Turnabout Steele Part 3

Turnabout Steele Round Robin "Remington Steele" fanfic
Part 3
The Characters of Remington Steele and Laura Holt don't belong to me, I'm just borrowing them. This is just a bit of fun and tribute from the SteeleWatchers.
So please don't sue us! Original content Copyright 1999-2000 SteeleWatchers and individual authors.
Permission to reprint required.

Part 2 SteeleChic
"Lovely evening, wouldn't you agree, dear?" Abigail asked Remington over coffee that night, while Maxwell and Deidre were washing up.

Before he could answer, she went on, "I mean just look at how happy Maxwell and Deidre are together. And I know Elizabeth and Nigel aren't here tonight, but you know what a delight they are!"

"Is there a point to this Mother?" Remington responded, unprepared and unwilling to have this discussion for the second time in the one day.

"Oh darling, forgive me for being your mother and worrying about you," Abigail gushed, "It's just that I want to see you settled down with a nice young woman to take care of you. Is it so wrong for me to want what's best for you?"

Remington shuddered at the thought. If, and when, he ever got married, he fervently hoped she would be more than just "someone to take care of him." The woman who finally won his heart would be beautiful, intelligent, independent and strong, someone to challenge him, compliment him and delight him, someone he could work with AND play with. And with that in mind, a thought occurred to him.

"I'm sorry Remington," Abigail was saying, "But when are you going to get serious and start seeing someone -"

That was it. Enough was enough. He had just hit upon an idea that might keep Abigail satisfied for a time.

"Actually Mother," Remington broke in, "I am seeing someone."

"Uh...what?" Abigail stammered, interrupted while in full speed, "Really? Well, darling, that's wonderful, why didn't you tell me?"

"Mother, when do you ever let me get a word in edgewise?" Remington teased gently, "Besides, I knew that the minute I mentioned I was dating someone on somewhat of a regular basis, you'd start hearing wedding bells and planning guest lists."

"Well, that's simply not true," his mother was offended for less than a second, "So, who is she, what's her name, where did you meet her, and more importantly, when can I meet her? Do tell darling."

Her name? That was a good question. "Ah...well, Mother," Remington began. He dropped his gaze to the coffee table in front of him where the TV guide lay open. He noticed a local television channel was screening an old Gene Tierney movie, "Laura. Her name is Laura," he said, "Laura..." His eyes roamed the contents of a nearby shelf and the first thing he saw was a copy of Gustav Holst's orchestral suite The Planets, "Holt!" he finished, adapting it slightly, "Her name is Laura Holt!"

"Go on," Abigail urged, nearly breathless with anticipation and delight.

"She's...ah...she's an associate with the Agency," Remington hedged, "Yes, Laura's a PI too."

"Really?" Abigail queried, "Laura works with you and Betty? You never told me you'd hired a new associate."

"Really?" Remington lied, "I was sure I did. Maybe you just don't remember, or maybe it slipped your mind," as he spoke, he sincerely hoped his mother would buy his rather lame explanation, "Yes, I hired her a couple of months ago, but we've only been seeing each other a few weeks," he added hurriedly so that Abigail wouldn't think it was anything too serious. Heaven forbid she start planning engagements and family get togethers around a fictional girlfriend!

"Well, darling, you simply must bring her to my little soiree on Saturday night, I'm almost dying with curiosity," Abigail told her eldest son.

"Oh, I don't know if Laura can make it Mother," Remington said in a rush," Just like me, she's very busy with her own case load, she's been an immense help to me in that respect."

"Nonsense child," Abigail argued, "What woman wouldn't want to meet her future in-laws?"

"There you go Mother, and you wonder why I didn't tell you about my involvement with Laura earlier?" Remington replied wearily.

Honestly, sometimes his mother could be like a dog with a bone. Remington couldn't foresee her giving up her quest to meet "Laura" any time soon. Oh well, maybe "Laura" could suddenly fall ill. No matter, he'd think of something to hold his mother at bay.

"Well, we'll see Mother, we'll see," he said vaguely, not really promising anything.

