Chapter Text
Time, time, time
See what's become of me
“Which part of ‘I need my car today’ are you struggling to understand?”
Serena shivered in the chill wind, trying not to let her teeth chatter as she bit off the words in German. She could not be late to this meeting. Everything hinged on—
“Hello? Hello?”
He’d hung up on her. The absolute nerve—
Serena clenched her jaw to keep from screaming.
This would happen to her. Of course it would. It wasn’t enough that that Monticello scholar had done a hatchet job on her. It wasn’t enough that said hatchet job had emboldened Guy Self and rest of the old boys at Christie’s to call into question the authenticity of the Jefferson Lafites she had obtained from Tressler, and by extension every other Tressler-sourced wine that she had brought to auction over the last decade. It wasn’t enough that her entire professional reputation was on the line, that if she wasn’t vindicated she could kiss her position at Sotheby’s goodbye, no matter how much she had done over the years to gain them inroads on the rare wine market.
Of course her rental car had to break down into the bargain, right before Christmas when not a single mechanic was willing to take it on.
And of course she was alone when it happened.
Not that Edward would have been much help, even before the divorce left her single on the wrong side of fifty. Probably would have popped the bonnet, mucked about making things even worse, and then abdicated all responsibility to instead drink off the stock of Yquem she had stowed in the boot as a little present to the head scientist at the testing facility, assuming he had the taste to appreciate it.
Not a bribe. Absolutely not a bribe. Just insurance. As if Guy wasn’t probably knocking back a tipple with him already.
God, did she actually miss Edward? Nonsense, of course she didn’t. She just missed…someone.
A person to lean on, even if they immediately collapsed in a drunken puddle.
“It probably should’ve been a bad sign the way his eyes lit up when he heard your job,” she muttered, as she dialed the mechanic’s phone number again with stiff fingers. It rang and rang and rang with no reply.
Elinor probably wouldn’t have been much better either if she had come, would have acted like Serena herself had caused the car to break down to hinder her daughter specifically. Not that there had been any chance of her tagging along as soon as she found out that Serena wasn’t going to some picturesque Black Forrest ski lodge or happening Berlin htospot, but rather the GSF-Forschungszentrum für Umwelt und Gesundheit, a government research institute in a desolate northern suburb of Munich where some upstart with a pocket protector was going to validate what Serena’s tastebuds and years of expertise had already told all her doubters about the authenticity of her Thomas Jefferson collection.
That, or destroy her career.
A work trip? Elinor had said with a deeply skeptical eye roll when Serena had invited her a few weeks back. What, so you can stick me in the hotel room while you run off to get sloshed on vinegar from some old count’s basement? No thank you.
The phone stopped ringing and informed her that she should try her call again later.
“Oh, come on,” Serena moaned. She stared at her car, desperately trying to think of any solution that didn’t involve calling Guy Self and asking him for help.
“Engine been growling or whining?”
A turn of her head with skeptical brow already raised brought Serena’s eyes to a slender woman on the steps of her hotel, shoulders hunched slightly against the wind in a long white coat. Discounting the coat, she was singularly underdressed for the weather in black skinny jeans and white trainers, no hat over her flyaway blonde hair. An unlit fag dangled out of the corner of her mouth, slightly muffling her words:
“Any intermittent smell of hot or burning rubber?”
“Define intermittent,” Serena said, crossing her arms.
The woman sauntered over, cast an eye over the mangled guts of Serena’s rental.
“Alternator might be cactus,” she proclaimed. No trace of a German accent; a fellow Brit, then.
“Is that bad?”
“It is if you want to drive anywhere.”
Serena barked a laugh. “Funny, you don’t look like a mechanic. Well, apart from the fag.”
“Nothing so practical, I’m afraid.” The woman ducked her head a little, smiling at Serena through her fringe. “Can you get a ride with someone?”
“I could…” Serena hedged. “I could also eat glass, or drink arsenic, or hurl myself off the nearest available bridge.”
“Not really the right part of the city for that,” the other woman observed, a slight smirk threatening to show itself on her face. “What do they do, sing along out-of-tune on the radio?”
“If only,” Serena said darkly. “No, it’s…” She hesitated for a moment, but it had been a very trying day, no, make that a month, and if you couldn’t spill your dirty laundry to a complete stranger, who could you spill it to? “I’m on a work trip, but he’s not my colleague, he’s—my rival, I supposed you’d call him, if you want to be dramatic. I had to be on the same flight as him and I’m afraid I threw an absolute fit after we landed, threw my weight around and insisted on separate cars.”
“Oh dear,” the woman said. She seemed torn between amusement and genuine sympathy. “Well, you can’t call him now. Never surrender!”
“Thank you!” Serena said. She knew the other woman had to be teasing her, a little, but she had said the words so sincerely that Serena couldn’t help but feel grateful for the moral support. “Besides, they left an hour ago. I gave them a head start so I wouldn’t have to see them in the lobby. So even if I felt like eating crow—”
“Heaven forbid.”
“—I couldn’t ask them to turn around and come back for me now.”
“Absolutely not.”
Besides,” Serena added with a flippant smile she wished she actually felt, “I have a passion for bearing life-long, take-it-to-the-grave grudges.”
The other woman’s eyes darkened and she gave a little shiver; was she cold? “Where are you headed?”
“The GSF,” Serena said. “It’s—”
The woman’s eyes widened. “Snap! I’m headed that way myself.”
Serena raised an eyebrow. “Really?” The rare wines world was a small one, and she didn’t recognize the woman. She must be contracting with them on another matter. Serena tried to remember what other projects Henrik had said that the institute took on.
