"I'm sure I can find a psychiatrist while we're at UCLA," Remington mused. "Someone who can help Laura- without her knowing it, of course-"
Daniel winced. "Harry, I wasn't serious," he said.
"But it's a good idea, Daniel," Remington insisted. "The best way to get Laura to do anything is to make her think it involves a case."
"Under normal circumstances, perhaps," Daniel agreed. "But I think you'll have to admit that the current circumstances are hardly what one could call normal."
"Precisely the reason I think Laura needs to seek professional help," Remington continued.
"And she will," Daniel assured him. "When SHE is ready to admit that she needs it. Until then, the only thing that conning her into seeing someone will do is to drive a wedge between the two of you."
Remington's enthusiasm faded a bit upon hearing those words. "Do you really think so?" He ran a hand through his hair. "Maybe you're right. It's just that I feel so bloody helpless- I feel like I should be doing SOMETHING to help her-"
"The best thing you can do for Laura right now, Harry, is to simply be there for her. I'm not saying that it will be easy- but the important things rarely are."
***
"I'd like to admit you to the hospital for a few days, Mr. Chalmers," Dr. Becker said.
"Is that necessary, Doctor?" Daniel asked, frowning.
"I didn't realize he was that ill," Remington commented in a concerned voice.
Becker, a short, middle aged man with a fringe of shot cropped grey hair, shook his head. "For tests."
Daniel sighed. "I've already had all of the tests, Dr. Becker. I'm sure that you can get the records from my doctor in London."
"Yes, I plan to do that. But -conditions such as yours seldom remain stable. So we need to find out exactly where you are at this particular moment if we're going to find a way to help you."
"So you think you CAN help him, then?" Remington asked hopefully.
"That will depend in large part on Mr. Chalmer's co-operation, Mr. Steele," Becker said.
"Is there any way to do this without my being IN the hospital?" Daniel asked.
"Daniel," Remington protested. "If Dr. Becker thinks you need to be in the hospital, then-"
Daniel sighed deeply as he spoke, but he didn't look at Remington. "H-Remington," he began, mindful of Becker's presence, " I agreed to let you be here because we're friends-but - must I remind you that this is life we're talking about. And it should be MY decision as to whether or not I do this."
"I might have a solution," Dr. Becker said in the silence that followed Daniel's words. Both men turned to look at him. "We could begin the tests on an out-patient basis. That would give you a week before the tests which would require at least an overnight stay. And it will also give me a chance to discuss the case with Dr. Morgan and get your records from him. Would that be acceptable?" he asked, looking from Remington to Daniel.
"I think I could live with that, Doctor," Daniel agreed. "Now. Is there anything else we need to discuss?"
Becker wrote something on a slip of paper. "Continue your medication, and make sure my receptionist has a number where you can be reached. Can you be here at nine tomorrow morning?"
"I believe so."
"Good." Becker rose from his chair behind the heavy mahogany desk. "I'll see you then." He extended his hand to Daniel, then to Remington. "Mr. Steele."
"Thank you, Doctor," Remington said in a quiet tone.
He saw them to the door. "Don't thank me yet, Mr. Steele. I'm not a miracle worker. I'm just a doctor who wants to try and save lives if I can."
Remington nodded and followed Daniel down to the where Fred was waiting at the limo. "La Maison, Fred," Remington instructed the chauffeur once they were inside. "I thought we might have a bite of lunch before going house hunting," he told Daniel, looking out of the tinted windows.
Daniel watched Remington for a long moment. "You're angry with me, aren't you, Harry?"
"You called me Remington in Dr. Becker's office."
"Simply because I didn't think you would want to have to explain why I was calling you 'Harry'," Daniel pointed out. "And don't change the subject."
Remington picked a non-existent speck of lint from his trouser leg before speaking. "All right, yes. I'm angry. I don't understand why you refused the doctor's suggestion about going into the hospital for those tests."
Now it was Daniel's turn to look out of the windows of the car. "Because I've already done it. And there was nothing Dr. Morgan or any of his colleagues could do to help me except give me a bunch of pills and tell to -'take it easy'."
"And what's wrong with that?" Remington asked. "Why not just sit back and-"
"And wait to die?" Daniel responded, turning to look at the younger man. "According to Dr. Morgan, I'm going to die no matter what I do. I'd prefer to be doing things that I WANT to do when that happens, not sitting around filled with regrets about things that I didn't-" he broke off. "Can you understand that, Harry?"
"And what things do you regret, Daniel?" Remington asked. "I never thought you had any. You've always been so confident in everything- never one to make a mistake-"
"Oh, I've made mistakes, my boy. Bloody awful mistakes that I wish I could go back and make right."
"It's not too late-"
"I'm afraid it is. Too many years- too much pain to overcome," Daniel told him. "Too much anger."
"Anger on your part?" Remington asked.
"No. Not on mine," Daniel assured him. "Do you want to know the one thing that I've done in my entire life that I'm MOST proud of?" he asked.
"What?"
"Finding you. Helping you to become the man you've become- even in some, small, minuscule fashion."
Remington sat there. "There's not a day goes by, Daniel, when I don't give thanks for that meeting myself."
"Really?"
"Really. You saved me, made me realize that I could trust someone beside myself, that I wasn't the success story of the century. Taught me that I didn't have to live on the streets, stealing what little living I could eke out."
Daniel laughed softly. "So I took you out of Brixton and turned you toward bigger, though not necessarily better, things."
