Disclaimers in Part 1
Felicia tried to slip her arms around Remington's neck again. "It really is good to see you again, darling. I've missed you."
"Hmm," Remington nodded, preventing the move out of intimate knowledge of the way the blonde's mind worked. "I'm sure. Now, again, why were you breaking into Daniel's flat?"
"I wasn't breaking in at all," Felicia said, pulling her hands free to allow something to dangle before him. "I have a key."
Remington took it from her to examine it. "Where did you get this?"
"From Daniel, of course," Felicia replied with a theatrical air of sadness. "He gave it to me when we were - involved, and I just . . . never returned it."
Pocketing the key, Remington smiled. "I think I'll just- retain it, if you don't mind."
"Of course not. I've no need of it anymore. Now that-" her gray eyes lifted to his. "I was sorry to hear about Daniel, Michael."
Examining her face, Remington's eyes narrowed. "I almost believe that you're sincere, Felicia."
"Of course I am, darling," she assured him, moving toward the sofa with the grace of a cat. "Daniel was very special to me. Not as special as you, of course, but then, a girl can't-"
"Can't wait forever," Remington agreed, recalling that she'd said something similar once before.
"How long had it been since you'd last seen Daniel?" he asked, standing before the darkened fireplace.
"Oh, we broke it off shortly after that fiasco with the Earl of Claridge," Felicia informed him. "Daniel got a bee in his bonnet about trying to go straight. Can you imagine? Said that if you could do it, then so could he. Last I heard, he had taken a job with the Earl. Something about security, I believe."
"Daniel turned it down," Remington told the woman. "Did you know that he was ill?"
"I had no idea at all."
"So. You hadn't seen Daniel in a year, and didn't know he was dying- yet you're here now. Why?" Remington asked again.
Felicia sighed. "Really, Michael. You're becoming as bad as your Lisa."
"Her name's Laura," Remington corrected. "Stop changing the subject."
The blonde surveyed the room. "Is she with you?"
Remington turned, pretending to study the fireplace. "Uh, no. She's on her way back to Los Angeles while I see to Daniel's estate." He tugged at the gas valve, as if making certain that it was closed, then looked at her. "Are you going to answer my question?"
Another sigh. "If you must know, I came to retrieve a few things-."
Remington glanced at the paintings on the walls. "Indeed?"
"Things that Daniel had promised to me," Felicia finished. "And some items that I left on my last visit."
"Anything that Daniel promised to you will have to wait until I've spoken to his solicitor. As for the rest-" he extended a hand toward the short hallway that led to the two bedrooms.
"You've grown overly cautious, Michael," Felicia said with a pretty pout as she rose from the sofa and swayed toward Daniel's bedroom. "Probably from spending so much time playing at being Remington Steele."
"I'm not playing at anything, Felicia," Remington said, following her into the bedroom to watch as she opened the bottom drawer of the antique chest and removed several items of lacy, feminine clothing. As she was carrying them over to the bed, a scrap of paper fell onto the floor, and Remington stepped over to scoop it up.
"You dropped this," he said, and then his voice trailed off as he glanced at the photograph in his hand. A smiling, carefree Daniel sat with his arm around Felicia's shoulders, a glass of champagne in his hand. Remington sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, looking at the picture. "He looks happy."
"Of course he was," Felicia told him after glancing at the photo before she moved to the dresser, where she opened a small upper drawer to remove a necklace and earrings. "Don't worry, darling. They're mine," she assured him, seeing his uncertain look. "That was taken at La Fontane a week before we hatched that awful plot a year ago."
Remington placed the photograph with the rest of the items that Felicia had gathered, then watched as she dragged a small overnight case from the closet, along with a silvery evening dress the exact color of her eyes. "Do you know if Daniel was still using Craig Handley to handle his legal affairs?"
"I've no idea," Felicia responded, placing the items into the case. She looked up at Remington, who was studying an old photograph of himself and Daniel that was sitting on top of the chest. "Michael, what's wrong?"
"What do you mean?" he asked, returning the photo.
"You don't seem yourself, somehow. I know Daniel's death must have been a shock to you-"
Remington chuckled. "A shock? You have no idea how much of a shock," he said. "I finally found my father, Felicia."
"Your father?" she questioned, and her eyes grew wide as she caught his meaning. "Daniel?"