**********************

The next day, Tuesday, Remington finally made his way to the end of his mountain of paper work, aided greatly by the several hours of overtime Betty had put in the night before, and pushed it aside with a weary sigh.

He couldn't bare to face anything else mundane so he allowed his mind to drift to a beguiling American woman and her twinkling brown eyes. He pushed the button on the intercom,

"Betty? Can you bring in everything you've got on Phoebe Chase?"

Since security of the Royal Lavulite was what he'd been hired for, he decided to focus his attention on the intriguing Miss Chase. Her interest in the gems seemed to run deeper than purely professional concern, the catch in her voice as she spoke of them, and was it his imagination, or had he heard that accent falter?

"I'm sorry, Boss," he looked up as Betty slipped into the office and closed the door behind her, "But I don't have much to report. I called Providence Insurance when I couldn't generate anything through the computer. They said they'd just done a huge reshuffling of staff among their offices, including a Miss Phoebe Chase from New York, and that as soon as they got their files in order, they'd send me all the information they had on her, as well as a picture. They did say that Miss Chase was supposed to be in Monte Carlo."

"Mmm," Remington answered, gritting his teeth, "That's OK Betty, thank you." Blasted bureaucracies and their endless paper pushing, a conveniently disorganised office impeding his investigation.

Betty moved closer and leaned forward onto the desk, resting her two hands upon the burnished wood.

"I'll be sure and keep you posted as soon as I receive any more information," she added, "I'll keep checking until I find something. What is it that you're looking for?"

"What?" Remington replied, a little distracted, "Oh, nothing in particular, everything checks out so far. Just doing my job to safeguard those gems."

Betty smiled. He certainly was quite the workaholic, maybe he just needed a good woman to help him loosen up a little.

"That's what I love about you, Boss," she told him, her tone bordering on flirtatious, "You're so dedicated. But what will you do until I get the information you need?"

"I think I'll do a little digging of my own, in person, when I ask Miss Chase to have dinner with me tonight," Remington mused as he leaned back in his chair, trying to ignore the fact that it was more than just the desire for more information that was prompting him to invite her to dinner, "Thanks Betty, you can go to lunch now, if you like."

Sensing her dismissal, Betty straightened and flounced out of the office. She'd read more than mere professional curiosity in her employer's expression, only a woman could have picked up on the personal interest in his tone and eyes.

Inside his office, Remington picked up the phone but immediately returned the handset to its cradle when he realised he had no contact number for Phoebe Chase. He was still pondering that fact a minute later when the telephone rang and Betty buzzed the intercom to tell him that Miss Chase was on the line.

When he had picked up the line, Betty gathered her purse and coat and stalked out of the office, now more than ever, determined to dig up the dirt on a certain Miss Phoebe Chase.
"Ah, Miss Chase, Good Morning," Remington greeted her, "I was just going to call you when I realised I don't know where you're staying."

"Actually Mr Steele, it's good afternoon," she returned, "I was calling to thank you for your demonstration of the security system yesterday," she added, neatly side stepping his observation, "It seems to be a top notch set-up, but, in the interests of being thorough, I will need to discuss it with you further. Those gems are insured for quite a sum of money after all, money my company would naturally rather not pay out."

In her room at the Bennington Arms Hotel, Phoebe leaned back on her elbow on the bed and her mind wandered from the gems to a pair of eyes also the colour of the sky.

"Ah, in that case, what would you say to having dinner with me this evening?" Remington cut in smoothly.

"Oh, thank you, but...ah..." she began haltingly, "I don't think -"

"Oh, come now Miss Chase," Remington cajoled, "Surely you're not going to refuse me two evenings in a row."

Phoebe sighed. That voice of his was clouding her thoughts and causing her to become distracted. She always did have a thing for accents.

"I really have a lot of work to do," she explained, hoping she sounded calm. Yeah, she thought to herself, like looking for weak spots in the Museum's defenses and getting into Remington's office so that she could search for the code to the alarm system protecting the gems.

"But it will give us the perfect opportunity to discuss the Royal Lavulite," he said persuasively.

Sound and visual were almost too much for Phoebe. She shook her head to clear his image from it and forced herself to think logically. If she got closer to him, maybe she'd get invited to Remington Steele Investigations so she wouldn't be forced to break in.

