Bernie sat and twirled the pen in her fingers, musing on her stupidity. How could she not have realised? She'd never caught her name but surely she'd have recognised the other woman anywhere. And why hadn't Serena recognised her? After the night they'd had, Bernie felt like she could flatter herself a little bit. The fact that it was nearly 30 years ago didn't seem to matter. She knew she'd changed her hair quite drastically soon after, going much shorter and blonder, the bright shade showing up her reddish-brown roots to shame. But she had liked the way it made her look more self-assured and made her feel less like a schoolgirl. It felt very much like her now, the way that Serena had taken Edward's name all those years ago and had kept it because it effortlessly tripped off the tongue. The Harvard beginning and beyond bore the name Campbell and while she thought it was a great way to wind up her mother at the time, the novelty of being shot down in flames with Edward had very quickly worn off. But instead of lamenting at the name she had foolishly saddled herself with in her profession, she had made it her own and flung it around to make a reputation for herself. Bernie appreciated that. Serena was very resourceful.
As for Bernie's hair, the previous style was in a pre-Marcus era and that didn't suit him. He knew her as a blonde, he'd never really cared for her natural colour (too much effort to dye her muff and really, who did that but glamorous spies in wartime?) and after so many years, she didn't think she did either.
She tapped impatiently on the desk when all those images came flooding back like a forgotten film reel.
August 1985, a house party in Stepney
Through the cigarette smoke she saw faces, ages, clothes of all kinds while she lounged in the semi dark in a tight black dress, turquoise jacket slung over her shoulders. She couldn't even remember his name; around her height, sandy blonde hair and an eager face. Another posh boy. She laughed at his joke but it wasn't that funny. She made him wait while she turned to someone next to her and engaged in pointless conversation but she had little excuse to continue, considering following him to one of the spare bedrooms so they could languidly shag, bored by the company and drunk on beer. Except, like a bolt of lightning, there she was, just as Bernie had looked up and taken his hand. The girl in the purple dress looked over his shoulder to look straight at her. She turned to him and chatted for a few seconds, Bernie still holding his hand like she was rehearsing for a production of Romeo and Juliet. He looked at Bernie and pulled her up, told her that he was free and she'd better not pass up the opportunity. She was too tipsy to think straight and let him lead her there. Only when the door closed, it wasn't by either of them. She'd followed them there. He collapsed onto the bed while the mysterious girl asked her if she really wanted to.
'I think so' Bernie said uncertainly, not sure what she was agreeing to. The girl was pretty, dark hair curling on her shoulder and intense eyes. There was a gleeful twitch of the lips and Bernie felt excitement snake through her body. She didn't know why but when the girl walked past her to the boy on the bed, whispered in his ear and slowly undid his waistband, Bernie knew she couldn't let her go. Sliding his trousers down, she smiled at him in a way that made Bernie's heart lurch. She wanted this girl to look at her that way. It didn't take long for what she wanted to come true. She shed her clothes for that inviting smile, not for that boy.