****
Laura entered the dark fifth floor apartment, thanking Fred quietly as he placed the suitcases- hers and Remington's - beside the door before giving her a concerned look. "You're sure you want to stay here alone, Mrs. Steele?" the chauffer questioned.
She nodded. "I'll be fine, Fred," she assured him with false bravado. "Take Mr. Roselli on to my old loft and then take Mildred home as we agreed."
"Okay."
Laura closed the door behind him and looked around the still dark room. During the flight, she and Mildred had agreed to simply continue on as though Remington were here. She was going to tell Immigration that he had stayed behind to take care of some personal business regarding Ashford's transfer of ownership and would be joining her as soon as it was cleared up.
Until then, she and Mildred would run the agency with Tony's assistance, since - at least on the surface- he appeared to be contrite and remorseful about the mess he'd created. And with his connections, he might be able to track Remington's movements, Laura told herself, wandering through the apartment until she reached the bedroom.
In here, she could smell the expensive aftershave that Remington favored, and Laura dropped onto the bed. She dragged a pillow from beneath the spread and hugged it close, inhaling the faint scent of him that still remained.
Tomorrow, after they had all adjusted to being back in Los Angeles, Laura would set Mildred to work on her trusty computer, trying to find him. And she'd tie Tony to the telephone, forcing him to call his friends at the INS and see if they knew where Remington Steele might be.
Laura hugged the pillow tighter, until the ringing of the telephone caused her to sit up. Maybe it was Remington, calling to make sure she had gotten back to LA safely, she thought, hesitating for only a second before she grabbed the receiver. "Hello?"
"Just wanted to make sure you were okay," he said.
Laura rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. "Tony, -"
"I feel responsible, Laura. If I had thought before -"
"Get some sleep," Laura said tiredly. "We'll all meet at the office sometime this afternoon."
"Okay. But if you need me - you know the number."
"Goodnight, Tony," Laura said, hanging up the telephone.
Tony retained the receiver, then cleared the line and dialed another number. When it was answered, he said, "Hi. It's Roselli." He sat down on the sofa. "Sorry if I woke you- . . . No, I'm back in LA. I have a favor to ask . . . Run a check on that temporary passport that was issued to Remington Steele. I need to know where he is right now . . . No, she's back, too. I need to know where Steele is." Tony saw a photo of Laura and Steele sitting on the piano and sneered. "No, I'll contact you to get the information . . . Thanks. And- let's keep this between us, huh?" Tony hung up, rose and went to pick up the photograph, the sneer still in place. "Once I find out where you are, Steele, I'll make sure you stay there. Now that I've got Laura, I don't intend to give her up that easily." He turned the picture face down on the piano and went up to the loft to fall into what had once been Laura's bed- and would be again soon, if he played the hand right. And Tony was a damn good poker player.
***
After turning down Felicia's offer of dinner with some "old friends", Remington called a local restaurant and ordered something in, then returned to Daniel's room, intending to simply douse the light and close the door. But something about the room seemed slightly off to Remington. He had noticed it earlier, when Felicia had been there, but it hadn't really registered. Now, it seemed of the utmost importance.
The photograph of himself and Daniel taken barely a year after they'd met drew his attention. The photo wasn't straight, he decided. It looked as though someone had removed it and then placed it back inside the frame haphazardly.
Remington lifted the silver frame from the chest and went to the bed, where he sat on the edge to run his finger over his fifteen-year-old features, comparing them to Daniel's. He still didn't see the resemblance, really. Other than the fact that they were both dark haired, there was very little physically to connect the man and boy in the photo.
Sliding the backing free, Remington stopped, blinking in surprise as the movement revealed another photograph, this one of a much younger Daniel and a dark haired young woman with laughing blue eyes. Quickly, Remington removed the picture that he'd always seen in the frame and compared the face of the young man in it with those of the woman in the second picture with Daniel. Slowly it dawned on him that he was looking - for the first time in his life- at the face of his mother . . .
***
Craig Handley had handled Daniel Chalmers' legal affairs for as long as Remington had known Daniel. The elderly solicitor came from his office with a sad, but welcoming smile when the young woman behind the receptionist's desk informed him that Harry Chalmers wanted to see him.
"Harry, my boy," Craig said, extending a hand to the younger man. "You're looking -" the still- observant eyes surveyed Remington. "Like Hell, actually."
