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CHAPTER 22
CASSIE
Beatrice’s funeral was held at St. Peter’s Church in Eaton Square with an overflow crowd out the door. She’d taught at Oxford for fifty years, so an army of former students, numerous colleagues, and many members from Parliament wanted to pay their respects.
Eloquent eulogies were delivered and traditional hymns sung, but nothing captured the essence of this unique woman. The bulk of the words praising Beatrice focused on the public Professor Emeritus Beatrice Louise Somerville, who was meticulous and fierce in her knowledge of the Byzantine world. But the private Beatrice—witty, unfailingly honest, and caring—was someone few people ever got to know.
Cassie and Lucy stood with the rest of the congregation to allow members of Beatrice’s family to leave first. A stern-faced Michael Burke walked down the aisle with Margaret Astley, one of Beatrice’s many nieces. It was a gracious gesture to include him as a member of their family. Margaret caught her eye and gave a slight nod as they passed by. She had an appointment later this afternoon with Margaret. It likely had something to do with Cassie’soffer to help arrange Beatrice’s vast library to be shipped to Oxford.
“That was nice.” Lucy wiped her tears away. “I’m sure Beatrice would have—”
“Hated it,” she whispered. “You know as well as I do Beatrice wouldn’t want so much fuss.”
“You’re right,” Lucy whispered. “Is there a reception afterwards?”
“There’s a private gathering for the family.”
Once most of the church had cleared, Lucy asked, “Do you need to leave right away? Justin has the girls today. I’m free if you want to have lunch.”
“I’d love to.”
Cassie and Lucy were seated at a table in Saffron, one of London’s trendy Indian restaurants. Decorated with honey-colored wood paneling and floral-shaped Art Deco overhead lamps, the restaurant had an intimate setting. Cassie pushed away her barely touched chicken tikka masala and lifted her glass of wine. “To Beatrice. My mentor and dear friend.”
Lucy blinked away tears. “Now I’m going to start crying in public. Ever since I had babies, I cry at the drop of a hat. I don’t know how Justin stands it.”
“He loves you. It’s the only thing that matters.”
Lucy peered closer. “You are not the Cassie I first met in LA. Nothing ruffled you, but now you’ve become sentimental.”
Cassie wiped her eyes with the napkin. “Being around Beatrice and Michael and seeing all their shared, tender moments was eye-opening. They were not only friends, but longtime lovers. I’m going to miss her so much.” She choked on a sob.
Lucy rummaged through her purse and placed a package of tissues on the table. “Here.”
Cassie blew her nose and took another sip of wine. “We should change the subject, or else we’re going to sit here and cry all afternoon.”
“Good idea,” Lucy said. “So, tell me about this mystery man with the amber eyes and messy hair. The picture of the boat you texted me was amazing.”
Cassie turned the wine glass stem between her fingers, struggling to find the words to describe their time together.
The waiter came by to drop off the bill.
Cassie took it. “My turn.”
“Thanks.” Lucy smiled at her. “Okay, tell me about your date. Did you wear your new dress?”
“Buying that dress was the best decision I’ve made in a long time,” Cassie said, incapable of pushing away all those sensual memories. “We shared an unforgettable night.”
“So, what’s the problem? You don’t look happy.”
“It’s hard to explain, but when we first met, we made up nicknames for each other. We didn’t share our full identity until the morning after,” Cassie said, her cheeks getting hot. “It was a silly game.”
Lucy stared at her in wide-eyed wonder. “No way. This is incredible. Keep going.”
“Anyway, when I told him my last name, he shut down. I went back to the hotel. I never saw him again.”
“He never tried to contact you?” Lucy asked in surprise.
“No, but recently, my mom called to tell me the hotel sent a package to me. A note was included that said, ‘Please forgive me.’ Signed only with the initial, ‘E.’”
