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CHAPTER 44
CASSIE
After a simple breakfast, Leo was busy making a few phone calls on the patio. Construction would begin soon on the Rose Village project, and he had a considerable number of details to address.
Cassie took a quick shower and wandered into Beatrice’s office. Familiar research books in the built-in bookcases lined two walls. She’d spent hours in here with Beatrice arguing, laughing, and learning from her. A wave of sadness surrounded her.
With a heavy sigh, she sat at the desk. Leafing through a tall stack of papers, she came across the hard copy of her dissertation Beatrice had requested. Cassie had asked for feedback a few times, but Beatrice always demurred, saying she hadn’t got around to reading it. The rainbow of post-it flags attached to various pages suggested Beatrice had read it after all. Her pulse ticked up with excitement to read Beatrice’s feedback.
She thumbed through the document. “What the hell?” she muttered. She discovered copious red-ink comments. Some were praise, but others, in characteristic Beatrice style, were sharp criticism. On the last page, Beatrice wrote:
This is acceptable work, but you’re holding back on the passion for your subject. You’re a talented writer. When you’re ready, share your passion with the world!
Holding back on the passion for your subject.Beatrice was right. Her dissertation was not her original idea because she’d allowed Owen to talk her out of a radical feminist perspective of Psyche. Instead, she’d written a watered-down version. Something safe and non-controversial. Well, wasn’t that the story of her life?
Preparing to stand, Cassie noticed a small key poking out of a lock in a drawer. She’d never seen inside it before. She turned the key and opened the drawer. It was piled high with letters, some dating back over twenty years. The letters were from students and scholars from all over the world. They ranged from praise for her research to requests for assistance to entreaties to come study with her. She had no idea if Beatrice ever replied to any of them, but she kept the letters, so they must have been important to her.
She’d never heard Beatrice mention inviting any students to Meraki, and that was too bad. Because here on Crete, away from the demands of Oxford, Beatrice reveled in reading and writing unpublished research that could have been shared with young scholars.
“Here you are.” Leo came up behind her and kissed the nape of her neck. “What’s all this?”
“Fan mail for Beatrice.” She held up a handful of letters. “I also stumbled upon a copy of my dissertation. Beatrice unleashed a torrent of comments. Here, read her final remarks.” She handed it to Leo.
Leo scanned the page. “She wants you to write a book.”
She’d never thought of writing a book. Distinguished professors like Beatrice wrote books, not a woman with a doctorate but no job in academia. She didn’t possess that level of credibility.
“Is that what you think she meant? I thought she meant submitting a paper to a symposium.”
“No way. You should write a book.”
“Be serious, Leo.”
“I am serious.”
A car horn honked outside.
He lifted her to her feet. “That’s our ride.” Looking out the window, he said, “I wish we could stay longer, but we’ll come back soon.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I love it here.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close for a deep kiss. “And I love the idea of you and me here.”
The car honked again.
“Let’s go.” She gave him a quick kiss.