"It's been a rough week, Mr. Handley," Remington said.
"Yes, well, Daniel's death was a shock to all of us," Craig agreed, nodding sympathetically as he indicated that they should enter his office. "We'll be in conference, Liza," he told the young woman.
"You didn't know he was ill?" Remington questioned.
"Oh, I knew, but I didn't realize it was as bad as it was. At least you and he were able to spend some time together before the end," Craig added, those sharp eyes still fixed on Remington.
Remington sat down in the worn red leather chair across the solicitor. "How long have you known that Daniel was my father, Mr. Handley?"
Craig Handley's gaze fell to the worn carpet that lay on the floor, then rose. "Since before the day he found you in Brixton," the old man admitted. "He swore me to secrecy, Harry. And he was my client. As well as my friend. I knew him for almost forty years." Craig rose from his chair and went to the sparsely stocked bar across the room, pouring a cup of coffee to which he added a generous measure of whiskey. "Can I offer you something to drink? Coffee? Something stronger?"
"Coffee will be fine," Remington answered.
As he poured the liquid and carried it over, Craig told Remington, "I'm glad he told you. I wasn't sure that he would."
"He very nearly didn't. If it hadn't been for circumstances - and the insistence of a young woman -"
"Let me guess," Craig said. "Laura - Holt?"
"How did you know?"
"Daniel spoke to me about her. Said that he was glad you'd "fallen into her clutches" as he put it," Craig confided with a smile.
"He was? I never had the impression that he was overly fond of Laura."
"Oh, there was a bit of jealously, I believe. But he also knew that it for the best that you got out of the life as you did."
"Mr. Handley- did Daniel tell you- anything about my mother?"
"I know her name, of course, and the probable date of your birth," Craig told him regretfully, "but beyond that, there were some things that Daniel refused to discuss even with me. I'm sorry, Harry," he added. "Or- do you prefer Remington Steele now? Daniel was very proud of how well you've done since becoming that gentleman."
"Harry's fine between us, Mr. Handley. Remington's a bit of a mouthful, I think. My mother's name?" he prompted.
"Sheila," the elderly solicitor said. "Sheila Harrison Chalmers. I have it all in a file-"
"May I see it?" Remington questioned, eager to have even that small scrap of information.
"Oh, indeed." Craig put down his cup and went over to a row of filing cabinets that lined a wall. Taking a key from his pocket, the old man unlocked one of the cabinets and opened a drawer to ruffle through the folders. "Here we are," he said, pulling one out before locking the cabinet again. "Copies of the letters that I sent out are there as well," he informed Remington, giving him the folder.
Remington flipped through the contents. "Thank you, Mr. Handley. Tell me, Daniel's will--" he saw Craig's face droop slightly, and frowned. "Is there a problem?"
"Daniel wrote a new will just after your last visit, but I don't have it."
"You don't?"
"He left it with the solicitors who were handling the Earl of Claridge's affairs," Craig volunteered. "Bunbridge-" he began, and Remington sighed, taking up the name.
"Cleasthorpe and Cogswaite," he said. "I've already spoken to a Mr. Smithers from their office."
"Yes. About Ashford Castle. White elephant if there ever was one."
"Was. I gave it to the servants. Most of it, at any rate. They're going to turn it into a hotel."
"Bravo. Capital idea!" Craig declared. "Something Daniel would have delighted in the idea of, I'm sure."
"Daniel didn't leave anything with you to give to me, then?"
"I'm afraid not. He had a letter here, but he retrieved that a year ago, paid me what I was owed, and I never saw him again except for a chance meeting at a coffee shop downstairs one afternoon. That's when he told me that he wasn't well and that you'd thought that the Earl was your father. And before you ask, he didn't bother to explain why he hadn't told you the truth then. I insisted that he had to tell you before it was too late, that the truth *had* to come from him and no one else." Craig frowned. "He didn't tell you anything other than the fact that he was your father?"
"Nothing concrete. Such as my name."
"He called you Harry even before he found you, if it's any help."
"He did?"
Craig smiled at a memory. "I'd been sending out letters for some years to various orphanages in Ireland, trying to track "Harry" down for him. I still remember the day he found you. He came rushing in here, excited, telling me that he'd finally found "Harry." I was uncertain at first, but once we met, I could see it."
