"Famous last words, Laura," Laura Holt muttered angrily as she lowered the newspaper to her desk. It had been two weeks since she and "Remington Steele" - who was known to Laura as Harry Bryce-Davies, the Earl of Bensonhurst - had captured an international diamond smuggler. She had really thought that the furor over the mysterious Remington Steele would have died out by now. That something else would have captured the fickle imagination of the citizens of Los Angeles and the media.
Picking up the paper again, she read the article about Mr. Oliver's decision to turn state's witness and testify against the people for whom he had been smuggling the diamonds. That wouldn't have bothered Laura- except for the last paragraph of the story, which recounted the unmasking of one of the cities' premiere interior decorators by Laura Holt and her mysterious associate, Remington Steele, while investigating a drug ring.
The door between her office and that of Murphy Michaels came open as he entered, newspaper in hand. "Laura, have you seen-" he stopped, noticing the paper in her hands.
"I've *seen* it," she confirmed.
"I knew it was trouble when that guy decided to play detective," Murphy told her.
"We just have to give it a little more time, that's all," Laura insisted.
"It's been two *weeks*, Laura." Murphy unnecessarily pointed out. "Almost every client who's come in here as wanted to know if *Mr. Steele* is going to be helping on their case."
And more than a third of those had left when they'd gotten a negative response, Laura mused silently to herself. It had gotten so bad that she had been guiltily relieved when Harry, Lord Bryce-Davies, had informed her over dinner a week ago that he had to return to London to see to some important business matters. He'd tried to convince her to join him, but Laura had insisted that she couldn't take that much time away from the Agency- especially not after all of the recent publicity. "Maybe next time," she had responded.
"When's Lord Harry due back?" Murphy asked, interrupting Laura's thoughts, causing her to wonder if he might not be reading her mind.
"Oh, uh- today."
"Sure you can't convince him to stay in London for a while longer?" he asked, perching on the edge of her desk. "Till this thing dies down a little more, anyway? It's been kinda nice, don't you think?"
"What has?" Laura questioned, folding the paper and laying it aside as she recalled the flowers that Harry had ordered delivered to her house- a different bouquet every day. Flowers she'd almost thrown out after- .
"It being just us again. You and me. Like it used to be," Murphy said.
"Don't be silly, Murph," Laura said, rising and taking a file toward the reception area. "It's still just us."
"Yeah," he said, glaring at Bernice as the receptionist would have said something. "Right."
Laura stopped at Bernice's desk. "Bernice, could you file this and get me the Hancock file?"
"Sure."
"Laura, you're not listening," Murphy said. "Look, you still don't know anything about the guy."
"I know enough to be sure he's not running a scam, Murphy," Laura said, watching as Bernice dug into a file cabinet.
"Just a minute. There's something I think you should see," Murphy told her, then went into his office. Laura took the Hancock file from Bernice, then followed Murphy as far as the doorway, watching as her partner opened a desk drawer and pulled out a manila file folder. He came toward her, folder in hand, only to stop and grind his teeth softly as the object of this discussion pushed open the glass doors.
Laura heard the doors open, and noticed Murphy's reaction. As she was turning, Harry said, "Hello, there," his gaze fixing itself wholly on Laura.
"Harry," Laura said. "You're early."
"I finished up my business and realized that there was no reason for me to remain in London any longer than necessary. Bernice," he said, nodding in acknowledgement of the dark haired receptionist. "Hello, Murphy." That blue gaze fell to the folder in Murphy's hands. "Am I interrupting something?" he asked pointedly.
"No. Murphy was just going to show me something-" Laura turned back to Murphy, intending to ask about the file.
"I'll be in my office, Laura," Murphy announced, and turned to enter the door.
"But what about that file?" Laura asked, frowning.
She saw the look that exchanged between the two men as Murphy pulled the folder out of her reach. "It's not important. I'll talk to you about it - later." The door closed loudly behind him.
Harry tugged at his right ear with a rueful expression. "I'm afraid he still doesn't like me." He smiled at Laura. "You look tired," he told her, reaching out to touch a finger to her cheek.
Aware that Bernice was watching, Laura took Harry's arm and dragged him toward her own office. "We'll be in conference, Bernice."
"Shall I hold your calls?" Bernice asked with a knowing grin.
"Sounds like a good idea to me, Bernice," Harry replied with a smile that was filled with devilment as he disappeared into Laura's office. She closed the door behind them, and found herself wrapped in Harry's long arms, held close against his lean frame. "I missed you," he told her, placing light kisses along her brow.
"You didn't phone," she reminded him.
"I was too busy," he told her. "Meetings - I'd hoped that you would call me."