"Now," Remington was saying, "What time can I pick you up?"

Phoebe's eyes widened and her mouth dropped open a little. There was no way she was going to make it that easy for him. She smiled to herself but a part of her brain kept trying to tell her that dinner with this man was potentially dangerous.

Mind on the job, she told herself, giving her head another slight shake.

"Mr Steele, I really don't think I have time," she tried to beg off again. She really did have to check out the Museum and it had to wait until after dark, "I'm terribly busy." No, dinner with him was definitely not a good idea.
"What if we made it a late dinner?" Remington suggested, "You could meet me there after you've taken care of business. Say 9 pm? I know the perfect restaurant, HUSH, it's in Mayfair, just off Bond Street."

"Mr Steele," she sighed. The man was nothing if not persistent.

"Is that a yes?" he asked.

"No," Phoebe answered.

"Well, is that a no?" he teased.

"No," she laughed, "It's a maybe!"

She was still smiling when they hung up. It may not be a good idea, but it was definitely a damned attractive offer!

**********************

Phoebe returned from her excursion to investigate the Museum's entrances and exits around 8:30 that night and flopped wearily onto the bed. Absently, she removed the elastic from her neat, practical braid and shook her hair free, running a hand through it distractedly, as her memory called forth a gentle English accent and a pair of piercing blue eyes.

Impatiently, she bounced off the bed and began pacing back and forth across the room. She glanced at the clock and noted the time, still pondering the same question she'd been bothered by all afternoon. To go or not to go?

On the one hand, she told herself as she made her way across the suite, the less he knew about her, and indeed, she him, the better. She didn't need the kind of complication a romantic entanglement might bring. Mistakes were made when one allowed emotion to cloud one's judgement, one of many valuable lessons from Daniel. But on the other hand...

She stopped in front of the dresser and leaned down. Gripping either side of the table in her hands, she stared at herself in the mirror.

"Come on, come on, come on!" she whispered aloud to her reflection as if trying to urge herself to make a decision.

On the other hand, there could also be benefits, she reasoned. She could earn herself an invitation to Remington Steele Investigations, which would make searching for the alarm code that little bit easier and remove the need to resort to other measures. She could have a bit of fun with a VERY attractive and desirable man, a harmless little fling. After all, who knew what sort of valuable information he might impart to her across some satin pillow.

A smile spread slowly across her face and her whole body began to tingle at the mere thought of sharing Remington Steele's bed as she sat down at the dresser.

There wasn't time to do anything fancy with her hair, so Phoebe swept the top part back from her face and fastened it with a gold clip, allowing it to flow freely over her shoulders in gentle waves.

She touched up her make up with a dash of shimmer on her eyelids and cheekbones and a dab of rose colored gloss to her lips.

As she threw open the wardrobe and searched for something to wear, she wondered briefly if he felt the same heat and magnetism between them as she did.

She glanced at the clock again. Almost 9. If she hurried, hopefully she wouldn't keep him waiting for too long.

************************

In the restaurant, Remington sat at a quiet, candle-lit table and took another sip of his water. He toyed again with his tie and glanced at his watch. 9:30, he noted, she's not coming. He tried to convince himself that the pang of regret he felt was due to his investigation into her credentials being impeded yet again.

From where she stood, just inside the entrance to HUSH, Phoebe could see Remington but he couldn't see her. She was again struck by how handsome he was and instinctively ran her hands along her dress, adjusting the bodice.

She had chosen a simple, royal blue dress. A sleeveless number that clung like a second skin to her torso before flaring slightly at her waist and falling softly to the knees. Her neck and shoulders were bare, covered only by her hair and a delicate diamond teardrop on a plain gold chain.

She began to move further into the restaurant but stopped suddenly.

"Glasses!" she whispered frantically to herself, opening her purse and taking them out, "Dammit girl, keep it together or you'll let something slip!"

Putting them on, Phoebe made her way to the bar and said something to the bartender.

"Excuse me, sir," a waiter approached Remington with a magnum of champagne and began pouring him a glass.

"Oh, I didn't order this," Remington protested.

