canisters, turquoise-blue glass goblets, gold and silver cups and dishes and beakers. The two archaeologists entered the room slowly, reverently. Lord Hayden and Elizabeth forgot each other’s presence. Moments like this were rare in the life of an antiquarian, and every second of them was required to touch and examine the past, relish it and relive it in the evidence of lives long consigned to the afterworld.
Much later, when they had savored and memorized the aura of the past, jotted it down in little notebooks, and safely tucked those notebooks into pockets, Lord Hayden said, "Our friend, the official, will dance the tarantella when we tell him what we’ve discovered here." Elizabeth made no rejoinder. Her gaze was fixed on the mural at the far end of the chamber behind the dais and the throne. The woman in her dream, in white flowing garments, the same woman the ancient sculptor had captured in the statuette that Lord Hayden had tried to purchase for the Museum, stared back at her from the wall mural. In her hands, outstretched and cupped, the opal levitated, prisms of light shooting from its center.
At the woman’s left stood Horus, the son of Isis and Osiris, pictured as a man with a falcon’s head, worshipped as a solar deity, and patron of every pharaoh. To the woman’s right—Maat, the goddess of truth and justice, wearing an upright ostrich plume in her hair, and holding in her right hand, a papyrus staff, and in her left hand, the ankh, a cross with a looped top. The staff and ankh were symbols of life, of truth, and of justice.
The opal held the gazes of Horus and Maat, as it did Elizabeth’s. The dream was repeating itself, and Elizabeth—
"Eros, you came to me from a rock midst the stars. You loved me, and gave to me the opal of truth. Yet you asked that I never look upon your face with the knowledge bestowed me by the opal, for then I would see you in your true form. I dared, and when I saw, I could not bare to look. You could not stand to feel my revulsion and so you left in your golden chariot of fire. But with that same knowledge bestowed me by the opal, I saw also into my soul. Too late, my love, for it is the soul that loves. And I will love you for all eternity, in whatever form you be, in whatever life you live, I will search for you."
"Grace, what are you talking about?" Lord Hayden asked from behind, clasping her shoulders.
"Seek the opal in the Valley of the Queens," Elizabeth said, turning and lifting her gaze to Lord Hayden. "Behold its light. Behold my soul, Eros, my beloved."
"Grace!" Lord Hayden cried, as she slumped into his arms. It was this room bewitching her, he reasoned. Lifting her into his arms, he carried her out of the chamber, and as far away from it as the strength in his arms would allow. When he finally set her down gently on the ground, he cradled her in his arms, calling her name several times before she opened her eyes and he was able to breathe a sigh of relief. "Welcome back, Miss Grace Quinlan."
Elizabeth regarded him speculatively, then her eyes widened as full memory returned and she sat upright. "What happened?" The last thing she remembered was studying the mural of the queen levitating the magic opal.
"I’m not sure," Lord Hayden admitted. "You entered a trance and spoke with someone else’s voice."
Elizabeth whispered, "I dreamt about her last night, just as she is pictured in the mural. William, I believe the legend of Eros and Psyche is true." Accepting Lord Hayden’s hand to steady her, she climbed to her feet. Excitement feeding adrenalin, she went on saying, "Though considered a Greek and Roman myth, the clues we have encountered thus far—Psyche’s Temple, the Egyptian Audience Chamber, and the mural, all these point to the legend’s origin as Egyptian, absorbed into the Greco/Roman cultures."
Lord Hayden listened to her every word, but over and beyond her comments, was the effect of his first name on her lips. She had called him "William." He felt a pleasant tremor between his shoulder blades. The gentle pitch of her voice, the way his name had rolled from her lips, an almost physical, tangible caress.
Unaware of his heightened sensitivity to her closeness, Elizabeth continued, "Egypt’s early influence over the Mediterranean cities is a recorded fact. Truly pure cultures are few, if any at all. Most are derived from or mixtures of others. It is the same with mythology. You know that."
Lord Hayden nodded, smiling. Beauty and brains, a rarity. Indeed the clues thus far affirmed Professor Elizabeth Eldridge’s theories. "What about the drawing of the circle, ragged and pitted, with strange lines running across it?" he asked. "And below it, that of the man with the garb neither of us recognized?" He had already drawn some conclusions, but he was curious to hear hers.
She replied promptly, "We didn’t recognize the garb or the man wearing it, because it was no earthly garb, and the man wearing, no earthly man, but a being from another world. The circle, ragged and pitted with the odd lines running across it— a rock, a planet, or an asteroid, perhaps the planetoid, Eros." Elizabeth continued to postulate, absently dusting off her skirt. "Eros’ orbit comes closest to earth than any other large body we know of to date, except the moon. William—"
Again the pleasant tremor. Hayden shifted slightly, a bit unnerved. "William, I’ve concluded that many thousands of years ago this alien being visited earth and fell in love with a beautiful Egyptian queen. He was a being of superior intelligence, with abilities and technology far in advance of ours. Capable of projecting images, he camouflaged his appearance and forbade Psyche to see him in his true form, afraid she would find him unappealing. I suspect the opal was a visual aid, an instrument that permitted one to see more than the apparent." Elizabeth paused, wondering if Lord Hayden, who stood listening with a peculiar look on his face, believed she was expounding nonsense. "Is that what I... spoke of during the trance?" she asked modestly.
Lord Hayden nodded.
"Then it follows," Elizabeth continued, gathering confidence, "that Psyche used the opal to look upon her lover in his true form. And when she did so, Eros left her and returned to his world, the planetoid, though in the end they found each other once more."
"No, that’s not exactly what you said during your trance. I’ll tell you precisely what you said while we head back to the surface. Let’s go."