Steele Romance

Part 1

by Nancy Eddy

Author's note: The premise of this story is that Gordon Hunter didn't steal the Royal Lavulite in "License to Steele". Laura's last glimpse of her ersatz Remington Steele is as he gets into a taxi to head for the airport. Laura and Murphy safely transport the gems to the airport for their trip to San Francisco, then return to the Agency. Only now, after his capture of Special Agent Ben Pearson's murderers and stopping the theft of the gems makes the papers, people have a face to put to the name Remington Steele, and Laura's job becomes even more difficult than it was before . .

Laura Holt sat in her office, scanning the San Francisco paper for some word. It had been a week. She knew the gems were on display - what was taking him so long? Murphy had tried to convince her to notify the local authorities that the gems were in danger. But she'd held back, not certain why. She sighed, folding the paper, considering calling the museum where the gems were on display. Her gaze fell on the newspaper photograph that she had cut out and hung on the wall the day after it had appeared. It showed the man that people now called "Remington Steele" shaking the hand of a policeman after capturing Raymond Kessler and Leo Neff.

Bernice looked up as a uniformed delivery man entered the office carrying a long white box with a huge bow on it. "May I help you?"
"I'm looking for a Miss-" he read the card on the box. "Miss Laura Holt?"
"You can leave it-" Bernice began, reaching to take the package, only to stop as the man stepped back.
He shook his head. "I have orders to deliver it DIRECTLY to Miss Holt."
Bernice frowned as Murphy came from his office and she went to knock on Laura's door. "Laura, you'd better get out here."
Laura opened the door, smiling at the delivery man. "Miss Laura Holt?"
"Yes -"
He held out the box. 'These are for you." Once the box was safely in her hands, he nodded at Bernice and Murphy, then left the office.
Laura stood fingering the elaborate dark blue bow until Bernice, her curiosity almost visible, asked, "Well? Are you going to stand there and look at the bow or open it?"
Smiling in anticipation, Laura carefully slipped the ribbon from the box, then lifted the lid, a soft gasp escaping from her lips. "Roses."
"Must be at LEAST a dozen," Bernice said.
Counting quickly as she leaned close to inhale the perfume, Laura corrected her. "Two. TWO dozen red roses."
"Who would be sending you roses?" Murphy asked suspiciously.
"Is there a card?" Bernice asked. "See if there's a card."
Laura dug through the tissue. "Here it is," she said, holding it so that only she could see it. She smiled.
"Well?" Murphy asked, impatient.
Bernice knew that look. "They're from HIM, aren't they?"
"There's no message," Laura lied. "Just a name."
"And what name might that be?" Murphy asked archly.
"Remington Steele." Ignoring Murphy's sniff of disapproval, she put the card in her pocket to look at later before touching the deep red roses.
Bernice shook her head. "I'll find a vase to put them in."
"He did it, Murphy," Laura told her friend. "He got the gems and got away."
"You're lucky he did, Laura," Murphy said. "Because if he'd been caught, it would have been the end of Remington Steele Investigations." He watched as Bernice brought a vase back and Laura began putting the roses into it. "Laura, are you listening to me?"
"Yes, Murphy," she said absently.
He shook his head and threw up his hands, then turned back to his office, closing the door behind him.
"He's right, you know, Laura," Bernice said.
"About what?"
"You're just looking for trouble -"
"What was I supposed to do, Bernice? Send the flowers back?"
"Might have been the wisest move."
"They're only roses," Laura said, placing the last one. "It's not as if he sent me a diamond necklace or anything."
Murphy's door opened and he said, "Just wait." Murphy told her. "He will! Probably stolen from some countess -"
Laura picked up the vase. "Really, Murphy. Give me a little credit, okay? Have you finished that report on the Benson case yet?"
"Working on it."
"I need it by this afternoon," she told him, entering her office.
"Yes ma'am," he sighed, returning to his office.

