She was putting on her earrings when her eyes fell on the photo of Mr. Steele. She picked it up and then turned it face down on the piano as there was a knock on the door. "Hey there," Greg said, smiling at her. "Ready?"
"Let me get my purse," she said, wondering why she was never able to find her purse when Greg came to pick her up. "Come in. It's gone a.w.o.l. again." She moved away, finding it behind the couch. When she turned around, it was to find him holding the photo of Mr. Steele, his eyes on her.
"He didn't show up, did he?"
She froze. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Steele. He was supposed to be home yesterday."
"What gave you that idea?" Laura wanted to know. She hadn't told him any such thing.
"The calendar on your office desk. You've been marking off days- and yesterday's date was circled, with NOON written on it. What happened?"
"He just- didn't show up, that's all. End of story," she told him, starting to turn away.
But Greg caught her arm, forcing her to look at him. "Uh, uh, Laura. It's not that simple. Why don't we sit down and talk about it?"
"Because I don't WANT to talk," she insisted, pacing the room. "I'm tired of talking. I've talked to Mildred, to Frances- even myself. I'd rather scream, yell,- at HIM!" she said, pointing at the photograph that Greg had returned to the piano. Her anger was finally starting to bubble to the surface. "He PROMISED he'd be back today," she finished in a small, hurt voice.
"I could try and find him for you," Greg offered, but Laura quickly refused.
"No. If he doesn't want to be here, it's his decision. I won't try and force him into something he doesn't want." Besides, the LAST thing she needed was for the FBI to start digging into Remington Steele's past. Talk about opening a can of worms . . .
"What will you do?" Greg asked, breaking into her thoughts. "About the agency, I mean?"
"I don't know," she said with a sigh. "I haven't thought that far ahead. I really thought he'd be there yesterday."
"Well, you could always do what you did before he dropped into your life," he said, watching her carefully as the room filled with silence.
Laura turned slowly to look at him, trying to read his expression. "Before he- what? Greg, what are you trying to say?"
He managed to look a little ashamed as he admitted, "I did something a couple of months ago-I'm not very proud of it. And if it ever got out, I'd be handed a serious reprimand, but- wanted to check out the competition, I guess. Your Remington Steele doesn't exist. No birth certificate, no Social Security number, no fingerprints on file anywhere," he told her, ticking off the list on his fingers.
"That's crazy," Laura insisted. She picked up the photograph. "This is-."
"That is NOT Remington Steele. Oh, he might use the name, but the man in that picture isn't he." Greg shook his head. "By all rights, I'm compromising myself by not turning you in and having a warrant issued for him."
She looked at him. "Why haven't you?"
"Because I can't do that to a friend. You haven't done anything really serious. Haven't hurt anyone, really. And you don't have to find out about anyone else stumbling on the truth. I got the records sealed. Don't ask how. It'll take a Federal judge to open them again."
"You did that for me?"
"Yeah, well, thought it might give me a chance, anyway. Kinda hard to convince you how much I care if I'm responsible for your being in prison, don't you think?" Laura smiled.
"Thank you." She shook her head. "I don't know what to say. Yesterday was supposed to have been such a wonderful day. I'd finally proved that I'm as good a detective as I've always said I was, and I was ready. Really ready to be open and honest with him, and he - ."
"The offer to find him still stands, Laura," Greg said.
"No. No. Thank you anyway." She smiled again. "I can't seem to stop saying that to you."
"I don't mind. You sure you feel up to going out tonight? I mean,-."
"I don't. Not really. But I don't want to be alone, either," she admitted. The realization that she might end up alone for the rest of her life was just starting to sink in. And she didn't like the feeling it gave her.
"Okay," he decided, removing his jacket and loosening his tie before picking up the telephone. "What's a good local pizza place that delivers?" he asked.
"The number's by the phone. Pizza?"
