Page 42 of One Night Together

CHAPTER 19

CASSIE

The last of the sunset peeked through the cloudy sky when Cassie arrived in London. It had been months since she was last in Eaton Square. Stately, white, nineteenth-century homes with classical facades lined the street. She lifted her chin and focused on the present. London was rainy and gloomy, with too many people and too much traffic. Santorini weather and last night with Leo were like a long-ago dream.

She went up the steps to Beatrice’s home and rang the brass doorbell beside the high-gloss black door.

The door opened a crack and a pair of scrutinizing blue eyes peered through. “Ah, welcome back, Dr. P. It’s good to see you again,” Mrs. Mackay greeted her in her distinctive Scottish brogue. Rita Mackay had been Beatrice’s housekeeper for decades, and she refused to relent on using first names. Her only concession to familiarity was to use Cassie’s last initial instead of saying her last name, which she always got wrong. From her blunt haircut with severely short bangs to her white blouse, her tweed skirt, and down to her impeccably polished leather loafers, everything about Mrs. Mackay was no-nonsense.

“Hi, Mrs. Mackay. It’s good to see you too.” She stepped inside and onto the sumptuous black-and-cream marble floor entryway. “How is Beatrice?”

Mrs. Mackay pursed her lips together.

Oops. “Pardon me. How is Professor Somerville?”

“She’s a little better.” Mrs. Mackay’s expression relaxed. “I think she could have benefitted from a longer hospital stay, but you know the professor. No one can tell her what to do.”

“Is she taking her medications?”

“Aye. On that score she’s been cooperative. However, she insists on working late into the night doing final edits for her next book. It’s been impossible to get her to go to bed at a decent time.”

“Is she in the kitchen?” Cassie took off her jacket and handed it to Mrs. Mackay.

“Where else?” Mrs. Mackay gave her a dramatic roll of her eyes. “Why she insists on doing her work in the kitchen when she has a perfectly suitable office is a mystery to me.”

“I’ll go talk to her.”

“Very well, Dr. P.”

“Please, call me Cassie.”

“Never,” she said with a teasing smile. “I’ll take your bags to the guest room. I’m making a tofu stir fry for supper.”

“Beatrice eats tofu?”

“Tonight she will, and I’m hoping she won’t notice.” Mrs. Mackay let out a dramatic sigh. “She misses her roast beef and rich stews, but her family insists she eat healthier. It’s a daily struggle, but I persevere.”

If anyone could go to battle with Beatrice, it was Mrs. Mackay. The two women constantly bickered but were fiercely devoted to one another.

“I’m sure it will be fine,” Cassie said. “I promise to cheer you on.”

Cassie went down the hall past the grand drawing room with centuries-old paintings, damask wallpaper, and heavy red curtains. This had been one of Beatrice’s family’s homes, and now it belonged to the elderly spinster-scholar.

She took the stairs down to the kitchen. In these old townhomes, the kitchens were huge to accommodate the many formal dinner parties that used to be held during the late nineteenth-century. It was here Beatrice worked, with her gray hair piled in a bun on top of her head and dressed in her signature plaid skirt, sweater set, and orthopedic shoes. She was in her element sitting in a sunny-yellow nook with a laptop computer, surrounded by piles of paper and books. Her favorite blue-striped mug was at her side.

“Hi, Beatrice.”

Beatrice looked up. “Cassie!”

She gave Beatrice a big hug, noting she’d lost some weight.

“Come join me,” Beatrice said.

She pulled up a chair. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. Soon I’ll be back to my old self,” she replied, her breathing a bit labored. Her skin was sallow and as thin as parchment paper.

Beatrice was almost eighty-five years old. At her age, more medications and hospital visits made it difficult to bounce back.

---