Jennifer Colgan: The Concubine’s Tale

Lost in thought, she jumped a little at the sound of the gallery’s door chime. She smoothed her dark skirt and hurried to the front door.

Grant Pierson appraised her through the frosted MG logo that decorated the upper half of the glass.

“I hope I’m not keeping you from something,” he said as she backed up to let him inside. He stepped aside while she relocked the door.

Of course not , she thought. What social life can a girl have when she works all the time? “No problem. I was able to rearrange my plans.” Cait let her curious gaze follow him across the main display area. His charcoal suit and polished Fiorello shoes said boardroom all the way, but the broad shoulders and tight butt said weekend athlete. He moved like he owned the place. With the amount of money he’d spent here over the years, he might as well have been a partner in the business.

He bent to study the rare coin case in the center of the room. “You’ve changed the lighting in here.”

She nodded. “We added some tracks down the center of the ceiling and replaced the top panels of the cases with a new type of glare-free glass. A major improvement for a small investment.”

“Your idea?” His expression gave her pause. She couldn’t tell if he approved of the change or not.

She crossed the room before answering, conscious of his gaze on her. “Not really. Mr. Greer is the display expert. The scroll is in the back, if you’d like to take a look.”

“Can’t wait.”

They met at the narrow doorway leading to the back room. There, she caught a warm, spice-scented whiff of his aftershave as she passed him. Their shoulders brushed, and the feel of textured wool over lean muscle sent a charge through her nerve endings. Goose bumps rose under her blouse.

The sudden chill of excitement caused by the brief contact became a languid heat as she watched his expression change. His eyes lit when he saw the scroll, and his long fingers seem to flex with the desire to touch it. Figures an ancient artifact would turn him on , she thought.

He circled the display case. “Tell me about it.” He clasped his hands behind his back, as if to prevent himself from reaching for the inaccessible treasure.

“Of course.”

Beautiful. That was the first word that came to Grant’s mind when he saw it. The rich color of the aged papyrus, the fine crazing where time had begun to disintegrate the fibers, gave the piece such character, like wrinkles on an aged face. The ink used to paint the hieroglyphics had once been vibrant shades of kohl black, berry red and deep ochre. Now the edges of the word symbols were faded and chipped, but enough of the work remained to be legible to those who knew the complicated ancient language.

So beautiful. He looked up into eyes the color of delicate lapis lazuli and smiled. He wanted it. He wanted her.

“According to the journal of the original owner, the piece was discovered in a limestone cave just outside of Coptos. It had been sealed in a clay jar.”

Grant closed his eyes and tried to picture the vessel and imagine the thrill of discovery. “What happened to the jar?”

“It had been sealed with beeswax, and the boy who found it unfortunately broke the jar while trying to open it. The shards were thrown away.”

The sorrow in her voice touched him. It meant something to him that she appreciated the loss as much as he did. “What year was it found?”

“Probably 1951. It was purchased by the collector from the boy’s family in 1962. They’d emigrated from Egypt to the US at great personal expense and sold a few family treasures to get back on their feet financially.”

“Who was the collector?”

He watched her purse her lips. She looked down at her fingertips where they rested on the edge of the case. “I’m not at liberty to-”

“His name was Charles Layton, wasn’t it?”

“No fair trying to guess. Do you know him?”

“I met him once, several years ago. He’s paid next to nothing for a number of rare artifacts over the years. He befriended displaced foreign nationals and managed to get his hands on things that should have been donated to museums.” Grant shook his head. He wanted the scroll just so he could see it on public display-something Layton never allowed with his ill-gotten treasures. “Has it been translated?”

“Roughly.”

He leaned toward her and drank in the enticing scent of her perfume. “Tell me more.”

Did he imagine that she blushed when his gaze dropped to the delicate neckline of her blouse?

“The translator believed it might have been a memoir of sorts. An account of two lovers who ran away together.”

“Lovers?” There was something about the way she formed the word. The tip of her tongue peeked between her perfect teeth, tantalizing and sweet. “Is the complete translation included in the price?”

She gave him a dark look. “Normally that’s extra, but Mr. Greer left instructions that we should accommodate any special requests you had.”

Grant held back a laugh. He could think of a number of special requests he’d bet good money Matthew Greer would never sanction. He gave her a languid smile. “Tell me everything you know.”

Cait walked around the display case, putting the ancient treasure safely between her and Grant. The look in his dark eyes and the arrogant set of his jaw told her he was enjoying this way too much. Having her at his beck and call was not part of her job description, but she couldn’t resist the allure of the remarkable story. She took a deep breath and began.

“The first glyph is a woman’s name-Nayari. The consensus is the story was written about her, possibly dictated to a scribe. According to this, she was a concubine in the house of a magistrate named Ammonptah. His name appears in the cartouche below hers.”

The butterflies in Cait’s stomach fled the moment she began to tell the story depicted on the scroll. This was a part of her job she loved. Learning the history of an artwork or artifact gave her even more pleasure than the work itself sometimes. The story Charles Layton had recorded in the accompanying journal was tragic and compelling. One look into Grant Pierson’s bottomless brown eyes and she knew he was hooked already, just as she’d been the moment she began reading.

He ran one finger over the edge of the glass case. “Some say Ammonptah was related to the Pharaoh Seti II, is that right?” he asked, his expression distant.

Cait nodded at his astute question. Very few people knew details of that obscure period in Egyptian history. “That’s an unsubstantiated rumor. Some say Ammonptah was Seti II’s elder brother, the son of a princess from Asia traded to the Pharaoh Merneptah. Others believe he was the child of a servant and his lineage was suspect. Either way, he wanted Seti’s throne and was ruthless enough to try anything to get it.”

“This seems like it’s going to be a long story.” Grant checked his watch, and her heart sank a little. How could the tale be boring him already?

“If you’re in a hurry, I can fax you a synopsis of the trans-”

“Actually, I’m starving. How about you?”

Cait felt lightheaded for a millisecond. Was he actually asking her to dinner? “Well…” Normally, that was forbidden, but Mr. Greer had said to do anything necessary to pique Grant Pierson’s interest in the piece.

“Do you like Del Monaco’s?” he asked.

The most exclusive restaurant in town? Who wouldn’t? “Sure.”

“Why don’t you tell me more about the concubine and her ruthless master over dinner?”

“I shouldn’t.” Cait’s mind whirled around the idea of just this one time in her life, actually breaking a rule. Who would know? And since it was a personal request of Mr. Greer’s favorite client…