Chapter 1
The middle aged blond woman, wearing a dark green, three-quarter length cocktail dress, hopped up onto the small stage and stood by the microphone. "Ladies, I'm sure you'll be glad to know that that is it for the formal speeches," she said. There was a ripple of laughter from her audience. "Let me just extend my thanks again to our keynote speaker, Congresswoman Barbara Boxer – I'm sure you'll agree it was a truly inspiring talk about how to make it as a woman in the tough world of male politics. Please join me in giving her another round of applause."
The assembled audience, the majority elegantly dressed in evening clothes, with a few people here and there in business attire, clapped politely.
"Let me also thank our hosts tonight, the Ebell Club of Los Angeles – this wonderful old Italianate building has been the perfect place to host our reception, and such an appropriate venue. What could have been more suitable than one of Los Angeles's oldest women's clubs to host this meeting of the California Working Women's Network?" There was another round of applause from the two hundred or so people seated in the ornate, 1920s room.
"Now," the speaker continued, "the main reason we're here, of course, is to network with each other. So, I hope you will all find it very fruitful. Ladies: our women's network helps everyone of our sex, in a small way, to advance in the work place in Los Angeles – please remember that! Please circulate, and I hope that many new business relationships – and even friendships – are formed tonight. Congresswoman Boxer will be here, and I'm sure she'll take the opportunity to try and talk to as many of you as she can. Enjoy the food – there is a wonderful buffet being served in the dining room next door – and I hope you have a very stimulating evening.
"And one last word, to the gentlemen that are here tonight – thank you! All our members of the California Working Women's Network appreciate the role of the men in their lives. Tonight, husbands and boyfriends take the role usually played by us ladies – the supportive role; you may be the 'wives' tonight, but we hope you have a wonderful time as well!"
There was swell of laughter at the speaker's last joke, and then the audience began to break up into small groups. Acquaintance waved to acquaintance, and as waiters circulated with trays of drinks, people naturally formed into huddles and knots. Some of the attendees made straight for the buffet spread out on tables in the adjoining dining room, while others spilled out into the colonnaded garden of the magnificent clubhouse.
Laura Steele rose from her seat, and whispered to her husband, Remington Steele, "Remember, darling – you're the 'wife' tonight!"
Remington Steele scowled and let out only a low grunt in reply. Laura grinned.
The Steeles followed the crowd from the lounge into the dining room, where people were milling about, some already with food, others hovering by the tables. Remington nabbed a passing waiter and picked up two glasses of champagne, passing one to Laura. "Hmm, rather good, Laura," he said, after an appreciative sip. "Vintage Bollinger, if I'm not wrong. It seems that this women's network of yours has pushed the boat out for tonight."
"I'm not surprised – there are some very powerful women who are members. The Congresswoman gave up her evening to speak to us."
"She was impressive, wasn't she?"
"You sound surprised, Mr Steele?"
"I, surprised? Er, not at all, Laura. You know how supportive I am of women's liberation; I never underestimate women."
"Hard won experience, no doubt?" Laura said, with a meaningful look.
"Hard, certainly, Mrs Steele – hard, certainly."
A gaggle of very smartly dressed ladies came up and surrounded Laura, all of them – it seemed to Steele – talking at the same time. Remington, in his role as the 'wife', took a step back to give them more room. He watched Laura, now laughing, now chatting with the women; usually a slightly shy person, she seemed comfortable here tonight, in the company of these corporate hotshots and high-achieving women.
"And who is this, Laura?" asked an elegant, fifty-something woman with medium-length, bobbed blond hair.
"Oh, please excuse me," said Laura. "Ladies: this is my husband, Remington Steele."
"Remington Steele!" exclaimed a younger brunette, wearing a black, sleeveless evening dress. "Laura, I didn't realize you were that Laura Steele."
"My better half, ladies," said Steele gallantly, shaking hands with several women whom he didn't know. "Laura is, undoubtedly, my better half."
"Perhaps you should change the name of your agency to Laura Steele Investigations?" joked another, as laughter erupted from the whole group.
Laura herself surreptitiously winked at Remington; he looked a little befuddled, but kept the smile plastered on his face. "Remington," she said, rescuing him from the tittering, "could you be an angel, and find a waiter? I'm sure we could all do with another drink." He smiled expansively, disengaged himself from the two ladies that were clinging onto his arms, and sidled away.
Remington looked back after he'd escaped, to see that Laura had fallen back into animated conversation with yet another group of women. Like the first group, they were expensively coiffured and beautifully dressed, mainly in evening clothes. He made his way to the buffet table, and picked up another glass of champagne. This reception and 'networking event' was part of the new movement for 1980s emancipation, as white collar women were pushing higher and higher into the corporate world. Laura had been a member for quite a while and took her membership seriously – as she did with everything associated with the agency. Remington Steele Investigations was her life's accomplishment and Steele understood how much its success, and its high profile, meant to Laura.
Occasionally, as he circulated, someone would come up and introduce themselves to him, or begin a conversation when they recognized his face from the media. Remington bore these conversations with his usual charm and grace, happy to talk to strangers about inconsequential nothings, be it the weather – which was nearly always the same in Los Angeles, these people should visit London – or the importance of helping women succeed in the work place. Sometimes, through the crowd, he would see Laura chatting with other women, often exchanging business cards or flicking through her small diary – no doubt arranging further mutual networking meetings or lunches with ladies who lunched.
