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"Brighton Beach Renoirs"
An Avengers Fanfiction
The third of a series of early John Steed adventures occurring between broadcast episode 3.26, "Lobster Quadrille" (Cathy Gale, March 1964), and episode 4.01, "The Town Of No Return" (Emma Peel, September 1965)
Disclaimer: Some copyrighted characters have been borrowed
July 1964
Steed takes a holiday. Rita gets a tan.
It was early evening when the large green Bentley pulled into the spot behind the small red Mini. John Steed got out of the car and bounded up the stairs in front of Rita Fox's apartment. He used the tip of his umbrella to ring the bell. A medium-sized box was tucked under his arm.
Rita must have heard the Bentley as he approached. She opened the door immediately.
"Good evening, Miss Fox," Steed greeted her suavely. He tipped his bowler with his free hand.
"Hello, Steed," Rita answered with a smile. "I didn't expect to see you." She was still dressed from her day's work at the Ministry library: typically conservative, in knee-length flannel skirt and white blouse. Her red hair had a touch of copper, and her brown eyes reflected a temperament that was intellectual, but capable of fiery anger. A brief hand gesture motioned Steed towards the settee in the living room.
"I have a small present for you." Steed smiled as he handed her the box.
Rita took it from him, resisting the childish urge to shake it to guess the contents. No doubt it was a token of appreciation for helping bring down the Bassett Bookhounds. She flipped open the box lid, and then realized she couldn't have been more wrong.
It was a bathing suit—a bikini, to be exact. The top consisted of two triangles of shiny red fabric held together by strings; the bottom, a narrow red hourglass with two more strings.
"I'm going out to Brighton tomorrow," Steed continued. "I thought maybe you would like to spend some time at the beach."
Rita's eyes went wide. "Steed, I can't wear this. It would be scandalous!"
"I was told it's exactly what they're wearing this year. It's the same kind that Venus Smith wears."
Rita was still stunned from the boldness of the gift. "Who's she?"
"A nightclub singer, very glamorous. She visited the Bahamas with me this spring. Of course, she wears yellow; but I thought red would be the right color for you."
"I do look better in red," she agreed absently. Rita examined the flimsy swimsuit and couldn't help but feel a wanton temptation. Steed was always getting her into trouble, but it was an exciting kind of trouble.
"After the stress of the Bookhounds affair, I thought you deserved a holiday," he remarked.
"I can't take time off work." Rita's protest was half-hearted.
"Aren't you familiar with the Ministry's Standards and Practices Manual?" Steed asked cheerily. "Your animal wounds entitle you to ten days paid leave. Five for the snake, another five for the dogs. One day at Brighton Beach won't even put a dent in it."
"Are you serious?" she asked. It was difficult to tell when Steed was teasing.
"Very much so." His face showed deadpan innocence.
Rita looked at the skimpy bathing gear.
"Try it on," Steed urged with a smile.
She hesitated for a second. During their previous adventures, he had seen her in various stages of undress, and had even sucked snake venom out of her thigh. She still had some secrets from John Steed, but not many. Rita decided her fascination with the suit outweighed her shyness. She ducked behind an Oriental folding screen in her bedroom to change.
After spending nearly a minute re-tying and adjusting the strings, she checked her appearance in the full-length mirror. The suit was indeed shocking. There seemed to be no extra fabric anywhere; merely the barest minimum necessary to cover her most private areas. She briefly debated removing it before Steed had a chance to see. But that would also deprive her of the chance to witness his reaction to it, and rarely did she get a chance to have Steed at such a disadvantage.
Rita stepped out from behind the folding screen and headed back into the living room. She consciously tried to waggle her hips as she walked; it was not something she normally did, but it suddenly seemed very easy when wearing the bikini. She presented herself to Steed with her arms at her sides.
Steed took a second to admire her slender body, shapely hips, bare shoulders, and perky breasts that were usually hidden by the outfits she wore. He looked her over from top to bottom, then made the only comment he could safely make.
"Miss Fox! You have freckles!"
She reddened with embarrassment. "I don't get out in the sun much, but when I do, I get sun-spots on my shoulders."
"I had a Dalmatian named Freckles," Steed reminisced. "We'll have to get some lotion for you, so you can get a tan."
"A tan would be nice," she confessed. "After two years in the library, I'm afraid I have a touch of 'Whitehall pallor'."
