"And it was a lie," Remington remembered as well. "It's for real, Laura. I least, I'm ninety nine percent certain that it is. And I haven't tried to hide anything from you. Daniel's not here, is he?" He indicated the closet, where he had hidden Daniel that time.
"No-"
"And I asked you to come along-"
"I wish I could," Laura sighed fretfully. "But the Agency's current caseload requires that at least ONE of us be here to handle it or we might as well close the doors."
Remington saw the suspicion mingling with worry on her face, and fastened the last lock before taking her hands in his. "I promise. I'll call as often as I can. And as soon as all this is cleared up, I'll be home."
Home, Laura repeated in her mind. Is that how he thinks of Los Angeles? As home? "How long do you think that will be?"
"I've no idea until I get there and scope out the situation. All I know is that Chalky called and told me that Daniel was in the hospital in London. And that Daniel didn't want me to know about it. If it was anyone else but Daniel, Laura, I probably wouldn't rush off this way, but-"
"But you owe him."
"Almost as much as I owe you," he told her. "Took a ragged, rough around the edges street urchin under his wing and probably saved his life."
"I prefer to think of it as his having found a diamond in the rough and knew precisely how to polish it to reveal its true value," Laura told him.
Remington pulled her closer, shaking his head. "You're the one who did that, Laura, by turning a good for nothing con man into a world famous detective."
"Don't sell yourself short. You had a hand in that, too. I'm going to miss you," she said quickly, wondering if she'd made a mistake by saying it at all.
"Not relishing the idea of having to tell clients that I'm "out of town" again, eh?" Remington questioned.
"Oh, I can handle that part," Laura assured him with confidence. "I was talking about personally. I've gotten a bit used to having you around, Mr. Steele."
"And I've gotten used to being around," he admitted, putting his case near the door. He pulled her into his arms again. "I meant what I said about coming home, Laura. I'll be back as soon as possible." His long fingered hand framed her face. "Because this IS home to me now." He lowered his lips to hers for a long kiss. "We'd better go," he told her, "or I'll miss my flight."
Laura nodded and opened the door. In order to make her more comfortable with his having to make the trip, he had insisted that she drive him to the airport and see him onto the airplane. He seemed to want to make certain that she believed him this time. He picked up his ticket and checked his suitcase. "You've got your passport?" she asked as they approached the security gate that she wouldn't be able to go through.
He pulled it from his coat pocket. "Right here. I'll call as often as I can, Laura. If there was anyway for me to find out what's going on without having to go-"
"I understand."
Remington glanced around the busy terminal, then, satisfied that no one was watching, he dropped a kiss onto her waiting lips. "Don't forget me."
"Not a chance, Mr. Steele," she said as the last call for his flight was announced. She watched him through the glassed in walkway for as long as she could, telling herself that it wasn't because she expected to see Daniel waiting for him, either. He was really concerned about his friend. She could tell that. She'd learned, from experience, how to tell when he was trying to scam her and when he was telling her the truth.
As usual, the call from Chalky couldn't have come at a worse moment in their relationship. The fallout from their weekend at the "Sensitivity Spa" had yet to settle. They both wanted to put it behind them, make things work out, but Laura kept hearing her own voice, screeching at him to get out, that she didn't need him, kept seeing his hurt face at those words. She hadn't meant them. She hadn't meant anything she'd said during that awful latent aggression seminar.
What if this was a way for him to leave without another scene? A little voice in the back of her mind whispered as she watched the 747 taxi toward the runway. What if he believed all those terrible things?
Laura quieted that voice. She knew that he hadn't stayed around JUST because she hadn't tumbled into bed with him. She waved at the airplane, hoping he might be able to see her, knowing that he probably couldn't in the mid morning glare of the sun against the terminal window.
She sighed as she heard a page on the intercom. "Laura Holt. Paging Laura Holt. Please come to a courtesy telephone. Laura Holt…"
Laura went to the nearest bank of telephones and picked up the red one marked "Courtesy Phone". "This is Laura Holt-"
"Please hold the line, Miss Holt," the operator answered.
Laura glanced back toward the window as she waited. "Miss Holt?"
"Mildred? What's wrong?"
"Mr. Jacobs just called. He insists on meeting with you and Mr. Steele in his office ASAP!" Mildred informed her.
"Did you tell him that Mr. Steele was out of town on personal business?"
"Yes. But he says that if you're not there in fifteen minutes, he'll take his company and its security needs elsewhere."