“Not my usual home base,” the woman said with a shrug. “But it was a special project, so I got sent out on loan—I could give you a ride, if you don’t mind?”
Serena beamed. “Oh, you’re a lifesaver!”
“Bernie’s just fine,” she said with a grin, offering her hand for a shake.
“Serena,” she replied, clasping it eagerly. Bernie had a strong grip, like she was used to proving herself to rooms full of men who judged you by your handshake, but she didn’t crush Serena’s hand. Her fingers were surprisingly warm; she must not have been standing outside very long. Up close her eyes were so dark, so much more than Serena would have guessed from the fairness of her hair.
Bernie coughed a bit, cigarette wobbling slightly. “Well, uh. Shall we get on?”
“Right,” Serena said, shaking herself out of the odd daze she had fallen into and retracting her hand; what had possessed her to keep holding on? “Lead the way.”
Bernie’s car turned out to be a sporty little number that gave Serena momentary qualms about entrusting her life to a stranger’s driving on the icy Munich streets. But gift horses, mouths, the looking in thereof, etc. She just thanked her lucky stars there was enough room in the boot for the Yquem once Bernie managed to shove a small mountain of Lycra and running shoes out of the way.
“Sorry,” the other woman muttered, “I keep meaning to clear it out—”
“I had a suspicion you were absent-minded,” Serena said, and at Bernie’s confused look, nodded towards the fag at the corner of her mouth, quirked her eyebrow. “I think you’re meant to light it.”
Bernie gave an awkward laugh as she cleared several take-out containers off the passenger seat for Serena, taking the cigarette from behind her ear and tucking it back into a carton from her pocket. “I’ve had this cigarette longer than I’ve had this car. My husband—my ex-husband—he made me quit when…a long time ago. So I tore up every cigarette I had, except this one. Thought I’d keep it as a symbol of my freedom, my…independence.”
Serena settled gingerly into the seat, trying to calculate the likelihood of ketchup stains on her white silk trousers. “As symbols of freedom go,” she said tartly, “it’s a bit pants.”
“Oi,” Bernie said in pretended outrage, “free ride, remember?”
“I take it all back,” Serena said. “You’re a genius at symbolism. Poets swoon at your feet.”
“Cheek,” Bernie said, but she was grinning as she made her way around the front of the car to take her own seat, tossing a plastic cup into the back as she did so. “What’s a good symbol of freedom, then, Fraulein?”
“Oh, a nice bottle of Shiraz…” Serena winked at her new friend. “Don’t tell any of my coworkers I said that, mind. Half of them refuse to believe Australia’s not still a colony, let alone that they can produce a decent vintage.”
“Sounds like it would go really nice with a fag.” Bernie’s voice had gone rather gravelly. Serena’s stomach did a rather lovely little flip for no reason whatsoever.
“Oh dear, you’ve clearly made a great sacrifice with your husband,” she said as they pulled out into the street. “No need to continue on my account though, if you want to roll down the window…”
“No, that’s all right.” She smiled at Serena, wide and open. “I don’t think I need it today after all.”
That smile did inexplicable things to Serena’s heart rate. She looked away quickly, fussed with her pendant. “So the husband became an ex and you still stuck to it? Not a fellow member of the embittered ex-wives club then, I take it?”
Bernie shrugged, eyes back on the road. “Hard to be embittered when it’s all your fault, isn’t it?”
She said it casually, but it was plain that the hurt lurked beneath the surface, a little line working its way across her forehead. Serena wanted to smooth away that line with her thumb, which was an inappropriate and entirely ridiculous sentiment to have about a stranger—a female stranger, no less—and so she leapt instead into work talk. Nothing about the current debacle, but Serena had a vast repertoire of anecdotes that she liked to use to liven up an auction and charm an extra bid, everything from botched flirting with customs officials to crawling around a mucky basement on her hands and knees trying to find where a priceless bottle had rolled. She found herself adding little flourishes to the stories, putting on voices for the different characters and exaggerating her own pratfalls, just to make Bernie smile, and then laugh—what a laugh! It immediately made Serena want to make her laugh again.
Bernie for her part was a wonderful audience, but didn’t let much slip about herself; Serena found out with a little prodding that she had two children around Elinor’s age, and that she had once been in the army. A regular woman of mystery! She didn’t say what her current job was, and Serena enjoyed a little internal speculation as they drove towards their destination. Perhaps the civilian side of things, a contractor from the armed forces who needed materials testing done? Or perhaps a love of history discovered in far-off lands had led her to archaeology, and she was here for carbon-dating? Something rather grand, Serena thought. Something that fit a woman who drove too fast and stubbornly chewed unlit cigarettes and had a voice like deep, rich whiskey.
She found herself almost disappointed when they pulled into a parking space; the time had flown by. She fished in her purse for her phone so that she could get Bernie’s number; maybe they could get together for drinks before either of them had to hop back on a plane. Wait—
“Bernie, this is a staff parking space.”
“Well, yes,” Bernie said. “I work here, remember?”
Ice formed in Serena’s gut. “I thought you had contracted them—you said you were on loan—”
“On loan to them,” Bernie corrected. “They needed someone who’d done a lot of work in thermoluminescence—”
The dread in Serena’s gut deepened as she recognized one of the ridiculous pseudo-scientific terms Guy Self had been throwing around the whole flight as if he had invented them.
“I’m doing my final presentation today,” Bernie was saying. “A bunch of wines supposed owned by Thomas Jefferson, discovered under very vague circumstances by this shady character called Tressler—Serena, are you all right? Serena?”