Work Text:
The crackling fire in the grate did little to relieve the gloom of the winter's afternoon. Light entered the room through the two large picture windows behind the heavy oak desk, however, the little that filtered in, that day, was quickly absorbed by the dark wood panelling that vied with several well-filled floor to ceiling bookshelves to dominate the room's decor.
Stood by the fire, a man was ostensibly studying the pictures that adorned the chimney breast. Tall, with a shock of dark hair that crowned clean shaven vulpine features, he was fashionably dressed in a dark suit of expensive material which he wore with an air of casual elegance, in marked contrast to the younger, shabbier version visible in the group of students captured and immortalised in the images.
The door to the room opened to the rattle of china, rousing from his apparent reverie. He stepped over, and with a touch of ironic gallantry, took the tray from the woman bearing it. She was at least as tall as him, with flame red hair caught up in a neat plait, which snaked thickly down her back. Intelligent blue eyes were framed in a serious face, bordering on the severe, but a hint of humour and sensitivity prevented it from seeming cold. Her heavy skirt swirled demurely below ankle length, but her blouse and vest were noticeably masculine in their practicality.
"Red, Helen?" asked the man, placing the tray on a richly decorated wooden table between two high backed armchairs. "It suits you, you know."
"To be sure, sir," she replied with the soft hint of a brogue, "'tis most fitting for the uppity daughter of minor Irish nobility."
He smiled. "Subterfuge and play acting. You always could make a place for yourself, no matter how little you were wanted."
"And you, Nikola, could always wrap a barb in a florid compliment."
"What fun is a rose without thorns?"
"Why are you here, Nikola?"
"Can't a man call on an old friend? Especially one as lovely as yourself. You've not changed a bit," he said waving at the portrait above the fire.
"You persuaded me to move my entire life across an ocean to a new continent, and, on my arrival in a strange land, ignored me for months."
"You've never needed my help to fall on your feet, my dearest Helen."
"Now," she continued, as if he hadn't spoken, "you're suddenly here. So, I ask again, what do you want?"
Nikola made no reply, but reached inside his jacket and removed an envelope, which he passed to the irate woman, who took it without further comment.
*****
She folded the letter following the original creases in the flimsy, almost translucent, paper and replaced it, carefully, in its envelope. The crackling of the paper drowned out the solid tick of the grandfather clock in the corner, and the little sounds of the man sat across from her, allowing her the illusion of solitude to digest the contents. With a small sigh, she placed the envelope on the table, well away from the tray with its pair of cups and ornate tea pot.
"Tea?"
"But, of course, Helen. How else would you greet such news?"
She smiled, wistfully, pouring milk into both cups. "New York may be my home, now, Nikola. But my heart still remembers the forms of my younger days."
"And, in any crisis, large or small, a true subject of Her Imperial Majesty, turns to a soothing cup of tea."
"Indeed," she replied, handing the man one cup, now filled with steaming liquid. "And, as it seems that I have another journey ahead of me, I see no harm in taking a moment or two to reflect and plan over a cup."
"In Serbia," he replied, flashing his impish smile at her for a brief second, "we would drink brandy and pray for good luck. But tea will do, and fortune follows the brave."
The sounds of a commotion on the street, bells from the roof of a police carriage passing swiftly through the afternoon traffic, drifted up and disturbed the stillness of the room, drawing their gazes to the window, and the view of the watery sun as it dropped towards the artificial horizon of the rooftops beyond the skeletal trees of the park.
"You've grown to like the place, already," said Nikola, softly.
"Yes," she admitted. "It's not London, and it resembles Oxford even less, but it does hold a certain brash charm..."
"Like me, you mean?" There was a disingenuous note in the question, and he dropped his now empty cup back onto the saucer, and returned the pair carelessly to the tray, to a visible wince from their owner.
"Hmm."
"Ah, Helen," he said, clutching at his chest. "I'm mortally wounded by your indifference!"
She chose to ignore his theatrics. "Yes, well... I am increasingly convinced that you were right to persuade me to extend my work to the Americas."
"This," he gestured vaguely in the direction of the letter, "is not the first occurrence by a long way. Settlers have reported inexplicable things since they first arrived here, as did the Spaniards in the south, and the natives have many folk tales that sound like they refer to abnormals."
"The stories we use to scare our children often have some basis is reality. I've seen that repeatedly in Europe. And, my God, you are a story with which one could scare legions of children."
The man stood, adjusted his vest, and bowed in the European fashion. Pulling out his pocket watch to check the time, he found that the wintry light was no longer sufficient to read it by. With a grin that revealed dentation that could fuel a thousand nightmares, he reached out to the nearest of the lamps on the wall, and lit the whole room with a single touch.
Helen sighed. "I wish you wouldn't do that."
"The teeth or the lights?"
"Either, both."
"What? You would deprive me of all my party tricks? It seems it really is time for me to take my leave."
Helen stood, and walked with Nikola to the small hallway, as brightly lit as the room they had just left.
"Did you have to turn on every lamp in the apartment?"
After collecting his coat and hat and cane from a stand in the corner, he turned to her. "If you insist on not maintaining a staff, who else will do it for you?"
"You know very well why I have no staff."
"Yes, Helen, I do. You are a stubborn, independent woman, who trusts no one."
"Enough, Nikola," she said opening the door. "I'm tired and I have a journey to plan."
"Yes, indeed. Do enjoy your excursion north of the border." He bowed again in the doorway, taking her hand. "Might I call on you again on your return, Dr. Magnus?"
"Yes, Mr. Tesla, you may. I will send word."
"Stay safe, Helen," he muttered against the back of her hand as he kissed it. Then he straightened, turned on his heel, and left.