Laura had- once. But the private number that Harry had given her had been answered by a woman, who had icily informed Laura that Harry was - "busy". "I've been busy, too," Laura said now, pulling away from Harry's embrace. "I did get the flowers, though. Thank you." She moved toward the desk, putting the wide expanse between them.
"You're very welcome," Harry replied, watching her. "What's wrong, Laura?"
"Nothing," she told him, resting her hands on the back of her leather chair.
"How about dinner this evening, then?" Harry suggested. "And I'll tell you about my trip."
"I have- other plans," Laura said, and hoped her discomfort with the lie didn't show as he looked crestfallen.
"Another date?" Harry asked, then backed off. "I'm sorry. It's none of my business- I'll call you later," he said, turning toward the door.
"Harry-" Laura began, and he stopped, looking at her expectantly. "I'm meeting with a client this evening," she explained. "Something that was set up before I knew when you were coming back to LA."
"Ah. Then about stopping by after for a nightcap?" he said, looking relieved.
"I don't know how long I'm going to be."
"That's alright. I'll be home all evening," he assured her. "Just- stop by."
"I'll think about it," Laura said, unwilling to commit to another nightcap. Since that evening at Mr. Oliver's warehouse, the two of them had shared several nightcaps- either at Laura's house or Harry's condo.
"Good. Well, I suppose I'll be going."
"That might be a good idea," Laura agreed, moving to follow him out of the door into the reception area. "After the last two weeks-"
Harry looked at her. "Things haven't calmed down yet?"
"Not yet," Bernice told him. "I know of at least three prospective clients who walked out because they couldn't get Laura's assurance that Remington Steele would be helping her with their case."
Harry's eyes widened. "Really? I thought two weeks would be ample time for people to forget-?"
"So did I. But the press has other ideas," she said, taking the morning edition of the Tribune that Bernice was holding out to her.
Harry scanned the article about Mr. Oliver, then winced as he noticed the mention of Remington Steele. "They do love a good mystery, eh?" he asked as the doors opened.
"Excuse me?" the distraught looking woman said. In her shaking hand was a handkerchief.
Laura stepped forward. "Can I help you?"
"I hope so. Are you- Laura Holt?"
"Yes. I am. What can I do for you, Miss-?"
"Markham. Eileen Markham." She sobbed into her handkerchief, and Harry took the woman's arm in a comforting gesture.
"There, there. I'm sure Miss Holt will solve your problem- whatever it may be," he assured the woman.
She looked up at him. "Are you-?" she asked.
"No," Laura tried to say, but Miss Markham was too quick.
"Remington Steele?" Harry's eyes met Laura's, and she could see that he was trying to come up with a response to the woman's inquiry. "I mean, the papers said that he has an English accent- and you do-. You *are* Mr. Steele, aren't you?"
Laura heard Murphy's office door open, watched as he came partially into the reception area to listen. "Mr. Steele's very busy at the moment, Miss Markham," Laura told the woman.
"Uh, yes," Harry agreed. "A veritable whirlwind of appointments to take care of. As I said, I'm sure Miss Holt and Mr. Michaels can-"
"But I'd feel so much better if *you* were helping, Mr. Steele," Eileen Markham said, refusing to release Harry's arm.
Harry tried his best to extricate himself from her hold. "Miss Markham, I'm not-"
"What Mr. Steele is trying to say, Miss Markham, is that he never involves himself directly with a case," Laura interjected, falling back on the story she'd concocted years ago and had begun using again- with only middling success.
"That's right," Harry agreed, slowly prying first one finger loose, then another, only to have them clamp down once more.
"He functions best in a strictly advisory capacity-"
"But- he captured that awful little man- and those drug dealers-"
"With Miss Holt's invaluable assistance," Harry pointed out. "It was an exception to an otherwise hard and fast rule, I'm afraid," he told the woman.
"Couldn't you at least *listen* to my story? Maybe you could help Miss Holt decide what to do?"
Laura's teeth were on edge. For almost four years, she'd been struggling to prove that *she* was a good detective. And she thought she'd been successful- until these last two weeks, anyway. Now, everyone who walked in that door seemed to think she needed a big, strong man standing behind her, telling her what to do.
What *she* wanted to do was turn the clock back two weeks and put a stop to this idiocy before it could begin. But it was too late for that. So, Laura Holt smiled sweetly and took Eileen Markham's other arm, guiding her gently toward the main office. Harry had no choice but to follow, since Miss Markham showed no sign of releasing her hold on *him*. "I'm sure Mr. Steele can make time in his busy schedule to *listen*, can't you, Mr. Steele?" she asked in a voice so sweet she wondered how many cavities were being created.
