Laura had smiled sadly. "I don't think even HE knows the answer to that, Frances," she'd confided.
Now, waiting nervously for her date to arrive, Laura's gaze fell on the photo of Mr. Steele that sat atop the piano- the piano that he'd bought to replace the one she'd gotten from her grandmother. The one that had been destroyed when her house had been blown up. Recalling that night, his kindness, his gentle attempt to make her feel better, Laura smiled.
She placed her hand on the cool, polished wood and wondered if she was making a mistake. Involving someone else in her life wouldn't make her see things more clearly. It would simply muddy the already rolling waters. She turned toward the telephone, intending to call Fiske, to tell him she'd changed her mind. But before she could pick it up, there was a knock on the door.
Too late.
Pulling on the metal door, she opened it with a smile. Greg Fiske returned the smile, and she noticed that he was still wearing a dark suit, still looked every inch a Federal agent. "Hope I'm not early," he said.
"No," she assured him, turning to look around the room. "Let me get my purse."
"Interesting place you have here, Laura," he commented, his own gaze moving about.
"Yes," she agreed. "It is. Where is my-."
"Is this what you're looking for?" Greg asked, picking up her purse from the coffee table where it had been all along.
Laura knew she was blushing from embarrassment. "Yes," she said, taking it. "Thank you."
Greg stood there, watching her. "There's no reason to be nervous, Laura. All I'm looking for is a dinner companion. Like I said earlier, don't want to beat Steele's time while he's gone."
She frowned. "I beg your pardon?"
"How about we have dinner first- and then I'll explain," he suggested, taking her arm in a light grip to lead her to the door.
Over the excellent meal, they discussed the weather, the differences and similarities of their respective careers, anything and everything other than the mysterious "report" and Greg's insistence that he didn't want to cause trouble between Laura and Mr. Steele.
She found herself comparing the two men. Both were charming, had a killer smile, but Greg reminded her somehow of Murphy. The boy next door type. Not HER type at all.
At last, after she sat back from finishing the chocolate mousse that he'd insisted she order, Laura said, "You said something about an explanation, I believe?"
Greg grinned. "Determination. Focus. You'd do wonders working my side of the street."
"Me? An Agent? I don't think so. I like being my own boss."
"What about Mr. Steele?" he asked.
Laura picked up her glass of wine. "Uh, I meant- he gives me a lot of - freedom to work. We're- really more partners than employer and employee."
"Yet he gets all the credit when you solve a high profile case," Greg mused.
"It's his name on the office door, after all," Laura reminded him. "And I don't really mind not being in the spotlight."
"Safer that way, isn't it?" Greg asked, his eyes on her.
Laura fidgeted with her glass. "In a way, I suppose." Suddenly she looked up again. "The explanation?"
Greg laughed softly, as if aware that she was onto his attempt to divert her. "As I said earlier, it's standard procedure for the Bureau to do a check on anyone who helps us. Except for a few- minor scrapes in college, you come up clean."
"That's good to know. But what was that about- cutting "Mr. Steele's time"?"
He reached out and picked up a packet of sugar. "I noticed that - uh- you hadn't been- linked to anyone since you went to work for Steele," he said slowly. "And the two of you have been seen together in various restaurants, theaters, things like that. Add that to the fact that you and he work pretty closely together- and that I say he'd have to be a fool or blink not to notice how attractive and special you are, and the conclusion is obvious," he finished quickly.
Laura hoped he couldn't see the blush that crept into her cheeks. "He's - noticed," she confirmed.
"And? I- talked to Lt. Jarvis last night. He seemed to think that you and Steele are- close. Very close."
"We are," Laura told him. "But not THAT close."
Greg reached across to take her hand. "Then maybe there's still a chance for -someone else?" he asked, meeting her eyes with his.
"Greg, I-."
"I won't pressure you, Laura," he promised. "We've only just met, after all. But I like you. I like your spirit, your courage. Your dedication. And I'm not going to let you keep hiding all that in Steele's shadow. You're better than that."
To cover her nervousness, Laura said, "You know everything about me apparently, and I don't know anything about you."
His smile told her that he was well aware of the reason for her question. "Not much to tell. Ask anything you want. I'm an open book."
Laura paused. Another difference between Greg and Mr. Steele. Mr. Steele had never been this forthright about his past, always preferred to remain mysterious. Greg's forthright attitude was almost refreshing. "Okay. Where are you from?"
"Virginia. Little town you've probably never heard of. I've got two brothers and two sisters, I'm the middle child." Glancing at her, he smiled. "Grew up on a farm."
