Laura closed the door behind her mother as Steele picked up the empty coffee cups.
"A successful evening, don't you agree?" he asked over his shoulder as he started back to the kitchen.
"You certainly won her over. But then, she's always been one of your biggest fans."
"Do you think so?" He asked, grinning. "Bring that tray, will you?"
She followed him, leaning in the doorway as he finished loading the dishwasher with efficient moves,still envious of his easy manner around the kitchen. Once he was finished, and had wiped down the counter for the last time, he took a bottle of wine from the shelf and two glasses. "Shall we adjourn to more comfortable quarters?"
He turned down the living room lights, then went to the fireplace, sitting down on the rug before it, pouring two glasses of wine. Holding one out to her, he smiled, "Care to join me, Mrs. Steele?"
"I'll be right there, Mr. Steele," she promised, disappearing into the bedroom. Steele smiled, sipping his drink, leaning his head against a chair. He closed his eyes for a moment, until the touch of gentle fingers on his brow confirmed what his senses had already told him: Laura was kneeling on the floor beside him.
"That feels good."
"It's only the beginning," she promised, her lips moving to replace the touch of her fingers, covering his face before finding his lips. Steele pulled her into his lap, able to look at her at last. She as wearing a jade green satin gown that clung in all the right places. "Do you approve, Mr. Steele?" she purred.
"Most definitely, Mrs. Steele. Wine?"
"Please. Tell me, what that story you told Mother only that - or was there a grain of truth in it?"
"Which story was that?" he asked, giving her the glass.
"About the first day we met," she prompted.
"Ah, yes. There was SOME truth to it."
"How much?"
"Oh, most of it, I suppose. I told you yesterday that I knew as soon as I saw you that we somehow belonged together. And throughout all of our arguments, lack of trust and fear of commitment, the only thing that made it worthwhile was the thought of one day having you here, where you belong." He touched her lips with his.
"It took me a little longer to make that realization," she confessed, her fingers slipping inside the silk of his shirt, seeking skin against skin. "And even then I fought it."
"It was a valiant struggle, my love, but one doomed to end in defeat." He set her glass along side his on the table, pulling her with him as he rose to his feet. "And I believe there's an old saying about to the victor go the spoils?" he said, lifting her into his arms.
In their bedroom, he let her down again. She finished unbuttoning his shirt, pressed her lips to his chest. "I thought I was the victor, Mr. Steele," she whispered.
He led her to bed. "I think we both are, Mrs. Steele," he told her, lowering his head to her neck.
Jessica unlocked the door of the apartment and entered, Tony right behind her. Both saw the open bottle of wine and two glasses. "It must have been a successful evening," was her comment. "Let me get some more glasses -"
"That's all right. It's late, and we DO have an early flight to catch -" he started backing toward the door as Jessica advanced toward him.
"You're not - afraid of me, are you, Antony?"
"Of- Of course not. It's just that -"
Jessica smiled. "I know. It's late. Very well. Thank you for almost enjoyable evening, Antony. I'm - looking forward to our trip tomorrow."
She was so close he could count her eyelashes, and Tony quickly opened the door. "Good night, Jessica."
When he was gone, Jessica smiled, laughing softly, before putting the wine away and returning the glasses to the kitchen.
"Did Miss Beecham and Tony get to the airport on time?" Mildred asked Laura.
"Their flight was delayed - " she told the woman. "They'll be off in another couple of hours, I think."
"So how did the big dinner go last night?"
"The dinner?" Steele repeated, then grinned. "It went- rather well, actually. Who is our first client this morning, Mildred?"
"Mr. Baker. He's waiting in your office."
To Tony's dismay, Jessica hired a cab at Heathrow, had the driver take them to a cemetery, asked him to wait. She led Tony directly to a still new looking stone. "Chalmers," he said. He was tired. The flight had started late, then there had been the four hour hold over in New York because of weather -All Tony had wanted to do was get somewhere and relax for a few minutes.
Jessica knelt. "Yes. The father I never knew - and that Remington knew but never realized it." She frowned. "These flowers."
"What about them?"
"They're fresh. Forget-me-nots, if I'm not mistaken."
"If you say so," Tony said with a shrug. "Didn't YOU have them put there?"
"No."
"Is there a card, a florist's name?"
