STEELE INSEPARABLE VI: Notoriously, Steele

AUTHOR: Madeleine Gilbert

SYNOPSIS: S5, set in the Steele Inseparable universe, sometime after "Steele in the Shadows". In Season 2, Remington tried to use a plot point from Hitchcock's Notorious to solve a case in Acapulco, only to have it blow up in his face. This time the setting is the Ligurian Alps…and there's no margin for error if he's going to save Laura's life.

SHARES A UNIVERSE WITH/OCCURS AFTER: Part I, "Steele in Perspective'; Part II, "Steele-In-Law"; Part III, "Ancestral Steele"; Part IV, "Steele in the Shadows"

DISCLAIMER: This story is not for profit and is purely for entertainment purposes. The author does not own the rights to these characters and is not now, nor ever has been, affiliated in any way with Remington Steele, its producers, its actors and their agents, MTM productions, the NBC television network, or with any station or network carrying the show in syndication.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm offering this unabashedly as a "Laura-in-peril" story. And a "Steele-saving-the-day-in-a-tux" story. And, I hope, a love story, one that approximates the essence of Remington Steele: witty banter, the battle between the sexes, intrigue, danger and romance.

Some, but not all, of the setting is utterly fictitious.

The Ligurian Alps and the Italian Riviera certainly exist. Pramaggiore does not, though it is a surname used in the Italian region known as Liguria. The Italian province of Imperia, in which I've located Pramaggiore, is governed by a president. As far as I know, no President Nicolas Giamberto lives or has ever served there.

L'Hôpital Saint-Sauveur in Menton is another product of my imagination, as is the poison la belle assassine silencieuse. The symptoms and effects are a combination of those of a few old-fashioned, deadly botanicals.

That the Nazis occupied Liguria for two years during the Second World War is an historical fact. Though there was widespread suffering, the Ligurian resistance movement was so successful that some cities, such as Genoa, had already freed themselves when Allied troops landed.

For those reading a Steele Inseparable story for the first time, Armand Lortie is a character name mentioned in "Ancestral Steele", chapter 7. He was one of Steele's partners in a smuggling business back in the days before Steele met Laura, when he operated on the French Riviera as Jean Murrell.

As always, additional characters from outside the RS canon, apart from historic personages, are fictional and created by the author. Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

NOTE: The original, hard copy version of this short story is formatted without chapter breaks. I've divided it into four parts for easier reading.

"This," said Remington Steele, "had better not be what I think it is."

His wife, Laura Steele, looked up from the case notes she was transcribing, a faraway expression in her brown eyes.

That was probably because it was several hours since she'd ticked the item in question off her list of tasks to accomplish. He knew her well enough to know that she needed a second both to recall it to memory and to focus on his tall figure leaning against her door jamb. "Depends on what you think it is," she replied.

"I bloody well know what it is." He moved a few steps into her office to wave an envelope under her nose. "It's a telegram to Amanda Castagnoli. You're going to Pramagiorre by yourself to look for Ava Rivaro, aren't you?"

With a sigh she put down her pencil and leaned back in her chair. "We've been through this, Mr. Steele."

She was right. They had been through it, and through it, and through it yet again. Two days of debating it back and forth, to be precise.

It had begun when Julia Gittelman, née Rivaro, enlisted Remington Steele Investigations' help in finding her sister, Ava.

"You remember what she was like at school, Laura," Julia had said almost as soon as she sat down with them in Remington's office. Lengthy introductions were unnecessary; Remington had met her at his and Laura's wedding. "Driven. Responsible. More like you than me. She should've been the older sister, instead of three years younger. I was always the spontaneous one, the free spirit--"

"—And the most talented contralto in Stanford Glee Club history," Laura had put in, smiling.

"That's sweet of you. Anyway, Ava hasn't changed a bit. So for her to leave her job with Amanda Castagnoli three weeks ago without telling anybody in the family first…there has to be something wrong."

"You said it was from this Amanda Castagnoli you found out your sister had resigned without notice?" asked Remington.

Julia had nodded. "I got a letter yesterday. Amanda wanted to know if I'd help her find a new secretary. She said she misses Ava a lot, and to give her her best."

"She didn't know where Ava had gone?" Laura said.

Julia shook her head. "She asked for her address so she could write to her." She glanced at the Steeles in turn. Tears brimmed in her black eyes. "Laura, Remington…I'm afraid for my sister. I don't know what to do. Tell me what to do."