"We can watch TV, have some pizza. Talk." He smiled at her as he waited for the pizza place to answer. "I told you before I won't rush you, Laura. I mean it even more now. Go change out of that fancy dress and then we'll see what's on TV, okay?" Laura went to the bedroom, pulling the curtain. Every day she knew him, Greg reminded her more and more of Murphy. "Hey, Laura?"
"Hmm?" she asked.
"You like anchovies?"
The show they were watching ended, and since Laura was still munching on a slice of pizza, Greg picked up the remote control and flipped through a couple of channels. Suddenly Laura sat up, grabbing the control from his hand. "Wait a minute!" she said.
"Laura, what?"
She flipped back a channel, and watched as Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr played out the final scene of a movie. "That's it. Oh, I can't believe I missed it. The ambulance, the traffic accident." She jumped up and ran to the telephone, seeing the look of confusion on Greg's face. "He DIDN'T stand me up," she said.
"Laura, what on earth are you babbling about?" he asked.
"I need to find out who I would talk to about a traffic accident that happened yesterday afternoon near Griffith Park," she told the person that answered the telephone.
"Were you involved in the accident, Miss?" the man asked.
"No, but a friend of mine might have been. It's very important."
"I'm afraid you'll have to go through channels, Miss. I'm sorry. The offices open tomorrow at nine a.m. Have a nice night."
Laura slammed the telephone down. "UGH! I'm right. I KNOW I'm right." When she caught sight of Greg's face again, she sat down beside him. "Don't you see? He was on his way to meet me when he was in an accident. I heard the sirens, but I didn't even THINK about it being him. And then when I saw the movie-."
"Laura, you've got to get a grip. It was just a movie. Not real life."
Laura grinned. "You have no idea, Greg. None what so ever." The grin faded. "But now I'll have to wait until tomorrow morning to get any information."
"Wouldn't someone have called you if he was hurt?"
"Not necessarily. He might have given them another name- But I know who he might have called." She picked up the phone again, this time dialing Mildred's number. "Mildred, Laura."
"Miss Holt? Are you all right?"
"I'm fine, Mildred. Never better. I think I may know why Mr. Steele didn't meet me today, Mildred."
"You do?"
"An accident. I was watching a movie, and- it came to me."
"A movie, Miss Holt?"
"An Affair to Remember," Laura said. "I need the number he gave you."
Mildred gave her the number. "Are you sure about this, Miss Holt? I mean, you're sure that you're not just-."
"Going crazy? Maybe. But it's a place to start, Mildred. You're right. He wouldn't break his promise. Not that one. I'm going to check out accident reports tomorrow morning, so cover for me at the office, okay?"
"But- Mrs. Burns is at nine tomorrow. And Mr. Randle is at ten . . ."
"I'm sure you can handle them until I get there, Mildred," Laura said reassuringly. "I have to find Mr. Steele."
She hung up and started to dial the number, but Greg took the phone. "That's a London number, Laura. It's not even six a m there right now. Don't you think you should wait?"
"I'll wake them up. It's probably Daniel, anyway. He's the only other person besides me or Mildred that Mr. Steele would call."
Greg took the phone from her again and turned her back toward the sofa, giving her a gentle shove to make her sit down. "Laura, I know how much you want to be right about this, but you do realize it's a long shot, don't you? I mean, just because Deborah Kerr was hit and injured in that movie, doesn't mean that Steele-."
"I'm SURE I'm right, Greg," she said. "I HAVE to be."
"Then I want you to get some sleep, and I'll help you tomorrow morning."
"I don't think I CAN sleep," she told him.
"Try." He took her hand and pulled her from the sofa to the stairs. "Up. And just to make sure you don't try and sneak out and scour the streets for him, I'm going to stay down here on your sofa. IF you can find me some blankets and pillows, that is."
"You don't have to," Laura began, but Greg shook his head.
"I won't be able to sleep, worrying about you. Now, those blankets?" he asked again.
Laura went to the closet and pulled out the spare blanket and pillows that Mr. Steele used whenever he insisted on sleeping on the sofa. "Here you go."