"Oh. Then- how did you go from farm boy to FBI agent?"
"Simple. My dad was also the County Sheriff for years. All of us boys worked as his deputies when we were old enough. We helped the Bureau with capturing a fugitive, and before I knew it, they recruited me."
"But not your brothers?"
"Nick and Hank both wanted to stay on the farm, help Dad. The Vance case was one of my first with the Bureau."
Laura glanced at his left hand as he picked up his glass. "No wife?"
He hesitated. Just for a fraction of a second, but it was enough that Laura caught it. "There used to be," he admitted. "We're divorced. After five years, she decided that she wasn't cut out to be an agent's wife, so she- left. She's married to a stockbroker in New York now."
"I'm sorry, Greg," Laura said softly, covering her hand with his. "It must still hurt."
"Sometimes. She knew when we got married what I did. Said it sounded- exciting. Five years later, she was afraid to answer the door or the phone when I wasn't home."
"How long has it been?"
"Two years," he answered. "Look, I'm over her. Yeah, there's still a part of my heart that's a little bruised from where she drop kicked it. But I've moved on."
"And there's- no one else?" she asked, obviously fishing.
"No one I'm seeing on a regular basis," he said. "Haven't met anyone I'd like to see regularly. Until now," he added, turning his hand to grasp her fingers."
"Greg, I don't-."
He looked at her, then at their hands and nodded, releasing her. "Okay. Friends? After all, I'm going to need a friendly face here in LA."
"You took the job?"
"I did," he said with a smile.
Over the next several weeks, the agency was inundated with cases- and Laura found herself more and more in the spotlight. It was getting to the point where she couldn't pick up a newspaper without seeing her photograph and a headline about a successfully solved case. She was finally getting used to the appreciation she'd always wanted for her talents. The first time she realized it was when a prospective client had come in and asked to see HER, Laura Holt, not Remington Steele.
At least she was kept too busy to constantly moon over the photographs on the wall in Mr. Steele's office, to feel sorry for herself at night, coming home to a lonely bed with no one to talk to about her day. Oh, Greg called, asked her to dinner, but he wasn't Mr. Steele, and there was no way he could be. There was only one Remington Steele, Laura decided.
That was the downside, Laura realized, entering her loft near the end of the three months. Was it Barbara Dannon who, talking about her husband, had told Laura, "I had no time for running anything but my own business. Frank showed me how hollow that life was. Without someone to share it with - my success meant nothing. Frank Dannon saved me from becoming a very cold, hard woman. He taught me how to love again."
She had been right. Laura knew that she didn't really need Mr. Steele on a professional level. It was nice if he was there, a help, but she'd proven that she could make it on her own.
It was on a personal level that she needed him. No one else made her feel the way he did. No one else cared as much, had the same gleam in his eye that he did when he looked at her. She sat down at the piano, her eyes on the photograph of him, smiling that devil may care smile, blue eyes flashing with mischief, and Laura found herself smiling back.
Picking up the frame, she carried it up to the bedroom and lay down, holding it close.
Only a few more days, she reminded herself, as her eyes began to close. "Please be there, Mr. Steele," she whispered.
She bought a new dress for the occasion. Blue, the color of his eyes. She was almost late. A last minute client had insisted she stay, and only Mildred's quick thinking had freed her from his clutches. Then traffic was a bear. Laura wound up parking the Rabbit a block away and walking to the Observatory, weaving her way through traffic as she crossed the street.
He wasn't there already, so Laura stood near the main entrance to the upper deck, waiting, glancing occasionally at her wristwatch. Twelve o'clock came and went, with no sign of him.
One o'clock came. And went. Laura heard the siren of an ambulance as it neared a spot down the road, but it was only on the fringes of her consciousness. He hadn't come. She overheard a couple as they came up the stairs, talking about a traffic accident, that someone had been hit by a car, but her pain clouded mind was too busy to listen.
At two, the anger started to build. He'd PROMISED. He'd promised that he'd be here. And he wasn't. He'd broken the one promise that had meant more than any of the others. So he wanted to stay in England, probably had blondes dripping off his arms, running cons with Daniel Chalmers.
Laura's chin lifted. She didn't need him. She'd managed for three months without him, she could manage the rest of her life if she had to. Turning toward the entrance, she headed back toward the office. At least work would keep her mind off of his having let her down. Maybe she'd call Greg, ask HIM to dinner for a change. And this time, she wouldn't put him off with a chaste kiss at the door to the loft. . . .
To Be Continued. . .