Remington gave a soft laugh. "I can't see it at all."
"You wouldn't. But you've got his smile."
Remington finished his coffee and put the cup and saucer on the table between them before rising to his feet. "Thank you, Mr. Handley."
Craig Handley rose as well, extending a hand toward Remington. "Keep in touch, Harry. And good luck."
"I will," Remington promised, clasping his left hand over their joined ones before leaving the office.
Down on the street, Remington located a public telephone and consulted the ragged phone listings, then flagged down a taxi and gave him the address for Bunbridge, Cleasthorpe and Cogswaite, Solicitors.
***
Bunbridge, Cleasthorpe and Cogswaite had offices in an ornately furnished older building, a setting befitting one of London's finer law firms. Remington spoke with a middle aged, matronly woman who informed him that him that the firm's senior partners were all very busy men, and without an appointment, he couldn't possibly hope to see any of them.
Until he mentioned the name Daniel Chalmers, at least. Suddenly the woman's face lit up, and her green eyes searched his face. "What did you say your name was again?" she asked.
"Uh, I don't believe I mentioned it, but the name is Remington Steele."
The woman picked up a telephone. "Mr. Cogswaite, I'm sorry to disturb you, but there's a Mr. Remington Steele here to speak to someone about the final affairs of Daniel Chalmers." The woman glanced up at Remington again. "Very well, sir." She hung up the telephone. "If you'll have a seat, Mr. Steele, Mr. Cogswaite will be with you in just a moment."
"Thank you," Remington said, moving to sit in a chair near the desk. He picked up a magazine from a nearby table, then tossed it aside as he realized that it was nearly six months out of date. A door opened behind the receptionist's desk, and a man about Remington's age appeared. The receptionist looked at him and nodded in Remington's direction.
"Mr. Steele," he said, coming forward, his hand outstretched. "Ian Cogswaite. If you would step into my office?"
Inside the darkly paneled room, Ian indicated a chair very much like the one in Craig Handley's office, only this one was in much better condition. "Please. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Steele. I've heard quite a lot about you."
"Indeed?" Remington asked, frowning.
Ian laughed. "My son is a mystery fan, Mr. Steele. He's only ten, but he's determined to become the next Sherlock Holmes."
"I see."
"I must admit, however, that I didn't expect to see you here, in the offices. We sent Mr. Smithers to America to await your return there after he tried to see you in Ireland yesterday -"
"I decided to return to London and take care of Daniel's estate, Mr. Cogswaite. My - wife made the trip back to Los Angeles to attend to matters there in my absence."
"Of course," Cogswaite acknowledged as the door opened and a young woman entered to hand him a file. "Thank you, Betty."
Betty's dark eyes lingered for a moment on Remington before she left the office, closing the door behind her. "Mr. Cogswaite, I think you should know that before Daniel died, he told me that he was my father."
The solicitor looked up from the file on his desk. "He did?"
"Yes. The day he died, in fact. Unfortunately, he had no time to tell me anything more than that fact."
"I see." Cogswaite flipped through the file. "Mr. Chalmers came to us on the advice of the Earl of Chalmers, as I'm certain you've discerned, Mr. Steele. The Earl thought very highly of Mr. Chalmers and insisted that we give him the same service as we had given the Earl and his family all these years. According to this, there is a rather, modest estate which Mr. Chalmers requested be left to you as his only heir."
"An estate?" Remington questioned. "I was under the impression that Daniel had little or no money at the time of his death. All the time I knew him, he would go from feast to famine -"
"Apparently," Cogswaite explained, sliding a piece of paper across the polished surface of the desk, "Mr. Chalmers had made several investments over the course of his life- most of which have paid rather handsomely."
Remington picked up the paper and blinked as he noted the amount at the bottom of the page, marked "Net Worth", with a date some two months prior to Daniel's death. "I never knew about this."
"There are also some other items- a flat, the contents of said flat - Mr. Chalmers' art collection isn't included in the figures on that page you're holding. There's also a mention of the contents of a wall safe in the flat- but Mr. Chalmers didn't leave us the combination-"
Remington smiled. "I know the combination," he assured the other man.
"I was sorry to hear about your father's death, Mr. Steele. The few times I met with him, he seemed a very interesting, charming gentleman."
