Disclaimers in Part 1
"I can't tell you how glad I am that you're back on this case, Ms. Becker," Laura told the blonde woman who sat across the conference area sipping a cup of coffee.
"To tell you the truth, so am I, Mrs. Steele," Estelle replied. "Although, I would have preferred to have been able to speak with Mr. Steele on this visit. Are you certain that you don't have a telephone number where I can reach him?"
Laura glanced quickly at Mildred before she answered. "He wasn't sure when he was going to be in," Laura said. "Trying to turn that castle over to the servants it turning out to be a bit more difficult than he thought it would be. But I'll ask him to call you when he checks in."
Mildred picked up her own cup. "What happened, Estelle? Why were you removed from Mr. Steele's case?"
Estelle lifted her shoulders. "Your guess is as good as mine. The day before you were due back in Los Angeles from your honeymoon, my supervisor came in and told me that the case was being turned over to someone else and *suggested* that I take a vacation. When I came home, the case file was sitting on my desk, untouched, and my supervisor told me that there had been a change in plans again, and that you and Mr. Steele were in England on a case."
"How odd," Laura said. "Do you know the woman that they gave the case to? Gladys Lynch?" she wondered, pouring a fresh cup of coffee.
"Our paths have crossed on occasion. I tried to contact her in Encino, to see what was going on, but she's always too busy to talk to me."
"You wouldn't think there were that many passports to be stamped in Encino," Mildred commented.
Laura sipped her coffee thoughtfully. "Was Ms. Lynch the only one working on the case that you know about?" she asked.
Estelle frowned slightly. "I really have no idea what was going on, Mrs. Steele. I'm just relieved that the case is back in my hands," she said, sitting forward. "I know that I shouldn't admit this- it's very unprofessional, but I'm really hoping that things work out for Mr. Steele. You're living in Mr. Steele's apartment, aren't you?"
"Yes. I've- sublet my loft to a new operative with the Agency," Laura confided, glancing at Mildred as she finished. "Tony Roselli."
For a moment, Laura held her breath as Estelle frowned again. "That name is familiar." Suddenly the frown cleared. "Of course. The report about what happened in Mexico on your honeymoon. All that mess with Norman Keyes. Mr. Roselli helped you and Mr. Steele clear things up, didn't he?"
"Yes," Laura said, glancing at Mildred, giving the older woman a silent warning to keep quiet. "He did."
Estelle rose from her seat. "Well, I need to be going- I have other appointments. You'll let me know when Mr. Steele returns? I have to do a home visit-"
"The very moment," Laura assured the woman.
Mildred's quiet gasp was loud in the room, and Laura turned to look at the doorway. The thin, pale-faced man stood there with a stern look on his face. On his head was a black bowler hat. He was wearing a dark overcoat. In one hand he held an umbrella, and the other contained a briefcase.
"Mr. Broderick, isn't it?" Laura questioned.
"Broderick Smithers," the man intoned in a dry voice. "Of Bunbridge, Cleasthorpe and Cogswaite. Is Mr. Steele in?"
"No, he's not," Laura admitted.
The solicitor frowned disapprovingly. "Then I shall wait for him to arrive," he announced.
"Uh, Mr. Steele's not in Los Angeles," Laura told Smithers.
"Indeed?" Smithers replied, his thin brows rising toward the bowler hat. "I was informed at Ashford Castle that he had left. I assumed he was on his way here."
Laura saw Estelle send a confused look her way. "Apparently you didn't speak to the right people," Laura told Smithers. "Wait here. I'll be right with you," Laura assured the man. "Mildred, why don't you get Mr. Smithers a cup of tea?" she suggested as she grabbed Estelle's arm to pull her out of the office. "I'll be in touch, Estelle. When I speak to Mr. Steele, I'll give him your message."
Estelle gave Laura a suspicious look, but allowed Laura to escort her toward the door. "If Mr. Steele isn't in Ireland, where is he, Mrs. Steele?" she asked.
Laura laughed, hoping that it didn't sound as nervous to Estelle as she thought it did. "You know Mr. Steele. Such a free spirit. He'll turn up, Ms. Becker."
"I hope so, Miss Holt. That temporary passport he was issued expires in another week. I really need to speak to him."
"I'll have him call," Laura assured the woman again, practically pushing her out of the office as Mildred came from the storeroom, a cup and saucer in her hand. "One down," Laura sighed, glancing toward the open doorway through which she could see Mr. Smithers.
"What do you suppose he wants?" Mildred questioned.
Taking a deep breath, Laura slapped her leg to buck up her courage. "Let's go find out, shall we?"