The door closed, Laura sat at her desk and looked at the roses, then drew out the card. "Beautiful roses for a beautiful woman. Thank you. Remington Steele." She sat back, looking again at the photo on her bulletin board. She'd never see him again. He'd probably go back to Europe and forget all about the lady "dick" who had
temporarily distracted him from his goal.

"Why so glum, Harry? One would think you would be on top of the world after pulling something like that off."
The man Laura Holt knew only as Remington Steele smiled crookedly at the older man who had made the observation. "Sorry, Daniel. Don't feel much like celebrating."
Daniel Chalmers sat down. "Want to talk about it?"
"Not sure where to begin. Have you ever met someone who refused to leave your mind, Daniel? Someone who you kept thinking about even though you never expect that you'll see her again?"
Daniel sat back, understanding at last. "A woman. I might have known, my boy. It's always a woman with you."
"This one is different, Daniel. I've never met anyone quite like her. If things had been different, I might have stayed - You ever met anyone like that, Daniel? A woman who could make you think of settling down, giving up the life-?"
Daniel rose to refill his glass, his movements deliberate. "Once. A long time ago."
"But it didn't work out," Harry guessed.
"No. Because I ran - wound up in prison. And when I got out - it was too late."
"She'd found someone else?"
"She was dead." He watched Harry closely over his glass.
"I'm sorry, Daniel. I didn't know-"
Daniel pasted a bright smile on his face, hoping the pain didn't show through. "It was long time ago, as I said. Water long since under the bridge."
"Do you think it WOULD have worked out? If you'd stayed -?"
"I like to think it would have." He cleared his throat. Things WOULD have been different. For himself- and for Harry. "Want to tell me about what happened to you over there?"
"I met someone. Her name is Laura. She-" he smiled as he said, "She's a private detective."
"Oh, Harry," Daniel said, shaking his head. "Not good, my boy."
"That's what I keep telling myself. But SHE'S good. Figured out MY game quickly enough."
"And she didn't turn you in?"
Harry's smile widened as he began to tell his old friend about what had happened in Los Angeles, and about the lady detective who had somehow managed to get under his carefully erected defenses.
Daniel listened in silence, hearing something in the younger man's voice that stirred things within himself. Feelings long forgotten. "What are you going to do? Go back to Los Angeles? Assume the mantle of this imaginary detective that the lady invented?"
"I don't know, Daniel. But I do know that I want to see her again. To see if it's real - or just - something that I'VE fabricated. I have to know."
"Then bring her here."
"Here?"
"Invite her to visit you here, in London- or in Cannes. The Film Festival will be starting soon- and you know how much you enjoy the South of France, Harry. I'd be willing to wager that she's never been to Europe."
"You think she'd come if I asked?"
"Only one way to find out, my boy." He put the telephone in front of Harry.
Harry stared at it for a long moment, then shook his head. "She'd say no. Laura Holt's far to sensible to consider such a thing. She'd never agree to fly here to meet me -" He shook his head. "No, Daniel. It's best if I simply put her out of my mind and get on with my life." He stood up tiredly and turned toward the door. "Good night."
Daniel watched him go. "If you can, my boy," he said softly, sighing as his own memories came crashing in on him. "If you can."