Seated on the sofa beside her friend, Laura had wrapped an arm around her. Remington had said, "You've already taken the first step by coming to us. But let's talk more about her job. It's the best place to start, since it's where you last heard from her."

"She's been working for Amanda for nine months. Was working. Amanda's an old friend of our mother's--their parents came over from the same town in Italy, Pramagiorre. That's where Amanda lives now."

"And she offered Ava a position as her secretary," Laura said.

"Her husband's been in the diplomatic corps for a long time, and she needs someone to organize her. Her secretaries are always American—she says it helps keep her memories of living here fresh."

"Your sister got on with her, as far as you know?" asked Remington.

"Oh, yes. Ava loved her job. She majored in history—you remember, Laura--and she always wanted to research our family's roots in Liguria. She thought she'd maybe write a book about them one day. Working in Pramagiorre was perfect for her on so many levels."

Laura posed another question, but Remington didn't hear it. He'd turned to the window, hands stuffed into his trouser pockets.

Liguria.

Not a name that conjured up pleasant associations. A place, in fact, that he never cared to see again. And a people he'd once been warned to avoid at all costs.

He'd swung back to the women so abruptly that they looked up in surprise. "Pramagiorre's in Liguria?" he'd demanded.

"Between the Mediterranean and the Alps," replied Julia. "Not far from the Italian Riviera, but not really part of it."

"I was just asking Julia if she'd contacted the Italian authorities about Ava, and what they had to say." Laura's eyes had traveled inquiringly over his face while she spoke. He should have expected that. There wasn't much she missed these days when it came to gauging his mood.

"Only the U.S. Consulate in Milan. They checked the major hospitals, but she wasn't a patient at any of them. They said it was all they could do. I thought maybe you'd know who else to call---the police in Pramagiorre, or—I don't know…"

"I'm afraid we'd have done exactly what the consulate has," Remington had responded gently. "We can also check the records out of Genoa to see if she departed by air, or by the nearest train. But I don't believe it'll tell us much about her actual whereabouts."

Laura had agreed. "It's tough, tracking a missing person long distance. We'd have a much better chance of success if we went to Italy ourselves."

Heart-wrenching, it had been, the hope that transformed Julia's downcast face. "Would you? If only---I didn't like to ask—but I wasn't sure if we could swing your fees--"

Gripping her friend's hand, Laura had hushed her. "The important thing is finding out what's happened to Ava. But first we have to work on the logistics. For instance, access to Mrs. Castagnoli. I think you can help us with that. Do you agree, Mr. Steele?"

Naturally he and Laura were on the same wavelength. "The secretary position."

"Exactly. Julia, what about this? Propose me to Mrs. Castagnoli as a candidate for Ava's job. Say I'm an old school friend…Susan Vance."

"And I'd be her husband, David Huxley," Remington had added.

"It's a great idea, except for one thing," Julia had replied. "Amanda has a policy. She only hires single women. They travel a lot, and her secretary's on call sixteen hours a day sometimes. That kind of schedule puts too much strain on a marriage, she says."

When he thought it over later, Remington realized he should've seen it coming. A friend in trouble, a challenging mystery, a cover story almost tailor-made: it was too tempting a mix for Laura to pass up.

"Tell her I'm single," she'd said. "We'll worry about Remington's cover when she offers me the job."

On the way to Beverly Hills for dinner at L'Ornate that evening, still unsuspecting, he'd proposed some possible covers for himself. A service position of some kind in the household, similar to his turn eight months ago as Ruggles, butler to the filthy rich Wellingtons? A member of Signor Castagnoli's personal staff?

"Perfect, if we could swing it," Laura had replied. "But I don't see how. The profile Mildred put together says Alessandro Castagnoli served until six months ago as the assistant undersecretary to the Italian Consulate in Austria. And now there's talk he'll be appointed ambassador to Belgium. He's not exactly hiring people through the want ads."

"Well, then, I could pose as David Huxley, English tourist. We could make sure our paths crossed publicly and pretend to strike up a friendship."

"From what Julia said, it sounds like Mrs. Castagnoli discourages her secretaries from relationships with the opposite sex."

As usual her logic was irrefutable. He'd abandoned the topic for the duration of the ride, though he continued to turn it over in his mind. Once dinner had been served he made a third suggestion. "What about this? I'll come with you as far as Menton and stay at the villa. Far enough away that I won't arouse suspicion, close enough to be a sounding board when you need it. Another pair of eyes and ears."