"The lady would like to buy you a drink," the waiter explained, indicating towards the bar.

Remington turned to see who the waiter meant and caught sight of Phoebe walking slowly over to his table.

The smile he treated her to warmed her to her very toes and Phoebe pushed aside the fleeting thought that perhaps this wasn't the simple case of lust she'd originally anticipated.

"Ah, Miss Chase," he greeted her, "Do you always do things on such a grand scale?" he asked, indicating the magnum as the waiter finished pouring her a glass of champagne.

"Only when I'm aroused," she answered seductively, "With curiosity," she added.

Both took a sip of champagne as Phoebe let her remark simmer between them for a minute or two.

"I'm sorry I'm late," she apologised, "Business took a little longer than expected."

"No apology necessary," Remington said, "I'm only glad you could join me. Everything taken care of?"

"More or less," she replied, "Now about that security system -"

"Why don't we wait until after we've eaten, hmm?" Remington suggested, "I don't know about you but I'm positively famished," he smiled at her again, motioning to the menu before her.

Oh, she was hungry all right. "Of course," Phoebe raised her menu high, hoping that it covered the flush on her cheeks, and, when she'd made her choice, she reached up self-consciously and removed the glasses.

When she looked up, she found him watching her curiously.

"I, uh, I only really need them for reading," she explained meekly, "Sometimes I use them to add to my professional, business-like image."

He nodded in silent understanding, gazing at her now unencumbered face. He realised she was strikingly attractive, even beautiful. Without the severe hairdo and the glasses, she was a stunningly delicate creature, almost childlike in appearance.

Realising he was staring, Remington returned his gaze to his menu so that he could select his dishes and they both placed their orders without incident.

"This is a lovely restaurant, Mr Steele," Phoebe began, "One I've never heard of. However did you find it?"

"Clearly you haven't lived in London long enough, Miss Chase," he told her, a teasing gleam in his eyes, "That's the relative advantage to growing up in London, I know of lots of places that are off the beaten track, so to speak."

"Aah," Phoebe smiled knowingly.

"HUSH has an interesting story," Remington said, "Tell me, Miss Chase, do you like the movies?"

"Why, yes!" Phoebe answered, her face fairly lighting up in anticipation.

"Well, this restaurant happens to be owned by Geoffrey Moore, the son of none other than Roger Moore," Remington explained, "And where should it be located, but in an alley off..."

"Bond Street!" they said together.

"Precisely," he finished as Phoebe laughed in delight.

"Speaking of growing up," Remington added, "Tell me something about you, Miss Chase. Where did you grow up?"

All signs of their former levity disappeared as Phoebe answered, "Nowhere good."

Remington's smile faded as he waited to see if she would elaborate.

"Well," she started with a deep breath, "I was born in Los Angeles but I never knew my parents. I was shuffled from relative to relative, spent a little time in an orphanage, I even saw a few foster homes, but pretty soon, I was tired of hearing someone try to find a new way to tell me I wasn't wanted anymore," her eyes dropped to the table in front of her and she toyed with her napkin. She spoke quietly, her voice taking on a new cadence, low and thick with emotion.

She went on, "After a while, I got tired of always being somebody's burden, so, at fifteen, I decided to go it alone. I took myself to New York, I thought I could blend in on the streets, but it's really no place for a young girl, no matter how tough she thinks she is. But, I was lucky, I made a friend, he took me under his wing, looked out for me, and, when I was old enough, he...uh...he taught me all about his line of work," she finished.

"Insurance," Remington surmised.

Phoebe tried hard to swallow her guilt and managed to nod her head. While she had not stopped him from drawing that conclusion, by the same token, she had not lied to him.

He watched her carefully as something seeped into his consciousness. He'd been so caught up in what she was saying, he'd all but ignored how she was saying it.

Phoebe raised her eyes and caught his careful scrutiny. Suddenly uncomfortable, she tugged at the top of her bodice.

"What's the matter, is my dress slipping?" she asked with an uncertain smile.

"No, but your accent is," he said quietly, now convinced he hadn't ben hearing things the day before, "And not for the first time either."

