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I like it in this city when two worlds collide.
(Adele “Hometown Glory")
IAC, 1991
“Miss Madison, we are so pleased that you could find the time to join us for the river cruise this year,” Antoine Goulart from the International Astronautical Federation greets her when Margo approaches a small group of a dozen fellow IAC attendees in the lobby of the hotel.
“Yes, someone made a very strong argument about this to me,” she replies dryly, more to herself than to Goulart.
“Splendid!” Antoine Goulart excitedly puts a tick behind her name on his list and moves along to a group of Japanese scientists.
She can feel his presence before he even speaks.
“This should be fun,” Sergei hums from behind her. He is keeping the usual professional distance between them, but Margo would be fooling herself if she wouldn’t admit to herself that the measure for what she considered professional with him had been lowered over the last years.
She turns around to him and the corners of her mouth tug upwards when she sees the twinkle in his eyes. He has obviously prepared for this trip because around his neck hangs a silver Zenit-E film camera.
“I still can’t believe that you convinced me to join,” she mumbles in his direction.
“How can we hope to find water on Mars if we haven’t even explored London’s iconic waterway by boat,” he says with a chuckle.
“Was this your strongest argument last night?” she drawls, pondering the sequence of events that had led her to postpone a handful of meetings planned for the afternoon to join Sergei for the IAC-organized river cruise, “Remind me to stop agreeing to ideas you have after your third drink.”
“Oh, but that’s when I have my best ideas.”
The group sets in motion in front of them, obviously guided by the energetic waving of Antoine Goulart at the head of the group.
“You definitely seem excited about this,” she retorts with a glance at the camera around his neck while they fall in at the tail end of the group, “though, are you trying to make a statement about the state of the Soviet technology with your camera?”
“Please,” he feigns a hurt look, “why would I opt for one of these new flimsy digital models you Americans are so fond of? This sturdy piece of art has literally survived a moon landing.” He gives the camera a loving pat to emphasize his point.
“Are you trying to tell me that this exact camera has flown to the moon?” she challenges him.
“Well, maybe not this exact camera,” Sergei concedes with a wink, “but Leonov did take the first photograph on the moon with this fine piece.”
Margo is about to quip back a reply but Goulart is ushering for them to enter the chartered bus that will take them to the cruise departure point.
* * * * * * *
The bus drops them off just under the foot of the Tower Bridge and by the time Margo has gotten off, a pesky VP of a German engine manufacturer involves her in an unwanted conversation about their new electric propulsion system.
She finds Sergei again at the rear end of the river cruise ship. He is busily clicking away on his camera and Margo decides to just study him for a moment. He looks happy, elated even. She wonders if he is like this in Moscow or if London brings out this carefree version of him. She has long come to accept the IAC as her own relaxing getaway from Houston. Sergei certainly made sure of that, always coaxing her into dinner, drinks at the bar, river cruises. She suppresses a smile at this thought.
The cruise ship sets in motion slowly carrying them upstream and below the Tower Bridge. He hangs his camera back around his neck and leans against the railing. Margo grabs two glasses of white wine from a cocktail table nearby and joins him.
“I think this must be the bluest sky I have ever seen in London,” he acknowledges.
She hums in agreement and hands him one of the glasses. In accepting the glass his fingers brush against hers for the briefest of moments leaving an electric buzz in their wake.
“Do you ever wonder how things were if we could also visit each other in Moscow and Houston?” he asks thoughtfully.
“When would we even find the time for that?” Her answer is one of a coward. She knows what he is trying to convey here.
“Mmh… I would make room for it,” he says decisively, his eyes trailing along the riverfront, his hair slightly ruffled from the soft breeze. Margo allows herself a minute to wallow in this alternative reality, where no iron curtain limited their freedom. Maybe in Houston, they would be getting sushi at Nippon or he could join her at 11:59 after a set. In Moscow, she imagines him giving her a tour through the Memorial Museum of Cosmonautics.
“It certainly is a nice thought.”
“Someday,” he says and he sounds so wistful that Margo doesn’t have it in her to object to his optimism.
“Someday I will come back to Houston and you will see Moscow,” he pauses and smiles at her, “until then we will have London.”
As if to underline his words the river curves with Cleopatra’s Needle to their right and the newest addition to the city’s skyline comes into view. The visionary London Eye perfectly blends with the historic buildings of the Houses of Parliament.
* * * * * * *
After the river cruise, Goulart purposefully steers the group into a pub, which he claims to be London’s best. Margo cannot exactly agree with this assessment and during dinner, she catches herself multiple times wishing she and Sergei would have sneaked off after the cruise. Whenever she catches his gaze across the table, where Mr. We-have-a-new-electric-propulsion-engine has tied him up in conversation, she doubts that he feels much different.
Maybe she will take the initiative and explore a local jazz club with him next year.
When they finally make it back to the hotel lobby, they have played this game often enough to know that both of them don’t want their evening to end just yet.
„Would you care to join me for a drink at the bar?“ he asks softly.
He is all shy now and she is unable to stop the blush appearing on her face. The sudden flutter of her heart is a familiar sensation by now.
„I would like that.“
She catches a relieved smile forming on his face at her affirmation and for the first time, she becomes aware that she would very much like to press her lips to this smile.
Oh.
She quickly casts her eyes down to her shoes, the open bar behind them, the potted plant by the front desk — anywhere but him.
„I need to make a phone call first though,“ she mumbles glancing at her watch, „Meet you back here in half an hour?“
It isn’t an excuse. She really has to call Houston. It doesn’t change the fact that she is thankful for this quick break.
She prays that he won’t follow her to the elevator. She isn’t ready for that. That’s for later. Maybe. When a glass of brandy (or two) at the dimly lit hotel bar has given her the courage to stand just a little bit closer to him. Then she might allow herself to explore this thought further.
It’s either luck or he has just gotten very good at reading her because Sergei doesn’t make the move to follow her. He just smiles at her.
„I will get us a table.“
* * * * * * *
The memory of his fingers around hers in the elevator is still fresh when she picks up her latest “order” two weeks later. When Frank, the record store owner, hands her the usual brown paper bag, a warm, tingly feeling spreads through her. She briefly wonders if Frank has any idea which role he is playing in this grand scheme of colliding worlds.
Later, after Emma has gone home for the day, Margo sets about the task of unpacking the contents of the bag. Sergei had been unusually secretive about it during their phone conversation.
She is surprised when, next to a less-known Duke Ellington album, she finds a thin envelope tucked into the bag. This is atypical. It isn’t part of their established pattern and she worries that he may have just endangered them both by slipping her classified information. Until now, they have gone to great lengths to avoid any evidence of their collaboration. They cannot afford to become sloppy.
Nervously her fingers open the envelope. Out of it tumbles not the dreaded note of Soviet engine designs but a photo of the Tower Bridge.
She gently touches the image wallowing in the memories of that day for a moment. He must have sent her a print of the photo he had taken during the river cruise.
The record is a nice addition to the collection on display in her office, but this print deserves a spot where it is safe from the prying eyes of visitors to her office.
She pulls out a spare frame from the drawer under her desk and in a couple of purposeful strides, she crosses the distance to her en suite bedroom.
Next to her necklaces and earrings, Sergei’s now framed photo of the Tower Bridge finds a place on her dresser as a daily reminder of an exceptional beautiful blue-skyed day in London.