****
Remington entered the apartment and turned on a light against the encroaching darkness of the London evening. He was still trying to take in everything he'd read in Daniel's will. While his father had never appeared to have more than a few hundred dollars to his name whenever he wasn't pulling a con, Daniel had managed to put away and invest a tidy little nest egg to leave to his son.
His son.
Remington sat down heavily on the sofa. He really was Daniel's son. It was something that he'd almost believed that the lawyers would have proven false somehow- a dying man's last grasp at immortality, as it were. But by all accounts, it was true. He'd seen the photograph of his mother- and now he knew her name: Sheila Harrison.
He reached a hand toward the brass and ivory French provincial style telephone that sat nearby, thinking about calling Laura, telling her that he was close to finding out who he was at last. Mentally, he calculated the time difference- it was only two in the afternoon in Los Angeles. Laura was probably in consultation with a client- and Tony was probably there, backing her up, worming his way into her affections-
Remington fingers curled into his palm and he pulled his hand away. He'd wait until later and put in a call to Mildred, he decided. He wouldn't have to tell her where he was, just that he was okay. Laura needed time to decide how she wanted this to play out- and even if it killed Remington, he was going to give her that time.
His gaze fell on the abstract painting that he had painted so long ago, and Remington rose to cross the room, stopping before it. Reaching out, he pressed gently on the right edge of the frame, and smiled as he heard the soft "click" that told him the mechanism had released.
Pulling the frame toward him, he opened it outward to reveal the wall-safe. Remington smiled, shaking his head. It had never made much sense for Daniel to keep all of the paintings and objects d'art that he had accumulated over the years here in this tiny flat with virtually no security system to offer protection- especially when Daniel himself spent so little time here, and most of Daniel's friends knew about them. "Honor among thieves," he muttered, turning the dial on the safe. Tilting his head close to the metal door, Remington listened for tumblers clicking into place. Finally, he grasped the handle and pulled, feeling a sense of accomplishment when the handle moved down, opening the safe to him.
Surveying the contents, Remington reached inside, removing the items one by one. A long velvet box, which contained a necklace of diamonds and amethysts, which Daniel's will had left to Felicia- along with the jade figurines that he had "picked up" in India years ago. Remington nodded, thinking how well the necklace would suit Felicia as he closed the case with an audible "snap" before turning to the next item.
A sheet of paper with names and telephone numbers- and money amounts beside them. Apparently a list of people to which Daniel owed money. All things considered, Remington decided, it wasn't a very long list for a moderately successful con man. Remington placed it to the side for later reading. The will had asked that Remington pay any outstanding monetary debts if at all possible.
Another paper, with the name and address of Daniel's stockbroker. Remington folded that one and placed it inside his jacket pocket, hesitating as he saw there was one more item in the safe: an envelope with the name "To Harry" written in Daniel's strong, firm hand.
Remington's own hand was shaking as he pulled out the envelope and looked at it. Picking up the ivory-topped letter opener from the desk, he slit the flap and drew out a paper.
*"My dear Harry,"* the letter began. *"I hope that I will have gathered the courage before my death to make this letter unnecessary. But in the very likely chance that I remain true to form and fall back into my usual pattern of cowardice, there is something that you should know. About your father."*
Remington sat down on the sofa, turning on the light beside it as he continued to read. It was basically the same story Daniel had told him that day at Ashford, with a few more details. About how Daniel had met Sheila Harrison while she was in London attending university, and about how when he'd discovered that Sheila's father was a moderately successful businessman in Dublin, he had decided to try and con Liam Harrison using Sheila as his "in" into the Harrison household.
But he hadn't counted on falling in love with the young Irish woman- or her falling in love with him. Harrison had discovered the truth about Daniel and threatened to have him arrested if he didn't leave Dublin- and Sheila immediately.
Daniel had left Dublin, but Sheila had followed him back to London and convinced him that they should get married without delay. Daniel had little money put back at that time in his life, and when an old friend suggested a "fool proof" way to get a stake for the newly-married couple, Daniel had gone along, promising himself that it would be the last time he would do something like that.
But things had gone wrong, and Daniel had been caught. He'd insisted that Sheila go back to Dublin, to forget him. That he wasn't worth it. The rest of the story was much like the one that Daniel had related that fateful day- but there was more.
Once he'd gotten out of prison, Daniel had gone to Dublin to look for Sheila. But her father had coldly informed him that Sheila had died during childbirth, and that Daniel's son had died as well. It hadn't been until a chance meeting with a former servant in the house- one Patrick O'Rourke, that Daniel had discovered that Liam Harrison had lied.