Remington liked to watch Laura – she was the most beautiful woman in the room. She was dressed in a dark chocolate, sequined and beaded, full length Bob Mackie evening gown and black high-heeled sandals, with her dress watch, a necklace of black onyx and matching onyx earrings as her jewelry. She was carrying a jeweled evening purse, which she would open now and then to fish out business cards or her diary. Usually, Laura put her hair up whenever she dressed formally, but tonight she had left it loose and it flowed around her shoulders, naturally falling into a soft side parting on the left; the bangs at the front had grown out and Laura's hair looked to Steele very similar to how it had been a couple of years earlier, before she had cut it – light and billowing. Remington was never sure if Laura's legs or her hair were her best feature; his opinion depended on his mood.
Laura disengaged herself from the group of women she was talking to and came over to him. "Hello, Mr Steele," she greeted him. "On your own?"
"Erm...just taking a time out."
"Shall we have a look at the buffet?"
Remington nodded assent and they gravitated towards the long table. No expense had been spared organizing this reception, and there were a dozen waiting staff at the buffet table. Remington and Laura were handed plates by one of them, and they perused what was on offer.
"Ah, the very cutting edge of 1980s West Coast finger food," said Steele, reading the little tags next to each platter. "Caviar, Grilled Oysters in their Shells, Japanese Temari, Pigs in a Blanket, Angels on Horseback, Devils on Horseback, Crab Rangoon, Pineapple Rumaki, Miniature Quiche Florentine, Blinis with Smoked Salmon, Pacific Shrimp in Cocktail Sauce, Organic Swedish Meatballs, Grissini, Cantaloupe Slices Wrapped with Iberico Ham, Shish Kabob, Mini Wiener Schnitzel, Brätwurst in a Mustard & Apricot Glaze, Seven Kinds of Olives. And not forgetting Five Kinds of Sushi, of course! My goodness, what a melting pot this city is, eh? Although I think this fashion for sushi will be a passing fad – I can't see it lasting in the future."
"Are you here to give a food review, or are we going to eat?" Laura said, with a roll of her eyes.
"Alright, Laura! I didn't realize you got so testy when you were hungry!"
Laura ignored her husband, and instead held her plate out to a waiter, who placed a few of the items on it. Steele followed suit.
"Laura!" said a voice behind them, and turning, they saw the blond woman in the green dress who had spoken from the podium. "I'm so glad I saw you!"
"Oh, hi," said Laura, with a wide smile. The two women kissed each other's cheeks. "Paula, this is my husband, Remington Steele," she introduced. "This is Paula Gifford, the Chairwoman of the California Working Women's Network."
Steele flashed his most charming smile as he shook hands with the elegantly-dressed blond; she looked to be about forty, and was expensively groomed and very glamorous. "Mrs Gifford," he said, "let me congratulate you on the success of this evening – a wonderful event! We were just admiring the delicious looking buffet."
"It's Miss Gifford – but please, call me Paula. And please do help yourself – we tried so hard with the catering."
"Thank you, Paula; please call me Remington. And this building is magnificent – a very suitable venue indeed."
"That was your wife's suggestion."
"Oh, really? I didn't know that," Remington said, looking at Laura. "She hides her light under a bushel sometimes."
"The Ebell Club has been a place for women to gather and assist each other for over sixty years – it seemed a fitting place for a network of modern career women to meet," said Paula Gifford enthusiastically.
"It's a wonderful building," agreed Laura. "It's like an Italian villa dropped down here, on Wilshire Boulevard."
"You should both go and look at the garden – it's as if you were in Tuscany itself. But Laura, do you think Remington would mind if I dragged you away for a second? I want to introduce you to Congresswoman Boxer. Come on!" Paula Gifford tugged Laura by the arm, and she just had time to hand her plate to Remington before disappearing from his sight. Steele, suddenly left holding his champagne glass and two plates of food, was nonplussed; he thought he was about to drop everything onto the floor when one of the waiters came to his rescue.
He had found a relatively quiet spot, and was overdosing on caviar on brown toast, when a waiter pulled him aside with a message that there was a telephone call for him. The waiter led the way to a small, book-lined sitting room on the second floor. Remington was surprised to see Fred when he entered. "Sorry to have called you away from the reception, Sir, but there was an urgent call on the car phone. I had it transferred in here."
Steele nodded acknowledgment as Fred left, then picked up the receiver. "Steele here."
"Remington? Oh, thank goodness I finally reached you! Please – you must help me! Can you come at once?" said a woman's agitated voice that sounded familiar to him.
"Er, I'm sorry, but who is this?"
"It's Cleo – Cleo Taplinger."
"Cleo Taplinger? Good Lord! It's been a long time."
"Yes, it has. Remington, I'm sorry to trouble you so late, but I wouldn't have called you unless it was important. I am in desperate straits and need help. Can you come tonight?"
"Now? But I'm at a party, Cleo. What's wrong? Are you alright?"
"I'm okay. This is not a personal call, it's business. But it's very important – I'm desperate. There's been a theft at my work place – potentially millions of dollars are at stake – and so is my job, I fear. I…I couldn't think of anyone else who could help me, and you're a private investigator – it's what you do. Please, will you come? Time is of the essence!"
"Very well, Cleo, since you say it's so urgent...I'll come there as soon as I can get away. Where are you?"
"At the Shrine Auditorium – I'm sure you must know it? I'll be waiting for you, Remington. And thank you!"