Phoebe was surprised to hear that his voice held, not accusation, but a mere statement of the facts. He was giving her a chance to explain and, with some quick thinking, she began to do just that.

Thankfully, their meals arrived, giving her time to prepare a response. What was it about this man that had her letting her guard down?

When the waiter moved away, Remington was still watching her expectantly.

"Mr Steele, it's difficult for a woman to be taken seriously in business," she began, discarding her affected, New York, nasal tone completely and relaxing into her normal, gentle accent, "More often than not, I'm dealing with men. Men who, when they stopped looking me over, saw me as just another potential conquest. The glasses and the accent are simply my way of holding them off and getting the job done. It takes the focus off me as just a woman, and gives it a gentle shove towards me as a business-woman. It seems to help to adopt a more...masculine appearance."

Remington reached across the table to cover her hand with his own, "Not with me it doesn't," he assured her, "In fact, I'm glad we've gotten rid of the disguise. Now perhaps we could dispense with the formality?" he smiled at her disarmingly.

"Of course, Mr - uh - Remington," she responded, breathing a sigh of relief.

"Now, Phoebe," he said, "Shall we relax and enjoy our meal?"

*************************

"Mmm, wonderful," Phoebe sighed as she finished the last mouthful of dessert and put her spoon down.

"Breath-taking," Remington agreed, but his eyes never left her face and Phoebe got the distinct impression that he wasn't talking about the food.

She watched him over the rim of her tea cup and smiled as she took a sip. An American through and through, she much preferred coffee but, when in Rome...

"Now, suppose we talk about that security system?" she suggested.

"Must we?" Remington asked.

"Well, that is why we're here isn't it?" Phoebe countered.

"Oh? I thought we were here to spend a pleasant evening in each other's company," he said.

"Mr Steele, Remington," she amended quickly, "I'm of the old school who believe that business and pleasure have never, and will never, make the best of bedfellows." Especially not in my line of work, she continued to herself, So keep your eyes on the prize.

Remington smiled at her choice of words and found himself thinking, We'll see about that.

"What's funny?" Phoebe asked him, noticing his amusement.

"I've just realised I'm less worried about the gems' security and more worried about my mother," Remington told her.

"Your mother?" Phoebe repeated, wondering when she had lost control of the conversation.

"Yes," Remington answered, "You see, she's expecting to meet the woman I've been dating for the last month or so at a family function she's planning this weekend."

"Yes?" Phoebe prompted, appalled at herself for the instant pang of jealousy that flared inside her.

"Mmm," Remington confirmed, "Laura Holt, the agency's new associate. The only problem is, I made her up."

"You what?" Phoebe blurted, tossing her head back in unbridled amusement.

"Don't laugh, it's not funny," Remington cautioned, but he was already smiling himself, "It was an act of a desperate man, I assure you. You see, Mother is constantly after me to settle down and get married, she's always waving my younger brother's life of domestic bliss under my nose as if it's something every man should aspire to. I challenge any man in my position to weather such a storm."

"Oh, I see," Phoebe said, regaining her composure, but her eyes still danced with barely contained laughter, "And your Laura Holt, a veritable paragon of virtue is she?"

"Oh, of course," he answered, only half kidding, "She's smart, sexy, beautiful, honest, trustworthy, hardworking, in short, nothing less than brilliant."

"She seems to have rather large shoes to fill," Phoebe observed.

"Few would be foolish enough to try," Remington answered.

"Unless, of course, one enjoyed impossible challenges," she mused.

When they had finished their tea and settled the bill, Remington and Phoebe stood up and walked out of HUSH in companionable silence.

"Can I give you a lift somewhere?" Remington asked as they walked a little way down the street.
"No, thank you," Phoebe answered, "I've got a rental." They stopped beside a small cream coloured car, "This is me just here," she finished.

"We never did discuss the gems' security like you wanted," Remington said, reaching inside his coat pocket, "Why don't you call in to the agency tomorrow?" he suggested, handing her a business card, "We can go over the arrangements then."

"OK," Phoebe said, taking the card with a smile. This was easier than expected, she could kill two birds with one stone at the office. "Thank you for tonight," she continued, "I had a wonderful time."