"I don't regret that, Daniel," Remington insisted. "And neither should you. You had no choice in the matter, did you? I mean, you tried to send me to that posh boarding school, to keep me out of the life -"
"And you ran away," Daniel recalled, shaking his head. "Odd."
"What?"
"Mildred and I were just discussing your experience with the school the other day."
"Daniel- about Mildred-" Remington paused, uncertain as to how to continue.
"You're very fond of her, aren't you?"
"As a matter of fact, yes, I am. And I wouldn't want to see anyone hurt her."
"Believe me, Harry, hurting Mildred is not- quite what I had in mind to do."
Remington sat back against the leather seat, his eyes on Daniel. "She's not your usual type, Daniel."
"Why? Because she's not a child?" Daniel shook his head. "There comes a time when a man needs someone closer to his own age around. Less trouble keeping up. She's very fond of you, as well, you know."
"Mildred? I know," Remington said with a small smile.
"She's close to Laura, but I get the impression that you're the one she-coddles more."
"Coddles?" Remington repeated, trying not to laugh.
"Spoils, then."
"Yes, well, Mildred doesn't have any children of her own- she's said on more than on occasion that she's sort of- adopted Laura and me. Not that I mind." The limo pulled up to the curb in front of La Maison. "Here we are."
***
They drove out to the house that Laura had fallen in love with first thing after lunch. As they approached the address, Remington picked up the telephone and called the office. "Mildred, has Miss Holt returned yet?" he asked, then frowned and checked his watch. "She hasn't called? . . . I suppose she had lunch with Mr. Davis . . . No, that's all right . . . Daniel?" he looked across to that gentlemen. "Why don't we wait and let him tell you what Dr. Becker said, umm?" he asked. "All right. I'll tell him."
"Laura's not back yet?" Daniel asked.
"No. The client probably asked her to have lunch. Mildred's curious about your appointment with Dr. Becker."
"I thought she might be." Daniel frowned as the limo turned into the gate and onto the short circular drive of Laura's dream house. "Spanish architecture isn't really my style, Harry," he sighed.
"Yes, well, I promised Laura we'd have a look," Remington reminded him, looking a bit relieved as he noted the car sitting ahead of them in the drive. "Besides, if we're lucky someone else is interested in it and we can tell Laura it's off the market."
The driver of the other car was standing next to his door, a cigarette in hand, and Remington felt a nagging moment of recognition as he nodded in acknowledgement. "Something wrong, Harry?" Daniel asked, seeing his look.
"I've seen that driver somewhere before," Remington explained. "I just can't place him."
"I'm sure it will come back to you eventually," Daniel suggested. He looked over the stucco walls and red tiled roof. "Shall we?" he asked.
While the exterior of the house from the front led one to think they would be entering a Spanish styled interior, that was far from the truth. "It's a façade," Remington noted, shaking his head in amazement at the dark paneled walls that surrounded them. "Looks like-"
"My villa in the South of France," Daniel recalled for him. "Same influences, I suppose," he noted. The long house had a glass wall in almost every room, so that one could see out to the redwood deck and garden just beyond.
There was someone in the garden, and Remington led Daniel out onto the deck, pointing out the guest house down the path that led past a latticed gazebo. Daniel touched a spray of flowers, hanging back as Remington approached the man who stood by the low stone wall that overlooked the beach.
"Hello there," he began, holding out his had. "Remington-" he said, then stopped in surprise when the man turned. "Mr. Davis? What are you doing here? I mean, I didn't know you were looking for another house- I don't suppose you OWN the place-?" Remington asked, wondering why he was babbling.
"Mr. Steele," Davis said, frowning, but did Remington imagine a glimmer of relief in the man's eyes. "No. I don't own the house. And I'm not interested in buying it, either."
"Then- if you'll forgive my asking- why are you here?"
"Your- associate."
"Miss Holt?"
"We took a little longer to look over my collection and start working on a security plan than I thought we would, so I asked her to lunch before taking her back to your office on my way into town. En route, she insisted that we stop by here to check the place out."
"She did?" Remington asked, looking around. "Where is she?"
Davis nodded toward the beach. Following his gaze, Remington looked, then lifted his own eyes heavenward and closed them in disbelief. "oh, Laura," he moaned under his breathe. She was playing a game of tag with the waves, her shoes in hand, the legs of her slacks rolled above her knees. Ever so often, he could hear her laughter over the sound of the surf.
"I must say, Mr. Steele, I didn't expect something like this when I decided to hire the Remington Steele Agency. I might have to reconsider-"
"No," Remington said. "That's not necessary. Miss Holt- tends to- get caught up in flights of -fancy on occasion," he said as Daniel joined them.
"Oh, dear," Daniel sighed. "Is that Laura?"
"Yes. I'm truly, truly sorry, Mr. Davis," Remington apologized, shaking that man's hand. "And I promise you that it won't happen again. I'll see to that. The Remington Steele Agency agreed to provide security for your collection, and we shall do precisely that. If you'll excuse me-" he moved toward the path that would take him down to the beach.
Daniel watched Laura for another moment. Things were worse than even Harry thought, apparently. Drastic times called for drastic measures, he decided. Smiling, he held out a hand to Mr. Davis. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Davis."
Davis turned his attention from the beach, where Remington was approaching Laura, and took Daniel's hand. "Who are you? The realtor?"
"No. I'm Daniel Chalmers. I'm an- associate of Mr. Steele's. I've had a- bit of experience with security systems." He had, after all, even if it was mostly in circumventing them. "Perhaps I can be of some assistance-?"