She shook her head. "Nothing. Let's find the caretaker. Perhaps he saw whoever put them here."
The old man was hard of hearing, but once Tony got the question- and twenty pounds- across, he shook his head. "No. Haven't really seen her. Just the back- dressed all in black everytime she comes."
"How often -" Tony sighed, raising his voice. "How often does she come?"
"Every day. Takes the old flowers, puts in fresh ones."
"What time?" Tony asked.
"Just left before you arrived."
"Thank you, Mr. Timerson," Jessica said. "We're grateful for your help."
In the taxi, Jessica was thoughtful. "We'll have to come back tomorrow morning and find out who this woman is- and why she's leaving flowers on Daniel Chalmers' grave."
"It's my job, I'll do it."
"And it involves MY father," Jessica reminded him. "Right now, we'd better go to the house so I can begin arrangements for my relocation."
"The House" was an imposing Tudor-era building in one of the city's better areas. "You - grew up HERE?" Tony asked.
"Indeed I did. There used to be over a hundred acres on the estate. The family sold it off until there are only six left. Still - it's considered a showplace, and there HAVE been several offers to purchase it."
She entered the house first, only to find herself set upon by a middle aged woman in the a garb of a housekeeper. "Miss Jessica. You're late," she scolded with the air of one used to such things happening. "You said to expect you a half- hour ago."
"Peg," Jessica responded with a fond smile. "I've missed you too. We made a stop on the way," she explained. "Antony, Pegeen Murphy, housekeeper and childhood confidant. Peg, this is Mr. Antony Roselli. He works for my brother's detective agency."
"Mrs. Murphy."
"Mr. Roselli," the housekeeper returned, her dark eyes looking him over, as if trying to decide if he were good enough for Miss Jessica. "I'll have Peter take your things up, Miss. I've put Mr. Roselli in the grey room."
"Thank you."
"Mrs. Timms has prepared something for you to eat in the breakfast room."
"You're priceless, Peg. Have you given everyone the news?"
"Yes. We were expecting it. You SHOULD be with your brother in the states. Mrs. Timms already has another position waiting -so do the others."
"What about you?"
"Oh, it's past time I retired to that little cottage back in the old country. Your mother - bless her soul -took very good care of my in her will. Now, off with you two. The day's near half done already."
After they ate, Tony decided to go and try to locate Kathleen Morgan while Jessica began tying up the various loose ends necessary for her to move to the states.
Frustration set in early with Tony. He ran into a dead end at the last address Mildred had for Steele's aunt. The woman there had never heard of the previous occupant. She had bought the house from an agent. The agent's address did no good - the offices were closed for the day by the time Tony reached them.
Jessica was at her grandfather's desk when Tony sauntered in, collapsing into a Queen Anne chair, putting his feet up on a brocade footstool. Jessica winced, forbearing informing him of how valuable the furnishings were. "You look all in."
"Exhausted," Tony corrected. "Got anything to drink around here?"
She put down her pen and rose, going to the credenza against the wall. Lifting the lid brought a fully stocked bar into view. "No beer or ale, I'm afraid, but how about some Irish whiskey?"
He smiled. "Sounds good."
"Grandfather kept this locked to prevent Mother from getting to it," Jessica told him, pouring a generous portion.
"She drank too much?" Tony asked with a frown.
"It was a large part of her problem. Tony, here's your drink. Mrs. Timms will have dinner ready soon. I told her to serve it early so we can get some rest."
He eyed her warily. "We don't have to dress, do we?"
She smiled. "No. I take it you didn't have any luck in locating Remington's aunt?"
"Not a trace. I'll go to the agent that sold her old house tomorrow."
"After we visit the cemetery?"
"Yeah." His eyes were closing.
"I'll go check on Mrs. Timms," Jessica told him. When she returned a few minutes later, it was to find him sound asleep and snoring softly. "Antony?" she said quietly, reaching out to smooth the rumpled brown hair. When he didn't stir, Jessica bent over him, her lips a breath away from his. "Tony."
"Laura?" he questioned groggily.
Jessica froze. LAURA?! she said to herself. How DARE he?! Straightening, she moved to the desk, carefully picked up a heavy book, then dropped it onto the desktop.