"Daniel was that, all right," Remington agreed.
Ian Cogswaite picked up a pen. "Now, if you will sign here- and here, Mr. Steele . . ."
***
Laura wasn't surprised to find Mildred already at her desk when she entered the office that afternoon. "No clients clamoring for attention?" Laura questioned, looking around.
Mildred put a hand over the telephone receiver at her ear to answer. "I made appointments for all of them tomorrow morning," she explained, handing Laura the agency appointment book. "It was a circus when I got here." Mildred's attention turned back to the telephone. "You're sure about that? Okay, thanks. Keep looking, okay?"
Laura listened as she examined the full schedule for the next day. "Who was that?" she asked when Mildred hung up.
"Mickeline. I called to see if he'd heard from Mr. Steele. He hasn't."
"No leads yet?" Laura asked.
Mildred looked apologetic. "Sorry. He hasn't used any of his old names that I've been able to tell."
"Is Tony in yet?" Laura asked.
Mildred frowned at the mention of Tony Roselli, then jerked her head toward the larger office. "In there. Said he was going to make some phone calls."
"You sound as though you don't believe him."
"I don't trust him, Mrs. Steele."
"Right now, Mildred, I don't think we have a choice," Laura told her. "Keep looking. I'll see if Tony's come up with anything."
Tony was sitting at Remington's desk, his feet propped up, the phone to his ear. He saw Laura and smiled, then lowered his feet as he noticed her look of disapproval. "Uh, you're sure? . . . Yeah. If you find anything, you can reach me here at Remington Steele Investigations. Bye." He looked at Laura. "There's no trace of him," he told her, rising from the chair to approach her. Lifting a hand, he touched her cheek. "Did you sleep at all?"
"I'm fine," Laura insisted, brushing the hand away as she moved to the conference area. "Who did you call?"
"Some contacts at the INS. Had them put a trace on that temporary passport Steele was carrying. Wherever he went, he didn't use it."
"He wouldn't," Laura sighed, sliding her fingers through her hair in frustration. "It would be too easy to track him down. Once Remington decides to disappear, he disappears."
"He said he was going to give you time," Tony reminded her, sitting down beside her on the sofa.
Laura gave a harsh laugh. "You know, this is just like him. Hiding like an angry little boy because his feelings are hurt." She shook her head. "Maybe I should look in the nearest laundry hamper," she sighed. Seeing Tony's confused look, she said, "I did that once hewn I was little. Mother told Remington about it and he's never let me forget it."
Tony slipped an arm around her shoulders. "You don't seem the running away type."
"I was when I was six," Laura said. "Took me a long time to realize that running away from problems doesn't solve them. Or ignoring them." She sighed. "Where is he, Tony?"
"Probably taking care of Chalmers' estate," Tony suggested.
"What estate? Chalmers didn't have two dimes to rub together when he died. He was a con-man and a thief- and I was a fool not to realize how upset Remington was at his death."
"Don't blame yourself, Laura," Tony insisted. "This was all my fault. And I'll do whatever it takes to make it right," he promised, giving her a quick hug.
Laura searched his face. "I should be angry with you. But thanks for helping."
Tony's face was serious. "I'll do anything for you, Laura. Anything."
Mildred entered the office and cleared her throat at the sight of the two of them sitting so close. "Estelle Becker's on her way over here, Mrs. Steele."
"Estelle?" Laura questioned. "I thought she'd been replaced by Gladys Lynch?"
"Gladys is in Encino stamping passports," Tony announced, causing both women to look at him. He shrugged. "I pulled a couple of strings to get Estelle back on the case, since she's more sympathetic than Gladys."
"Does Estelle know who you are?"
"Never met her. But she might have heard my name."
"Then you'd better get out of here for a while," Laura suggested, standing up and pulling him to his feet as well. "No sense in having to explain your role in everything."
"Okay. I need to meet with some contacts face to face anyway." He passed Mildred. "See you later."
"Unless I'm lucky," she replied darkly.
Tony waved and left the building. Returning to the loft, he dialed the same number that he'd called early this morning. "It's me again," he told his contact. "Any news on Steele? . . . London. Figured. Okay, get someone over there and locate him . . . And then, make sure he doesn't come back to Los Angeles anytime soon . . . I don't care what you have to do, just do it."
To Be Continued---