"Thank you, Mildred," Laura said. She couldn't see the aircraft anymore. It was at the end of the runway, probably, waiting to take off. "I'll leave now."
"Did the Boss get off for London okay?" Mildred asked.
"His plane's just taking off, I think," Laura informed her. "I'll see you back at the office after I meet with Mr. Jacobs." Sighing, she resolutely turned toward the exit. There was work to be done, and standing here moping over Mr. Steele wasn't going to get it done.
Mildred glanced up as Laura entered the offices. "How'd things go with Mr. Jacobs?" she asked, holding out a handful of message slips.
"I think he'll agree to the plan that Mr. Steele and I came up with," Laura told the woman, glancing through the slips, wincing at one of them. "My MOTHER called?"
"I'm afraid so."
"I'll call her later," Laura decided. The last thing she needed was a recital of her faults from Abigail Holt.
"There's a client waiting in Mr. Steele's office, Miss Holt," Mildred told her. "A Mrs. Davenport."
Laura glanced at her watch. It wasn't even noon yet, and already it seemed like a week since she'd left the airport. Turning on her heel, she went to the door of Mr. Steele's office. Pasting on a reassuring smile, she entered. "Mrs. Davenport," she said, extending her hand to the blue haired woman who rose from the sofa in the conference area. "I'm Laura Holt. Mr. Steele's associate."
Mrs. Davenport looked behind Laura. "I was hoping that Mr. Steele would be here- from what I've heard, he's quite good at this kind of problem."
"I'm sorry, but as I'm sure Miss Krebs explained, Mr. Steele had to go out of town suddenly. Perhaps if you filled me in on the kind of problem you have-"
"It's my Monet," Mrs. Davenport said. "My late husband got it for our fifteenth wedding anniversary."
"Has something happened to it, Mrs. Davenport?" Laura asked quietly.
"It's been stolen, of course. Right out of the gallery in my home. I've been in Europe, you see, trying to recover from Clyde's death three months ago." She opened her purse and began to search for something. Laura picked up a nearby box of tissues and handed a couple of them to the woman. "Thank you. The first thing I did when I got home this morning was to go and look at the painting, as I've done every morning for the last twenty-five years, not counting the times when Clyde and I were away on vacation. It was gone!" she declared tearfully, wiping her eyes.
"Did you call the police? It would seem to me that they would be better equipped to handle this case than-"
"I can't. You see, Clyde didn't acquire the painting through- precisely legal means."
Laura's eyes widened. "You mean he- stole it?"
"Oh, no. My Clyde would NEVER have done something like that," Mrs. Davenport insisted, sounding slightly offended by the idea. "He hired someone else to do it," she explained, rather matter-of-factly, Laura thought. "Anyway, he's told everyone all these years that's it a copy, you see. If I brought the police in, and they found it, then-"
"Then the truth might come out about it being a real Monet," Laura nodded. "Mrs. Davenport, why did you come to the Remington Steele Agency?" she asked. "We're not in the habit of retrieving stolen items that-"
"I'm willing to pay quite handsomely, Miss Holt," Mrs. Davenport told her. "The painting is worth a million dollars. The going rate for recovery fees is ten percent, if I'm not mistaken. That's one hundred thousand dollars, Miss Holt. Can your agency afford to turn down that amount of money?"
Laura knew what Mr. Steele would say if he were here. He'd jump at this case. But Laura was more cautious. "Why not go to the person who stole it for you originally?" she asked.
"Because I have no idea who it was. Clyde never wanted to involve me in that part of it. All he ever told me was that he'd made the former owner a very reasonable offer, the man refused, so he hired someone to steal it from him."
"And this was- twenty-five years ago?" Laura asked.
"Yes. We were married a little over forty years," Mrs. Davenport confirmed, wiping her eyes again. Laura sighed in relief. Twenty-five years ago, Mr. Steele had still been tossed from pillar to post, from one "cousin" to another, so he definitely hadn't stolen the Monet for Clyde Davenport. "Please say that you and Mr. Steele will help me, Miss Holt. I don't know where else to turn."
"You still haven't told me why you came here, Mrs. Davenport," Laura reminded the woman.
"It's was Clyde's idea, actually."
That statement made Laura pause. "I thought you said that Mr. Davenport was- dead?"
"Oh, he is. But he always told me that if anything ever happened to the Monet, that I should come to Remington Steele, and he'd know what to do."