She'd glanced up from her poulet aux noisettes. "You could do that." There was a pause as she finished a bite, her expression thoughtful. "Then again, you might just as easily do it from here."

Later at home she'd demanded, "You're not seriously expecting me to believe you want to come all the way to Menton to do legwork, are you? You? The king of avoidance? The master of transparent excuses?"

Trailing her to the bathroom, he'd leaned against the door jamb, arms folded, while she removed her makeup. "How else do you suppose it'll get done? You seem to forget that a job as Signora Castagnoli's secretary, cover or not, means she'll expect something of you. Work, I believe it's called."

"Hilarious."

"Not to mention that handling the case on your own means it'll take twice as long. At the rate you're proposing, I imagine you'll have it wrapped up by--oh, let's make a prediction. Easter?"

"So instead you'll go poking around, an outsider, uninvited. You might as well wear a sign on your back that says 'suspicious character'."

"That's what I love about you. Always willing to accord my skills the respect they deserve."

She'd slammed a bottle of moisturizer down on the counter and turned to face him. "Don't think I don't know what this is really about, Remington." And she'd pushed past him to begin turning down the bed with emphatic movements, ones that plainly announced her aggravation with him.

He'd joined her. "We're there already, are we? Probing my deep, dark motives so you don't have to admit you're wrong?"

"There's nothing deep or dark about it. I can read you like a book."

"I'm sure you'd like to think so." Deftly he'd caught the extra pillow she tossed him.

"Not that I need to, because it's the same old story over and over again. It's too risky for me without you. You're putting your foot down. If you ask me, it's downright confusing."

"What is?"

"Why someone as smart as you needs such a long learning curve." She'd stood a moment, hands on hips, sizing him up. "Well? Are you taking a shower or not? I'm not waiting around for you all night."

"All I'm saying is, it's a part of the world where you shouldn't be on your own, Liguria," he'd said as he maneuvered the Auburn westward into morning rush hour traffic on Wilshire.

"Why not?"

"For starters, you don't speak the language."

"That never stopped me in Acapulco. Or Cannes, or Malta."

"You don't know a soul there."

The look in her eyes had informed him how ridiculous he was being.

"It's a dangerous place, okay? These aren't the Swiss Alps, Laura, cuckoo clocks, chocolate and Saint Bernards. Ligurians live by a different code. They protect one another against all comers. Slight one, and you've slighted them all. And they don't suffer strangers easily."

Her eyebrows lifted. "How would you know?"

"Tiberio Malatesta."

The mere name was enough to send a chill up Remington's spine; as it passed his lips, he'd shifted slightly beneath the bedclothes. "I never met him in person. To this day I've never so much as seen a photograph of him. But he'll always stand out head and shoulders as the closest I've come to dealing with the devil incarnate."

It was late, after midnight, but neither one of them had been able to sleep. Not for the reason one might have guessed, the arguing: disagreements had been part of the fabric of their relationship entirely too long for that. It was the uneasiness he'd been carrying around since Julia Gittelman's visit. By now it had communicated itself from him to Laura.

Somehow the cover of night and her presence beside him in bed made it possible for him to be honest about the source of the uneasiness.

He'd half-anticipated that she would dismiss the confession as hyperbole. He was wrong. Arms crossed on his chest, chin resting on them, she'd gazed at him soberly. "Who was he?"

"The head of a Genoan shipping family, if the newspapers were to be believed. Strip away the euphemisms and the reality was far darker."

"Smugglers."

He'd nodded. "They'd been at it so long and grown so large it was almost a form of legitimacy. Entrenched enough, you'd have thought, that he'd no need to pay attention to smaller fry…or consider them competition."

"You pulled a scam on him?"

"An innocent bystander. I didn't dare go any further. I'd been warned about him, you see. My old mate, Armand Lortie. He was born and raised on the Côte d'Azur. He recognized the cut of Malatesta's cloth, so to speak."

His innate story-telling ability had been in full spate by that point. Laura had drunk his words in, spellbound, if the intent look in her eyes was any indication.

"There were some young…entrepreneurs…who weren't so lucky," he went on. "From Toulon or Sainte-Maxime, I think they were. To them it was a lark, cutting into his territory, trading him inferior cargo. I happened to be in San Remo with them the night it fell apart. Not all of them were killed that night. But before six months went by, the rest were dead. Eight men, Laura. Slaughtered in unspeakable ways, every last one."