"Any calls, Bernice?" Laura asked, as she returned from a meeting.
"Just Mr. Giddons and Mrs. Burns," the receptionist said, hating the way that her friend's face fell. "Look. Why don't you and I go out on the town tonight? Paint the town red? We can go to that new club-"
"Thanks, Bernice, but I'm not really in the mood. I have some paperwork that I need to catch up on - Thanks anyway." She wandered into her office, closing the door.
Bernice closed her desk drawer with more force than necessary. Damn the man anyway. It had been a week since he'd sent those roses and not a word since. She'd finally convinced Laura to let her toss the wilted remnants of the flowers out this morning - but she'd discovered that one of the roses was missing. While Laura had been at lunch, she'd found the pressed rose buried in Laura's desk. If he walked in right now, Bernice would be torn whether to strangle him or to push him into Laura's arms.
"Bernice?"
"Oh. Murphy. Did you say something?"
"Did I just hear Laura out here?"
"In her office. I'm worried about her, Murphy. She's not herself."
"Yeah. I know. I tried to tell her -"
"That's the last thing Laura needs right now, Murphy. She needs our support. Not I told you so's."
"You're right." He took a deep breath and went to the office door. Knocking once, he opened it. "How did the meeting go?"
"Boring as usual. I really hate those committee meetings. All they do is talk and nothing ever gets done." She picked up a pencil. "Did you need something, Murphy?"
"I thought we might go out to dinner this evening- maybe see a movie -"
"Thanks, Murphy, but-"
"No buts. You haven't been anywhere except home and this office or a case for a week, Laura. You need to get out, get on with your life. It's obvious HE has."
The pencil in her hands snapped. "You think I haven't been out because I'm waiting for HIM to call?" she asked, marching over to the bulletin board. "That's ridiculous!" She tore the picture from the cork and tossed it into the trash. "Who needs him? I ran this agency just fine before he came along, I can do it again!"
Murphy put a hand on her arm. "Laura-"
"I'm alright, Murphy," she told him. "And beginning tomorrow, things are going to change around here. I promise."
"Okay, Laura. Okay. If you need to talk - or anything- I'm right next door."
"I know. Thank you." She waited for the door to close behind him, then dove for the trash can, rescuing the wrinkled photograph and smoothing it carefully on her desk. "Call, damn you," she whispered. "Give me SOMETHING to hold onto here. Before I go totally, stark raving mad."

Daniel told a story he'd told a hundred times before, and was amazed that everyone gathered laughed - everyone except Harry, that is. His protege was sitting beside a statuesque blonde, but he doubted that Harry had looked twice at the woman all evening. For the last week, Harry had been quiet. TOO quiet. His temper was shorter than usual, and he had a tendency to keep to himself, going for long, solitary walks in the Park. It couldn't continue, Daniel reasoned.
Once the last guest left the house, Harry, hands in his pockets, turned toward the stairs. "Good night, Daniel," he said.
"Could I see you for a moment, Harry? In the study?"
"I'm tired, Daniel-"
"This won't take long, my boy." He indicated that Harry should precede him.
Harry took a deep breath, then turned toward the study with Daniel close behind. He closed the door, then poured two glasses of brandy, handing one to Harry. "Daniel-"
"What's wrong, Harry?"
"I wish I knew, Daniel. I know I haven't been very good company this week-"
"That's putting it mildly. I think I convinced Beth not to quit after you nearly frightened her to death yesterday." Poor Beth, one of the maids, had been on the receiving end of a tirade by Harry for simply straightening his room.
Harry smiled. "I really should apologize to her, I suppose. I don't know what set me off like that."
"I think we both know, Harry." Daniel took a sip of his brandy as he moved to the desk and pulled a paper and some items from the desk. "I did a bit of - research on your Laura Holt, Harry -"
"You did what? Daniel-"
"She's really an amazing young woman," he said, a hint of admiration in his voice. "Spirited, respected, well liked by most people in her sphere. She graduated from Stanford with honors. Her -father -" he hesitated before continuing. "Her father deserted his family when she was sixteen years old, leaving her mother with Laura and an older sister to raise."
Harry's eyes darkened in momentary anger, as Daniel had expected they would at that bit of information. "Where the devil did you get all of that information, Daniel?" Harry asked, taking the paper in Daniel's hand from him to read it himself.
Daniel shrugged, watching the light slowly rekindle in Harry's eyes. "Called in a few markers from friends in Los Angeles." He sipped his brandy. "Word has it that she's been working almost around the clock for the last week - her friends are quite concerned about her."
"Nothing's changed, Daniel. She and I live in different worlds. We could never-"
"You'll never know, Harry, until you try. Two days under the circumstances that you described isn't enough to base anything on." He held out an envelope.
"What's this?"
"An airplane ticket. Or the confirmation of one, anyway. Los Angeles to London. Open return. The flight leaves tomorrow morning, her time." He put a hand on the younger man's arm. "You've never been one to shy away from taking a risk, Harry. Don't start now. Not now, when there's so much at stake."
Harry turned that brilliant blue gaze on his friend. "I don't understand, Daniel. If it works out- "
"You'll understand one day, my boy. You'll understand." He finished his brandy. "Send her the ticket- then have her call to give you her answer. Good night, Harry."
"Night, Daniel," Harry returned, his mind on the ticket in his hands.
Daniel paused in the doorway, watching the young man for a moment before closing the door and going upstairs to his room to pull out a carefully hidden photograph and stare into the face of a woman long dead, remembering his own chance for happiness - and its tragic aftermath, due entirely to his youthful fears.