"I see." Laura paced across the office, placing her hands on the back of the empty chair behind Mr. Steele's desk. "I suppose it couldn't hurt for me to look around your gallery," she decided. "And when Mr. Steele calls in, I'll ask him what he thinks about the case." Laura lifted her hand as the woman began to speak. "I'm not agreeing to take the case, Mrs. Davenport, just to check things out a bit."
"I suppose I'll have to be satisfied with that, then, won't I?"
Laura led the woman back out to the reception area. "Mildred, what time is my next appointment?"
Mildred consulted the book on her desk. "One p.m., Miss Holt."
"Good. That should give us enough time," she told Mrs. Davenport. "Mrs. Davenport and I are going to her house to look things over, Mildred. I'll be back by one."
The Davenport house was precisely what Laura had expected. One of the old movie star homes, sold over the years as fortunes rose and fell in the industry. "It's a lovely house, Mrs. Davenport," Laura commented, looking around the dark paneled walls. The balustrade of the curving staircase was highly polished, and gleamed in the light from the crystal chandelier.
"Thank you. Clyde bought it on our tenth anniversary. It once belonged to a movie star."
"Which one?" Laura found herself asking.
"Oh, I can't remember. I'm not very good with names, I'm afraid." She removed her gloves as a woman dressed in a maid's uniform came into the entryway.
"Señora Davenport. You are home. I did not hear you come in."
"Have there been any calls, Marianna?"
"No, Señora."
"Miss Holt and I will be in the gallery," she told the maid, and indicated that Laura should follow her down the hall beneath the stairs.
"How many servants do you have on staff, Mrs. Davenport?" Laura asked.
"Let's see," the woman said, taking a key from her pocket as they paused before a heavy oak door. "There's Marianna, and Felix, he's the chauffeur. And Mrs. Pettigrew. The cook."
"Were they here while you were gone to Europe?"
"Oh, no. I gave them the time off. Closed the house entirely. That's how I think whoever stole the painting got in. I might have made a mistake setting the gallery security alarm before I left. I can't be certain." She unlocked the door. "It wasn't one of the servants, Miss Holt. They all believe the painting to be a copy just like everyone else does." Opening the door, Laura entered a room that looked like a small museum. Paintings hung on all four walls, statuary stood on pedestals on the tiled floor.
"Have you thought about charging admission to this, Mrs. Davenport?" Laura wondered, pausing before a Renoir. "Is this real?"
"They're all real- and legally acquired. The only one that Clyde didn't buy outright was the Monet."
Laura looked around, noting the single blank space in the line of paintings. "They didn't take anything else?"
"No. Nothing else was touched."
"Who else would have known that your Monet was real?"
She pointed toward the skylight above them that covered most of the ceiling, giving a natural light to the room. There was a hole cut in the Plexiglas, large enough for a man to get through. "The repairmen are coming to fix it, but I wanted you to see it first."
"Is there anyway onto the roof, Mrs. Davenport?"
"From outside? No. Not without a ladder. And the building is two stories in height." Laura examined the spot on the wall where the painting had hung. It was gone, frame and all. Looking up, she examined the distance from the skylight to the floor, then examined the floor. "Do you know the name of the man that owned the painting before you?"
Mrs. Davenport bit her lower lip in concentration. "Oh, dear. I told you that I'm terrible with names. I think it was Lamont. Or something like that. Maybe it was Dumont. It's been thirty years, Miss Holt. I do remember that he lived in London. Clyde had some business dealings with him. That's how I saw the painting and fell in love with it."
"Where's the security box?"
Mrs. Davenport took her back outside the room and indicated the box beside the doors. Laura examined it. "Is this for the entire house?"
"Oh, no. The gallery is on a separate security circuit. This one is for the gallery only."
"There's no other box besides this one? For the gallery, I mean."
"Oh, there's one outside-"
"Could you show it to me, please?"
Laura followed Mrs. Davenport out the side door of the house, through a formal garden to a wall mounted box hidden by a hedge. Laura got between the hedge and wall to inspect the box. "It's been opened," she told Mrs. Davenport. Gingerly, she opened the cover and looked inside. Two wires had been cut. Damn, but she needed Mr. Steele's expertise on this one! "Could you tell anything was wrong when you disarmed the system this morning, Mrs. Davenport?"
"No. It went through the cycle as it always has. Why?"
Laura examined the wires, noting the colors. "I'll ask Mr. Steele for his opinion when he calls in later," she told Mrs. Davenport. Maybe this will get him back here ASAP, she thought as she left the woman's house a few minutes later.