Startled, Tony almost fell out of the fragile chair. "Oh, I AM sorry, Mr. Roselli," Jessica apologized, her eyes wide with feigned innocence. "Did I disturb you?"
"I guess I dozed off," he said, frowning at her sudden formality.
"Yes, well, Mrs. Timms has supper ready for us." She started toward the door. "Shall we, Mr. Roselli?"
Tony grabbed her arm as she passed. "What's up, Jessica? Did I do something wrong?"
"Oh, no. Nothing at all," Jessica told him, pulling away. "Mrs. Timms doesn't like to wait dinner."
Trying to figure this lady out could be a full time job, Tony thought, levering himself out of the chair to follow Jessica. They'd straighten it out after dinner, he decided.
But after the light meal, Jessica excused herself and went to her room. Peg was bringing Tony a brandy when she made the decision, after refusing to discuss anything more than the history of the house. "It's been a long, tiring day, Peg. Goodnight."
"I've already seen to the locking up, Miss. Sleep well."
"You too, Peg."
"Night, Jessica."
"Goodnight, Mr. Roselli." She didn't even look at him as she spoke, merely left the room.
"She's angry," Peg commented. "Miss Jessica's always had trouble recalling her manners when something's bothering her."
Seeing her accusatory gaze, Tony shrugged. "I don't know what it could be. Has she always been so -"
"Spirited? Yes. Drove her grandfather mad. Said she'd inherited it from her devil of a father. Perhaps she did. She certainly has Daniel Chalmer's smile and his charm."
Tony looked up from the brandy in surprise. "You knew Chalmers?"
Peg nodded sharply. "That I did. When he first met Miss Lesley. I knew he was trouble - but she was so blinded by the charm and his good looks, all his talk of travel. Mr. Beecham was a harsh man, Mr. Roselli. He held Miss Lesley responsible for her mother's death, and refused to let her do many of the things that other young girls did. Chalmers' offer of escape was something she couldn't refuse."
"Yet she came back?"
"She quickly tired of his kind of life, but she realized too that he would never settle down, never change. He wanted no real family -except for his son. She had no idea she was going to have his child until she had been back for a month. Once Mr. Beecham accepted the situation, he made her promise never to see or have any contact with Chalmers ever again. I don't think he ever forgave Miss Jessica for not being a boy as he'd hoped."
"Must have been tough on her."
"She sensed his disappointment and did everything she could to rebel against his hold on her and her mother. By then, Miss Lesley spent her days sneaking liquor, dwelling on the past. She filled that child's head full of stories about Daniel Chalmers. When Mr. Beecham would put a stop to it, Miss Jessica would run off to a movie house near here- spend all day watching old movies. Mr. Beecham tried his best to break her spirit -she responded by being more defiant -and going to America to study law instead of following HIS plans for her."
"And what were his plans?" Tony asked.
"Marriage. To a man that HE would choose. Keeping in mind what it would do for him, of course. I know it's wrong to speak ill of the dead, but in his own way, Mr. Beecham was as much of a devil as Daniel Chalmers. Between those two men, they made Miss Lesley's life a living hell. I hoped she would recover after her father died, but she only sank further into the bottle." Her dark eyes grew sad. "Not even Miss Jessica's return from America helped. Her health grew worse, Miss Jessica even offered to search for Daniel Chalmers, but Miss Lesley said no, and sent her to finalize the sale of Beecham Enterprises."
"She told me that's what she was doing when she got the call that her mother was sick and came home."
"Miss Lesley died two hours after Miss Jessica arrived," Peg said, lifting a cotton handkerchief to her eyes. "After the funeral, she found the newspaper reports of her father's death and the interview with Remington Steele. Her birth certificate confirmed the relationship, and she set out to find her half-brother."
"Only to discover that it was Mr. Steele himself."
"Yes." Peg hesitated. "Tell me, what's he like? Is he a good man, who'll be the brother Miss Jessica needs?"
Tony took a deep breath. "He IS a good man," he said slowly, realizing that, as much as he hated to admit it, it was true. "They're alot alike. And I think he needs her as much as she needs him. Well, it's late, and I have to be up early," Tony told her, starting for the stairs. "Goodnight, Mrs. Murphy."
"It's Peg," she corrected in that soft Irish lilt. "Pleasant dreams."