Phoebe raised up on tip toe to kiss his cheek, breathing in his scent, and as she pulled back, blue eyes locked with brown and something unfamiliar washed over them both. Remington raised a hand to her cheek and they both leaned forward until their lips met in the gentlest of kisses. They lingered for a moment longer and then reluctantly broke apart.

"Until tomorrow," Remington said softly, trailing his finger softly across her cheek.

"Tomorrow," Phoebe echoed faintly, before getting into the car and driving away.

Remington watched until the tail-lights disappeared before signaling for Fred to bring the car around and take him home.

***********************

Back at the Bennington Arms, Phoebe stopped momentarily at the front desk to check for messages and then headed towards the elevators.

She had made her way to the door to her room and was searching her purse for the key when suddenly she was spun around and bailed up against the wall, an arm pressed across her throat and a switchblade knife being brandished before her eyes.

She gasped for air and raised both hands to grab the arm holding her prisoner but she quickly composed herself.

"I was under the impression we'd been through this before, fellas," she choked, "But if you want to make a scene, please, be my guest."

Leo Neff waved her towards the door with his knife, indicating that she should open it.

Fingering her throat gingerly, Phoebe did as she was told and, no sooner had they entered the room, than she was being shoved unceremoniously onto the bed.

"Do you think we're stupid?" Raymond Kessler demanded as the two of them stood over her, "Did you really think we'd simply let you go on your merry way after all the trouble you caused us in Paris?"

"Well..." she trailed off with a nonchalant shrug and a cocky smile.

Neff lunged for her, halted by a single raised hand from his partner. Phoebe flinched and eyes them warily, wondering if they shared a brain between them.

"We been followin' you, sweet'eart," Neff told her, "We ain't lettin' you out of our sight."

Dammit! Yet another thing that ordinarily would never have escaped her attention had she not been thinking about a certain man.

"Just what are you playing at lady?" Kessler asked, "You know how we feel about people who double cross us, so suppose you tell us what you were doing with him?"

"Who?" Phoebe asked, playing dumb, but mentally shuddering at the thought of these two watching her every move. Unfortunately all it earned her was the flick of the switchblade as Neff moved menacingly nearer.

"Remington Steele," he spelled out for her, "A right cozy dinner you was `aving, too."

"I told you I can get you those gems," she told them, "But I can't do it with the two of you looking over my shoulder. One glimpse of you goons and it's all over, he's one of the best detectives in the city, it won't take him long to smell a rat...or two. Look, the closer I get to him, the easier it will be to get my hands on those gems, so why don't the both of you just cool your heels and let me get on with it?"

"Just so long as that's all you're playing at," Kessler warned.

"Yeah, `ow do we know we can trust you?" Neff added.

Her confidence slowly returning, Phoebe rose cautiously off the bed and moved towards the door.

"You ever hear of honour among thieves?" she asked them flippantly.

Both men stared at her threateningly.

"All right then, let's look at it this way," she continued, "I'm closer to Remington Steele than you'll ever get, so that makes me your only chance." And with that, she offered them a cheeky grin and ushered them out.

Closing the door behind them she leaned against it and let out a weary breath, shaken but not stirred.

***********************
The next day, as she stood in the street, Phoebe looked down at the card in her hand and then back up at the building before her, verifying the address.

She took a deep breath before pushing open the double doors and heading for the elevators, ignoring her pang of guilt over the real reason for her visit. Not that it wouldn't be delightful to see him again.

She stopped in her tracks when she reached the glass door to suite 1157, Remington Steele Investigations stenciled neatly in gold letters. She was positive that last night he had told her Laura Holt didn't exist but, right before her eyes, she saw a woman emerge from one of the internal offices. She was tall with glossy, dark brown hair, perhaps not classically beautiful but striking nonetheless, and well-dressed, but in a flashy, overly glamourous manner.

Phoebe looked down at her own stylish suit before giving herself a mental shake, lifting her chin and swinging open the heavy door.

Betty raised her gaze to the young woman who entered the office, "Good Morning," she said, "Can I help you Miss...?"

"Chase, Phoebe Chase," Phoebe answered cooly, holding out a manicured hand, "You must be Mr Steele's secretary."