Greg looked at the blankets, then turned around and went back to the sofa as she pulled the curtain. "Good night, Laura."
"Night." She got ready for bed, but found herself too excited - and worried to sleep. If he was seriously hurt, was it her fault for starting all this to begin with? Please don't let him be seriously hurt, she found herself praying silently. Of course, if he wasn't seriously hurt, then he didn't have any reason for not meeting her or calling- and he might just NEED a doctor by the time she finished with him. She fell asleep at last, a smile on her face as she thought about seeing him again.
She was walking through what felt like molasses. She couldn't move, every step was a chore to make. But he was there, smiling, his arms out, beckoning her to come to him. But she couldn't reach him. As Laura watched, horrified, he doubled over in pain. Laura tried to move, to help him, but the harder she tried, the more impossible it seemed to be. Looking down, she discovered that she wasn't in molasses at all, but quicksand. And she was sinking. As Mr. Steele seemed to slowly vanish, she called out to him, telling him she was coming to help him. "Mr. Steele! Don't go! I'm here! Please!"
"Laura!" Greg's voice. "Laura, wake up!" She was shaking- or rather, Greg was gently shaking her. "Laura."
She put out a hand, touching his bare chest, and he moved back, but remained on the side of the bed. "I'm awake. I'm awake."
"Sounded like you were having a pretty bad dream," he said.
She nodded. "A nightmare. I know I'm right about this, Greg. He's out there, somewhere, hurt, and he needs me."
Greg pulled her into his arms, rubbing her back for a moment. "Tell you what, it's just after noon in London. You want to make that call now?"
She lifted her head, intending to say yes, but Greg captured her lips with his, then, with a shuddering breath, released her and stood up. "I'll put on some coffee," he told her. At the edge of the platform, he stopped. "Laura, don't expect an apology. I just had to find out-."
"I understand, Greg," she said, watching him with sad eyes. He was so sweet, and he'd been so helpful over the last three months. But while she cared about him, and hated to see him hurting, she wasn't in love with him. She was in love with a black Irish con man who had set out to steal the Royal Lavulite- and stolen her heart instead.
Laura got out of bed and quickly dressed before going to the telephone, dialing the number Mildred had given her. The other end was answered by an Irishwoman. "Hello?"
"Hello, I'm trying to reach Daniel Chalmers."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Chalmers isn't here."
"Where is he?"
"Beggin' y'pardon, miss, but I don't know that I can give out that information."
"Look, I'm Laura Holt. I'm sure Mr. Chalmers or -Harry has mentioned me."
"Aye, that they have, lass. But they're neither one here at t'moment, and I've no idea when they'll be returnin'."
"Can you at least tell me if Harry left to come back here?"
"I haven't seen Harry in a few days, Miss. Sorry."
Laura gave frustrated sigh. "Can I leave a message, at least? For either of them?"
"Aye, that y'can."
"Have them call me as soon as they can. It's very important."
"I'll give them the message, Miss Holt," the housekeeper said. "Will there be anything else?"
"No. Good bye."
"Good day t'you, then."
"Good day indeed," Laura said to the telephone, looking up as Greg handed her a cup of coffee.
"Harry?" he asked.
"It's- one of the names Mr. Steele uses on occasion," she explained.
He lifted his free hand. "I'm not asking any questions," he told her. "Just curious. So she didn't know where he might be?"
"That's what she said. But I think she was lying." Laura paced the room, then she put down the coffee and picked up her purse. "Come on."
"Where are we going?" Greg asked, carrying his cup with him as he grabbed his jacket and tie.
"If Mr. Steele DID come back, then his luggage will be in his apartment. If it's there, then I'll know I'm right."
With a sigh, Greg followed her down the stairs and into the Rabbit, then promptly spilled what was left of his coffee as Laura turned the car in a tight arc then sped off down the street.
To Be Continued . . .