Harry read and reread the information that Daniel had collected about Laura, drinking it in like it was water to a thirsty man. He sat down at the telephone, mentally calculating the time difference. His watch read just after two a.m. That would make it just after six in Los Angeles. The telephone number was there before him on the page. He picked up the telephone, then put it down again. What if she said no? What if she wasn't even there? What if Daniel's sources were wrong and she was out with someone else? Perhaps even Murphy Michaels. He was certain that Laura's associate would be more than willing to cheer her up. He got up and paced to the fireplace.

Laura locked the doors behind Murphy and Bernice, then went back to her office. But she couldn't concentrate. The rescued news photo was now in her desk drawer, all she had to do was open it to see his face, but she wanted more. She wanted more than just a black and white newspaper photograph that didn't reveal how blue his eyes were, how dark they got when he was aroused - with curiosity, of course, she told herself, smiling at the memory of that meeting in the hotel bar.
This was ridiculous, she decided. Here she was, sitting here, waiting- Waiting for what? she asked herself. For him to come back? To walk in that door? To call just so she could hear that voice? She closed her eyes, then stood up. She'd go home. At least there she didn't have memories of him. Every time she walked into that other office, she could see him. And he'd only been there one time.
She picked up her hat and purse, was about the unlock the door to let herself out when the telephone rang. Leaving the key in the lock, she ran to answer. "Hello?"
"Hello, there," he said.
Laura sat down in Bernice's chair, knowing that she had to either sit or fall to the floor since her knees had turned to water. "This is a surprise. I was just on my way out the door-"
"Then I won't keep you- I just wanted to see if you received my gift."
"Gift? What gift? The only thing I've gotten was two dozen roses a WEEK ago."
"I should have called. I'm sorry, Laura - I - How are you doing?"
"Working. Things have been pretty busy here - the publicity from the Hunter case was better than I expected it to be. Thanks in part to you."
"I didn't do anything," he said.
"Yes, you did. You risked your life to capture those two killers. The only problem I have now is that everyone keeps wanting to meet you."
He saw her smile in his mind, and smiled himself. "What have you told them?"
"What I've always told them. That Mr. Steele is out of town on business. Speaking of which, yours went well in San Francisco, I hear."
"The gems are safely back in South Africa where they belong," he confirmed.
"And I suppose you got your finders fee?"
"Also safely tucked away. Laura, could you - get away this weekend?"
"Get away? What do you mean?"
"I've made an airline reservation- Los Angeles to London. The flight leaves there at ten tomorrow morning., your time."
"And why would I want to go to London?" she asked in a breathless voice.
"Because it would give us a chance to see each other again. We could go to Cannes from here- or wherever you'd like. Have you ever been to Europe?"
"No, I - I haven't. I was going to go a few years ago," she told him, "but things didn't work out."
"Do you have a passport?"
"Only one," she said, recalling that he'd had five of them, all with different names.
"I think one is all you'll need," he told her with a touch of humor. His voice lowered, grew serious. "I won't pressure you to say yes, Laura. I'll have the ticket delivered to you then can decide. Take down this number and let me know whether I should be there to meet you." He gave a number that Laura wrote down.
"At least I'll have a way to get in touch with you next time you go for a week without calling."
"There won't be a next time," he promised softly. "I'll let you go. Call me, okay?"
"I will. And -uh-" she didn't know what to call him. "Thank you for the flowers. They were beautiful."
"Not as beautiful as you are. Good night."
"Good night," she said, and waited for him to hang up.
"Are you still there?"
"Yes."
"You won't regret it if you come here, Laura. Now go home and get some rest."
"I will. You do the same thing. You sound a little tired yourself."
"I haven't been sleeping very well," he admitted.
"Neither have I."
"Maybe that will change tonight. Pleasant dreams, Laura."
"You, too, - "
"Harry," he told her.
"Harry. Good night, Harry." The connection ended, and Laura sat there. London. Could she really do something that crazy? The old Laura would have jumped at the chance. But that had been before Wilson's desertion. "No pressure," he'd said. Murphy would doubtless say she'd lost her mind. And Bernice would probably tell her to go for it. She stood up, picking up the telephone number. He'd been wrong. She wasn't going to be able to sleep at all tonight. There were too many decisions to make.