When Betty got close enough to shake her hand, Phoebe noticed her eyes were green and cat-like.

"Assistant," Betty corrected, eyes flashing. This little thing was Phoebe Chase? This delicate creature with her plain tailored suit, brown eyes and mousy brown hair?

"Ah, Miss Chase!" Remington called from across the office, breaking Betty's little reverie. She moved back to her desk but her eyes followed her boss as he crossed the room and lifted Phoebe's hand to his lips. He pressed a tender kiss to her knuckles and raised his eyes to hers.

"Good Morning," he greeted softly with a smile for her eyes only, "Please come through to my office."

Ushering her in, he closed the door after them, "Please take a seat," he offered, resuming his position behind his desk.

"Nice offices," Phoebe commented, looking around. The room was spacious and not overly furnished. She noticed the lack of a filing cabinet and wondered how many drawers the desk might have. On the other hand, protection of the Royal Lavulite was a big job, so he probably had a whole file stored in a cabinet, wherever that may be.

"You look lovely today," Remington told her.

"Thank you," she answered, flushing slightly as the phone began to ring, "Now, shall we get down to business?"

The ringing stopped as Betty picked up in the outer office but before Remington could answer Phoebe's question, Betty knocked lightly and entered the office.

"Phone for you Mr Steele," she announced apologetically.

"What's wrong with the intercom?" Remington queried in confusion.

"Nothing sir," she answered sweetly, "I came in to see if perhaps you'd like some tea."

"Thank you, Betty, but I think that Miss Chase might prefer coffee," Remington said.

"I don't think we have any," Betty responded in the same saccharine tone but Phoebe didn't miss the way his assistant's eyes narrowed when she looked at her.

"Who is it?" Remington asked.

"Sir?" came the response, as green eyes dueled with brown.

"On the phone," he clarified, growing exasperated.

"Mr Masterson," Betty answered.

"Oh, I apologise Miss Chase, but I have to take this, it's rather important," Remington explained, "If you'll excuse me, perhaps you'd like to wait in the next office, the information we need is in there anyway."

Phoebe sent up a silent prayer of thanks as she did as he suggested. He'd inadvertently told her part of what she'd come there to find out. Shutting the door behind her, she found herself in a much smaller office, cluttered with three separate filing cabinets.

She paused in the doorway and examined the room before moving slowly towards the filing cabinets. She was running a hand along the top of one when the door to the external office opened and Betty entered.

"Your coffee, Miss Chase," she said, placing the cup on the table and walking out again.

So much for befriending any females in the office, Phoebe thought to herself, for it was obvious she wasn't going to get a shred of information out of Remington's `assistant.'

She hadn't failed to notice the way the secretary's eyes followed her boss's every move nor the way her attitude had turned frosty when she found out who Phoebe was and witnessed Remington's reaction to her. She realised with a sense of catty satisfaction that the assistant's reaction to her was one of jealousy.
Smiling at this, Phoebe lifted a hand back to the cabinets. Now what would it be under? D for Davidson, R for Royal, L for Lavulite or S for Security? Before she could choose one, Betty entered the room again, eyeing Phoebe suspiciously.

"Excuse me," Betty said, moving to the cabinets, "I need a file."

Phoebe stepped back and took a sip of her coffee. Ugh! It tasted like a hot cup of the Thames but, not wanting to irk Betty any further, she forced herself to drink some. As soon as Betty left, she discarded her mug and went to the cabinets.

Quietly, she opened the drawer for D. It wasn't there. No sooner had she carefully slid the drawer shut when Remington came in from his office. Phoebe jumped, startled, and hoped he didn't notice.

"Sorry for the interruption," he began, "Now, what would you like to know?"

The phone rang again and was answered by Betty but, before Phoebe could respond, the intercom buzzed.

"Mr Steele, your mother is on line one," Betty announced.

"Tell her I'll -"

But Betty interrupted, "I've already tried that sir, but she's quite insistent, says it'll only take a minute. It's the second time she's called this morning."

Remington grimaced as he turned his eyes to Phoebe, who was busy fighting a smile.

"Go," she told him with a wave of her hand, her brown eyes twinkling.