"Of- course, Miss Holt. Whatever you think best. This *is* your agency, after all."
"Yes. It is," Laura agreed, then, as they entered her office, said, "Would you please join us, Murphy?"
"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Murphy commented sourly.
***
"What seems to be the problem, Miss Markham?" Laura asked the woman once they were all seated in the conference area of the office.
"It's my father. He's been acting so strangely lately. Disappearing for days at a time, telling me that I'm a busybody and to mind my own business." She sobbed into her handkerchief at the memory. "He's never spoken to me that way. For the last few years, I've tried to convince him to move in with me, so I can look after him, but he won't hear of it."
"Perhaps he has a lady friend?" Harry suggested, then lifted his hand in apology as Laura glared at him, reminding him that he was only there because she'd had no other choice but to let him stay.
"He's nearly seventy," Miss Markham said.
"He still might be involved with someone," Laura pointed out. "Does your father have any money to speak of?"
Eileen looked surprised. "He's Elliot Markham," she explained.
Laura and Murphy exchanged a confused glance, but Harry's jaw dropped. "*The* Elliot Markham? Star of 'Murder by Night'? RKO, 1940? And 'Dead by Default'? 19-"
"Yes," Eileen Markham confirmed, her voice tight. "He had a tidy nest egg, but for all I know it's gone now. When he didn't come home for three days last week, I- I snuck into his condo and found that there was no food in the refrigerator- and these-" she held out a stack of papers toward Harry.
Before Harry could take them, Laura grabbed them and began to look them over. "Motel receipts?"
"A different motel every night he's gone," Miss Markham explained. "And the names on the bills are all different. I don't know if someone is conning him out of his money or he's in some other kind of trouble, but I want you to find out what's going on. Please. I haven't been able to sleep at night. If this keeps up, I don't know what I'll do."
"Do you have any idea who your father's friends are, Miss Markham?"
"I have a list," Eileen told Murphy, pulling it out of her purse. Laura took it as well. "I've already spoken to them, and some of them told me that he's been approached by a movie producer about making a comeback- "
"Oh, how wonderful," Harry sighed, then noticed Laura's look of consternation. "Elliot Markham was the quintessential film noir private detective, Laura, well, after Bogart, of course. I always wondered what happened to him. He just- disappeared from sight."
"After the accident-" Eileen began, but Laura interrupted her.
"Accident?" Laura questioned.
"He had a car accident in 1949," Eileen said. "It was a terrible scandal, I believe. I don't know many of the details, but my father never set foot on a soundstage again after that. That's why I didn't give the story about a comeback any credence." She looked at Harry. "Do you think you can help me, Mr. Steele?"
"We'll do all we can, Miss Markham," Laura assured the woman. She looked up. "Murphy, would you take Miss Markham into your office and get any pertinent information that we might need? Mr. Steele and I need to talk."
"Thank you, Mr. Steele," Eileen said tearfully. "For the first time in weeks, I'm hopeful that I'll find out what's going on."
Harry smiled, guiding the woman toward the waiting Murphy, then turned back to where Laura was now standing. The connecting door closed, leaving the two of them alone. "Laura-"
"You know, I can't believe this. For four years I've worked my tail off, trying to make a name for myself, building a reputation, and after just one case, everyone's clamouring for a man no one's ever seen - a man who doesn't even exist - to handle their case instead of trusting *me* to do it."
"Laura, I didn't plan for this to happen when I pretended to be Remington Steele."
"I know," Laura said with a deep sigh. "So, any thoughts on how to get us *out* of this mess?"
"Nothing comes to mind at the moment," Harry admitted.
"Well, as long as we have to put up with Mr. Steele- we have to set a few ground rules."
"Ground rules?"
"For as long as you're going to play the part with clients- show your pearlies, glad hand them, reassure them that you're *on the case*."
"I think I can manage that," Harry agreed.
"And remember what I said earlier. You function best in an advisory capacity. No personal involvement in a case." As she spoke, she moved toward her desk.
Harry followed, clearly agitated by her words. "But- Laura, you can't mean to exclude me from helping to find Elliot Markham. I mean, the very idea of actually meeting the man after all those years of watching him on film-"
"Harry-"
"I promise that I'll stay in the background," Harry said quickly, his hand on his chest as if he were taking a solemn vow.
Laura looked at him for a long moment. He looked like an excited little boy, eagerly anticipating meeting one of his heroes. "You'll do whatever I say? No arguments?"
Harry grinned. "I've been yours to command from the moment we met, Laura," he reminded her.
Laura shook her head, and sighed. "I'm probably making a huge mistake that I'll regret before this is over, but -. You're on the case - Mr. Steele."
To Be Continued - - -