Harry sat with his hand on the telephone for a long time, not really seeing the fire across the room. She HAD sounded tired. And upset. He should have called her. At least she hadn't turned him down outright. Maybe, just maybe, by tomorrow evening, she'd be here. Or they would be in Cannes - whatever she preferred.
He wasn't going to be able sleep at all until he knew her answer, he decided. He picked up the telephone and called the airline to arrange for the ticket to be delivered to her house. He wasn't certain that he altogether trusted Murphy not to get his hands on it first and keep it from her.

Laura found herself standing in front of her closet, considering what clothes she would take with her -IF she decided to go. For all she knew, there wasn't even a ticket. Harry might have just been blowing smoke. Laura smiled. "Harry." The same suited him, somehow. She pulled out a couple of dresses - including the one she'd worn to Gordon Hunter's reception. She was still looking when there was a knock on the door.
She sighed. Probably Murphy, still hoping to convince her to go out to dinner with him. She considered ignoring the summons, but a quick peek through the blinds revealed a car she'd never seen, with a courier service insignia on the door, the same one that had delivered the roses. Laura opened the door. "Yes?" The uniform was the same, but the man was different.
"Miss Laura Holt?"
"Yes."
He held out an envelope, then smiled. "Have a nice evening, ma'am." Laura closed the door and went to the desk to slit the flap with a letter opener. Inside was the promised ticket. Depart LAX,10 am tomorrow, destination Heathrow, London. Open return. Laura found herself smiling as she went to the bedroom and drug out her suitcase. Her passport was already on the nightstand, retrieved from the drawer of her desk. Once the case was packed, she went to the telephone and dialed the number that Harry had given her. It was answered on the first ring.
"Hello?"
"You must have been sitting on top of the telephone," she said softly.
"I knew they were supposed to deliver the ticket soon. I hoped you'd call."
"It's got to be late there."
"Nearly 5 a.m.," he told her.
"You'd better get some sleep if you're going to meet my flight."
"You're coming?"
"If you're sure you want me to-"
"Oh, I'm sure, Laura. I'm more sure of that than I am of anything in my life at the moment. I'll be there," he promised. "Do you want to go on to Cannes or stay here in London?"
"Surprise me," Laura told him. "I don't really care."
"All right. I'll see you tomorrow, then. Good night."
"Good night, Harry." This time she hung up first. She had to or drop the telephone. How long had it been since she'd done something like this? She couldn't remember. But she wasn't going to back out now. Not when she'd heard how happy he'd sounded when she'd told him she was going to meet him.
She got into bed and slept more soundly than she had since he'd left Los Angeles.

Harry hung up the telephone and went upstairs to his room. He'd be able to sleep now. She was practically on her way. And once she got here? What then? "One thing at a time, Harry," he said to himself, falling into his bed with exhaustion. "One thing at a time."