"I'll be right back," he promised, returning to his own office.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Phoebe hurried over to the R drawer and seconds later Betty returned, ostensibly to return her file to its correct location.

This was becoming predictable. Was it her imagination or was the secretary determined to not leave Phoebe alone in the office?

"I'm terribly sorry," Remington said as he came back into the room, "There are too many interruptions here. What would you say to continuing our business over lunch?"

"I'd be delighted," Phoebe answered, smiling brightly as she took his arm, largely for Betty's benefit.

Phoebe could feel Betty's eyes on her as they left, and, if looks could kill, she might have dropped dead on the spot.

As soon as they'd left, Betty hurried back to her desk and picked up the phone. It may have been a coincidence, but each of the three times she had gone into the office, Miss Chase had been over at the filing cabinets, when really there was no need to be. The desk and chairs were a few feet away.

It was obvious that Mr Steele had been blinded by this woman, for what reason Betty wasn't sure, but it was up to her to continue checking her out, at least in the professional sense.

As she dialed the number for Providence Insurance, Betty realised it had only been yesterday when she'd phoned them last and they probably hadn't yet found the information she needed. Still it didn't hurt to ask and it certainly wouldn't do any harm to put a rush on her request.

*****************

Lucius Davidson punched in the code to the alarm system and locked the doors to the museum. He looked at his watch as he walked through the dark, empty, museum parking lot towards his car and sighed.

Never had he worked this long and this hard before and he only hoped the publicity and turnout generated by the gems was worth all the effort. He was weary from the stress of having the Royal Lavulite in his building, but was greatly reassured by the presence of Mr Steele, and now also Miss Chase, to safeguard the gems.

Now all he had to concentrate on was the fund-raiser reception at the end of the week. In the morning he had a meeting with the special events co-ordinator at the Grosvenor House to go over the inevitable last minute details. Then he had to check in with the florists, followed by yet another conference with Mr Steele.

As he reached his car and moved to retrieve his keys, Davidson was so preoccupied by the next days events that he did not hear the footsteps approaching from behind, or realise anyone was there, until he was being forced up against the car.

He jumped as a deep voice threatened, "Don't make a too much noise and don't try to turn around."

"You startled me," Davidson complained weakly.

"Gee, that's too bad, Davidson. Now when do I get those security plans?" the voice demanded, devoid of any remorse.

"I already told you, Mr Steele has all of that information. It's all very hush-hush. It's my museum and he's only told me about it in generalities," Davidson explained.

"Not good enough. I told you I need everything," there was a pause before Davidson's captor took on an even more threatening tone, "You know, I took a little drive today, and I didn't have any trouble finding St Gabriel's Day School. Watched little Alicia walk to the corner to meet her nanny. Wouldn't take me more than ten seconds to open my car door, reach out and....." He trailed off, leaving the rest to Davidson's imagination.

Davidson began to shake, "Wh-why are you threat-threatening my family?" he stammered, "They've got nothing to do with this." Fear and dread washed over him as he acknowledged seriousness of the threat and contemplated the impossible position he found himself in.

"Seems there's no other way to make my point with you," the voice growled, "Now, I want those gems and you're going to help me."

"Davidson exhaled heavily, "I don't know what else you expect me to do."

The man shoved him harder against the car and he felt the door handle dig painfully into his hip, "All right, since you can't seem to think for yourself, I'll tell you what you're going to do. You're going to have those gems present at the reception on Saturday night."

"What?!!" Davidson exclaimed, "That's impossible, the hotel isn't equipped for that. It's too late for that now, the museum security is all but finalised, Mr Steele will never allow..."

"That's the idea wise guy," the man spat out, giving him another shove, "I don't care who you have to convince or what strings you need to pull, you just get those gems there. We wouldn't want anything to happen to Paula on her way to her sister's country house on Sunday now, would we?" And abruptly he released Davidson and disappeared into the night.

With shaking hands, Davidson opened his car door and slumped inside. Trembling violently, he leaned against the steering wheel and moaned in despair. How would he ever convince Remington Steele and Phoebe Chase that the gems should appear at the reception?

To Be Continued ---
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