Daniel and Sheila's son was alive- but he'd been put out for adoption, since his grandfather wanted not reminders of the man he held responsible for his beloved daughter's death. Daniel had set out to find his son, but red tape and dead ends had been the only result.
Heartbroken, Daniel had returned to London on O'Rourke's promise to keep looking for the lad.
The remainder of the letter recounted Daniel's first meeting with "Harry". *"I called you the name that your mother planned for you. Harrison Chalmers. She hoped it would placate her father,"* he wrote.
*"Harry, I'm sorry that I never told you the truth. But I was terrified of losing you again when it had taken me fourteen years to find you. We were friends, and I swore to be content with that, as long as I knew where you were. These last years, it's been much easier for me, knowing that you were in Los Angeles, pretending to be Remington Steele- a role that I feel that you were fated to take on, by the way. Don't look so surprised, Harry, my boy,"* Daniel had continued, and Remington felt himself smiling at the admonition. *"I know that I never told you this, but I'm very grateful to Laura (see? I got the name right) for giving you the chance to become the man that I always knew you could be. I'm so proud of what you've managed to accomplish in the last five years, my boy, although I've not right to be. All I did was to teach you the rudiments of gentlemanly behaviour. Not with a view to becoming one, but with a view to your joining the "family business". I'm sorry that I can't supply you with a birth certificate or such to give credence to my story, to supply you with the proof of who you are- but does it really matter? A wise man once said that "all we do, all of our experiences are but a journey to who- or what- we ultimately become". You have managed to become Remington Steele, my boy. It's the reason that I didn't tell you about my illness sooner. If you'd known, you would have felt bound to return to London, to "take care" of me. I couldn't allow that to happen. Your place now is in Los Angeles, with Laura."*
Remington sighed, hoping that Daniel's words were prophetic somehow.
*"You're in love with her. And I believe that- beneath that cool exterior, she loves you just as much. She reminds me at times of Sheila. Determined to make her own way, no matter what the cost. But Laura is so much stronger than Sheila. Her sense of purpose is amazing. If there's anyone who can keep you in line, it's Laura Holt. Good luck, Harry- Remington, my boy. Your father, Daniel."*
Remington stared at the letter for several minutes, then folded it carefully before returning it to the envelope and placing it securely in his pocket. Patting it, he went to the safe and closed it, pushing the painting back into place, listening for the "click" that told him that the latch had caught.
Tomorrow morning, he'd make arrangements for the objects d'art to be packed up and stored until he knew what he was going to do with them. And then he would make the payments and bequests that Daniel had requested. From there- he wasn't sure what he was going to do.
Going into the second bedroom, Remington removed his jacket and tie, then lay down on the bed. He still needed to call Mildred, was his last thought as sleep overtook him.
***
The moment that Broderick Smithers left the office, Laura turned to Mildred. "Okay, get to work," she said as Mildred slipped behind the desk to turn on her computer. Laura began to pace the reception area while she spoke. "We know that Daniel kept an apartment in London and the address. See if you can come up with a telephone number for that apartment," she was saying as Tony pushed open the glass door and entered.
"How'd the meeting with Estelle Becker go?" he asked.
"Rather well, actually," Laura told him. "She's as confused by what happened as Remington and *I* were. And you'll be relieved to know that she doesn't know who *you* are."
"Good," Tony sighed. "I told her boss not that it involved national security and that my name wasn't to be mentioned to anyone. He agreed, but you know how those bureaucrats can be," he said, and then noted Mildred's glare as the older woman turned to look at him.
"Excuse me. Some of my best friends are "bureaucrat", pal."
Tony shrugged, and decided to change the subject. "Any leads on Steele?" he asked.
"Possibly," Laura said. "There was a solicitor here from London. His firm is handling Daniel Chalmers' estate."
"Wouldn't have thought that a con-man would have much of an estate," Tony muttered, then lifted his hands in a defensive movement as both women gave him a glare. "Sorry. What'd you find out?"
"Daniel kept an apartment in London," Laura told him, picking up the slip of paper that had the address written on it to wave it under Tony's nose.
Tony looked at the address. "And you think Steele might have high-tailed it there to hide out?" he asked.
"It's possible," Laura told him. "I'm having Mildred try to track down a telephone number for that apartment."
"You know, I've got contacts in London. I could probably get that number a lot quicker-"
Laura grabbed Tony's arm and pulled him toward her office. "Then do it," she ordered, opening the door and pushing him into the room.
Tony watched her go, then sat down on the edge of her desk and picked up the telephone to dial a number. This was working out much better than he'd hoped it would.