"You're going to do WHAT?" Murphy asked, following Laura into her office.
"I'm going to London for the weekend," she repeated.
"On a case? We don't have anything that would- "  Murphy stopped suddenly as he made a connection.  "You're going there to see HIM, aren't you?" he accused as she started for her office.
Bernice's eyes widened. "Are you Laura?"
Laura smiled widely. "He called me last night. Even sent the airline ticket to my house - "
Bernice sighed as Murphy felt ready to explode. "This is CRAZY, Laura! You don't know anything ABOUT that man. Except that he's a jewel thief and possibly worse. Think about this."
"I already have," she told him.
"Talk some sense into her, Bernice," Murphy begged, turning to the brunette who stood in the doorway, smiling.
"Why should I? I think it's terribly romantic."
"He might be a murderer-for all we know."
"Of course he's not, Murphy. And I know that he's a con man, and jewel thief, but this is something I HAVE to do. Please try to understand-"
"I can't. I can't believe you'd jeopardize everything just to go off for the weekend to meet some guy that you don't even know!"
"I do know him, Murphy. Enough to know that he's not going to hurt me."
"Oh, you're wrong. He can hurt you. He's not the staying type, Laura. Once this little weekend is over, you'll probably never hear from him again."
"Then I'll have some good memories to call on, won't I?" Laura told him. "You're going to have to meet with Mr. Giddons this afternoon, Murphy. My flight leaves at ten, and he's due here at ten-thirty."
"I still think this is a mistake-"
"Then it's a good thing YOU'RE not going, isn't it?"
"When will you be back?"
"I'm just going for the weekend, Murphy."
"Two days? All the way to London for TWO DAYS?"
Bernice shook her head behind his back. "You just don't understand, Murphy," she sighed.
"You're right. I don't. So would one of you explain it to me?"
"I don't have time," Laura told him, checking her watch.. "I have to finish packing, and get things settled around here. I left something at the cleaner's downstairs. Be right back.."
"The cleaner's?!" he called after her. "What is going ON around here?" he asked, turning to look at Bernice when she answered.
"Murphy, all she's done for the last week is mope around here like a lovesick schoolgirl. Today, she's smiling, the color's back in her cheeks- and she looks like she finally got some sleep. Don't push it. She's a big girl. She can take care of herself."
"I wish I believed that. I just have the feeling that this guy can hurt her worse than Wilson Jeffries ever did."
"And I guess wishing she'd look at you that way doesn't figure into this at all, right?" Bernice asked.
Murphy turned on his heel and went into this office, slamming the door behind him.

"She's only going to be here for two days, Harry," Daniel pointed out. "Are you certain you wouldn't prefer to stay here and show her the city? If things go as I think they will, there will be other chances to take her to Cannes." He was smiling as he watched Harry trying for the fourth time to get a decent knot in his tie. "You really ARE nervous about this young lady, aren't you?" Daniel asked, looking at the framed black and white photo of Laura that Harry had developed, cropped and enlarged from the pictures he'd taken in Los Angeles.
"You'll understand when you meet her, Daniel. Just remember that she's not available, okay?"
Daniel put the framed photo down again. "Harry. When have I EVER -"
"What about that Countess in Rome?" he said, finally getting the tie right. He looked in the mirror to see Daniel grin.
"She was far too old for you, Harry. Can I help it if she decided she wanted someone with more experience?" He brushed the lint from Harry's coat. "You've nothing to worry about as far as Miss Holt is concerned. After I meet her at dinner this evening, I doubt I'll see her again until she leaves, with the schedule you'll likely arrange for her." He followed Harry from the room and down the stairs. "Take the Mercedes."
"Thanks." He caught the keys Daniel tossed him. "Shouldn't be long."
Daniel stood on the front steps until the car had disappeared down the drive. He didn't think he'd ever seen Harry this happy or excited about ANYTHING. Certainly not a woman. Not even Anna. He'd never been nervous about Anna.
For a moment, Daniel considered trying to break up the budding relationship. But he knew that he had to let Harry make his own decisions. Even if those decisions wound up taking the young man to a new life in America.
Daniel closed the door, shaking his head at the idea of his Harry being known as Remington Steele, private detective. He'd be good at it, of course. Harry had a knack for being good at anything he turned his hand to. And at least, if he was in Los Angeles, Daniel would always know where he was, know he was reasonably safe, not likely to end up in prison somewhere. But things would never be the same again.