"Wait a minute." Skepticism had wakened her from the spell. "You're telling me this man—Malatesta—committed eight murders in less than a year?"

"His kin, his…peers, I suppose you'd say…would've taken care of that. After all, he was a Genoan. A Ligurian. Double cross one, and you've double crossed them all. I doubt whether Malatesta had to lift a finger. But he was behind it. I never questioned it for a moment. And I made damned sure not to breathe a word to anyone about the little I saw that night."

It had been on the tip of his tongue to add, Now? Now do you see? It isn't quite what you thought, is it? Not the overprotectiveness you've resented so much, perhaps with good reason, and that I promised to control the night it lost us Antony Roselli. I've a valid objection this time. And you promised that you'd pay attention, and not brush me aside, when that was the case.

But he was a firm believer that a judiciously chosen silence was often more eloquent than words. After all, Laura was so very quick on the uptake. And her own silence seemed to indicate that she'd understood what he was getting at by sharing his experience with Malatesta.

At last, he'd thought with a surge of relief. At last she was taking his misgivings seriously.

The crackle of the telegram between his fingers operated on him like a dash of cold water in the face.

She'd been humoring him last night. Or—unheard of for Laura--outright deceiving him. Either way, it was obvious that she'd made up her mind without reference to his input. Brushed him aside. Treated him as if he didn't count.

Probably she'd known all along what she was going to do. Probably she'd decided the moment Julia had departed their office the other day.

Blazing anger choked off his voice. He turned his back on her and slammed into his office.

And refused to look up when she slipped through the door a few minutes later. Or when she said, "It isn't what you think, Remington. It's not."

"I'd appreciate it if you stopped assuming you know what I'm thinking, Mrs. Steele." He continued to scribble furiously on the pad of paper before him.

"Well, it's not like we haven't had this fight before."

At least she hadn't bragged that she could read him like a book.

"I get why you don't want me to go alone. I get it could be a dangerous job. Ordinarily I'd say I'm with you a hundred per cent, there's no way I'm going over there without you."

"And I'd say your actions speak louder than your words."

"Because you're missing the big picture. Would you just look at me a minute?"

Deliberately he remained bent over the pad for a few moments longer before pushing his chair back, crossing his feet on the desk and fixing her with a stare that managed to be both ironic and disdainful.

She ignored it as she paced up and down the office. "Help me with this. Maybe I'm going off the deep end, I don't know. Remember what Julia said about Ava, why she was excited to be working in Pramagiorre? It was a chance to research her family's roots."

His nod was stiff, unwilling to give an inch.

"Then…given the lengths Malatesta went to when he was cheated…isn't it possible that Ava stumbled into the same kind of situation? She found something she shouldn't, or made someone angry, and that's why she disappeared?"

The big picture, indeed. How like Laura to see it, as well as the fine connections within it. He was beginning to cool down in spite of himself.

"They're unforgiving of strangers, you said. Quick to take revenge."

He climbed to his feet. "And they stop at nothing to get it. At least Malatesta didn't."

"That's why I'm sending the telegram to Amanda Castagnoli. One of us needs to get over there before the trail goes cold. And since I'm the one with the cover, or will be, I'm the most logical choice."

"Of course you are." He couldn't quite suppress the sarcasm.

She heaved a sigh. "I get that it's a dangerous place, all right? But according to what you said last night, it's just as dangerous for you as it is for me. Maybe more so. We don't know who or what we're up against. Let me get the lay of the land. Then we can decide our next move."

It must have showed in his face, the protest he was about to make, for she came over and put her arms around him. "I know you hate it. How would you handle it, if you were in my shoes? I've known Julia since I was eighteen, and Ava almost as long. Should I refuse to help because there's risk involved? What kind of friend would that make me? What kind of detective?"

Anguish throbbed in her low, clear voice. Had it been there all along? If so, he'd been blocking his ears to it.

But now it jolted him to self awareness. Over the past few days he'd been putting his needs, his desires, at the center of the issue. And, in a classic case of transference, he'd suspected her, wrongly, of the same, of game-playing, even pre-meditated deception. In the process he'd lost sight of the point of the exercise.

But Laura…Laura never had.

He knew then that he wouldn't stand in her way any more.

Continued in Part 2