Two hours later, Mildred was taking her purse out of her desk, a frown on her face as she looked at Laura. "We'll get the information tomorrow, hon," she said in a reassuring tone. "Right, Tony?" she asked, looking at Tony, who was standing nearby.
"Yeah," Tony agreed quickly. "I'm sure my contact in London will have the information first thing tomorrow morning," he told them.
"I'll be at home if you need me," Mildred told Laura.
"Thanks. We'll start getting back to normal tomorrow," Laura reminded her. "Clients."
Mildred laughed softly. "You know, I'm almost looking forward to it. "Night," she told them both and left the office.
"She's tired," Laura sighed. "So am I."
Tony gave her a long look. "Didn't sleep much?"
Laura shook her head. "Not really."
"Bet you didn't eat lunch, either," he noted.
She looked surprised. "You're right. I didn't."
"So, you wanna go out for dinner?" he asked, and Laura frowned.
"I don't think that's a good idea, Tony," she said.
"Look, we're friends, right?" he asked. "Co-workers?"
"Yes, but-"
"So what's wrong with our going to get something to eat? I know a little place that a friend suggested. You like Italian?"
Laura's eyes narrowed. "Why does that sound like a trick question?"
"I meant food. Italian food," he clarified, then grinned, deepening the dimple in his chin. "Although, I wouldn't mind if you did like other things Italian."
Laura shook her head. "I still don't think it's a good idea," she told him again, moving past him to turn off the light in her office, then Remington's, as Tony watched.
"Okay. Forget that I said that. Just dinner. You need to eat something, Laura, and if I let you go back to that condo, you'll just sit around, fretting, wondering where he is and not fix yourself anything, right?"
Laura picked up her purse from where she'd placed it beside her desk, sighing deeply as she looked at Tony. "Okay. If you promise to behave yourself."
He lifted his right hand. "Scout's Honor," he promised.
Laura gave him a doubtful look. "I can't see *you* as a Boy Scout," she commented. "Let's go before I change my mind."
***
Laura twirled a breadstick in her fingers as she and Tony waited for their spaghetti to be delivered. "Nice place," she commented, looking around at the red-checked tablecloths and the wicker covered wine bottles that served as candleholders.
"Yeah," Tony said.
Biting the end of the breadstick, Laura studied him. "So, Tony, where are you from?" she asked.
Tony's eyes widened slightly and he shrugged. "New York."
"Do you have family there?" she asked.
"Just my dad," he told her, looking as though he didn't really want to discuss it. "Why the twenty questions?" he wanted to know.
"I've only asked two," Laura pointed out. "Just curious. Are you and your father close?"
Tony took a deep breath and reached for the mug of beer that sat before him. "No," he told her with a grim smile. "I haven't spoken to him in close to fifteen years."
"Why?"
"You're just gonna keep on digging, aren't you?" Tony said. "Okay. Here's the story, for what it's worth. My old man's a cop. He also has a drinking problem. And when he drinks, he gets mean. My mom took me and left when I was six. I saw him on weekends- sometimes, when he wasn't too busy working or having a drink with his pals. Six years later, I got dumped back on his doorstep when my mom died."
"She died?"
"Yeah," Tony said. "She was started working with at-risk teens, trying to keep them out of gangs. She was good at it, you know? She was even talking about going back to school to get her degree as a psychologist."
"What happened?" Laura asked in a quiet voice.
Tony picked up one of the breadsticks. "She got caught in the crossfire in a gang war."
Laura's hand closed over Tony's other hand as it lay on the table. "I'm sorry."
Turning his hand over, Tony gripped hers for a moment. "Thanks. I don't talk much about it."
"SO you wound up with your father after she died?" Laura questioned cautiously.
"Yeah. Listening constantly about how she shouldn't have been messing in police work or she wouldn't have been killed."
"Must have been difficult for you. Was he still drinking?"
"Worse than ever," Tony recalled. "Thought I'd follow in his footsteps and become a cop like him. When I got the scholarship to play baseball he was furious."
"But- you're sort of in law enforcement now," Laura pointed out. "Just on a bigger scale. Surely-"
"Not good enough," Tony told her with a shake of his head. "It was his way or nothing. When I had to give up baseball and decided to do other things, he practically disowned me." He sat back in his chair. "I heard he retired last year. Big party and everything- only I didn't get an invitation."
He saw the sad look on Laura's face and mentally patted himself on the back. She was hooked. She'd gotten more information about his past in ten minutes than she'd gotten about Steele's in five years, Tony told himself. He'd know that the "dead mother, alcoholic abusive father" story would push all of the right buttons.
If things kept going according to schedule, Laura would be eating out of his hand within a month.
To Be Continued---