"Then it's all settled," Steed said, patting his thigh and standing to leave. "The weather tomorrow is supposed to be sunny and hot. I'll bring the lotion, and you bring the bathing suit."
"What will the Head of Operations say when I'm not at work?" asked Rita.
"Meet me at Victoria Station tomorrow morning before nine," Steed said as he headed for the door. "I'll take care of any trouble that Charles might throw your way."
-oOo-
When Rita put on the bikini next morning, she spent almost as much time adjusting the strings as she did the cloisonne clips that held up her red hair. When she had everything perfect, she pulled on a lightweight pair of shorts, a cotton blouse, and some sandals. The swimsuit was scandalous, to be sure; but she only needed to wear it for a few hours on the beach. It was possible that no one would even notice her. And it would certainly give her a great all-over tan.
She threw a towel and a couple of ten-pound notes into an aquamarine beach bag, donned a pair of sunglasses, and locked her apartment behind her as she left.
When she arrived at Victoria Station, Steed was already standing on the platform, tickets in hand. He was immaculately dressed in a Cardin suit, accessorized as usual with his bowler and umbrella. Rita greeted him with a gentle squeeze on his arm.
"What's the suit for?" she asked.
"I heard there's a Renoir Exhibit at the Royal Pavilion. Forty-two of his paintings in the same place at the same time. I thought I'd check it out before heading over to the beach to change." Steed opened his satchel to reveal a pair of khaki shorts and a brightly-colored beach shirt.
Rita laughed. "It will be a holiday when I get to see you wearing that."
Steed produced a bottle of lotion from the depths of the satchel and handed it to her. "And here's some tanning lotion. Don't forget to use a good amount; we wouldn't want you to burn. Or excessively freckle."
Rita took the bottle with a smirk. "I want to see those paintings, too. You know, in 1871 the Paris Commune came within a hair's breadth of throwing Renoir into the river for being a spy."
"I knew you were going to say something like that, interesting trivia included," Steed smiled. "There's a nice stretch of beach out by the Palace Pier. You can catch an hour of morning sun there, then join me at the Pavilion to check out the exhibit. We'll do lunch, and then spend the afternoon sunning together."
Rita smiled and linked her arm through Steed's. "This sure beats the library."
-oOo-
The train pulled into Brighton around ten. The day was gorgeous, as Steed had predicted, and the sun was already gloriously hot. They decided to walk the half-mile to the beach down Queen's Road, taking a shortcut through The Lanes. Rita marveled as Steed pointed out landmarks; he had obviously been to Brighton many times. Eventually they arrived at the end of the Palace Pier.
The ocean was uncommonly blue, contrasting with the reddish-brown pebbles and gray flint shingle that made up Brighton Beach. Already there were a large number of people setting up chairs, spreading out towels, and raising sun parasols along the entire beachfront, extending all the way towards the West Pier. Brightly striped canvas cabanas dotted the landscape at regular intervals. Steed took it all in with an approving nod, then turned to Rita.
"Well, I'm off to the Pavilion," he said brightly.
"Are you sure you won't join me?" Rita asked. As uncomfortable as she felt wearing the swimsuit around Steed, she thought she might feel more uncomfortable around strangers, alone. "What are you planning to do?"
"I'd like to check the security arrangements on the Renoirs," he explained.
"Is this a Ministry thing?"
"No, it's an art-lover thing," Steed grinned. "I've had a bit of experience stealing paintings in my day—"
"Really?" Rita's eyes lit up. "When?"
"Some other time," Steed answered cryptically. "Anyway, if I spot any problems, I can alert the local gendarmerie. It would look bad on Her Majesty if any ill fortune befell any visiting French treasures."
Rita rubbed his arm playfully. "I feel better already, knowing that you're guarding the world's Impressionist heritage."
Steed answered her with a smirk and turned to leave. "Remember," he said as he walked off, "use the lotion. And meet me at the Royal Pavilion at eleven-thirty sharp."
Rita strolled onto the beach towards an empty spot about sixty yards from the pier, where she found a free tent to change in. It was one thing to imagine cavorting along the beach in the skimpy red bikini while she was sitting home in her flat; it was quite another when she was actually here, surrounded by tourists. Her hands shook nervously as she slipped out of her shorts and blouse. Perhaps it was best that she didn't have a mirror. Looking down, she saw so much skin and so little fabric. For a brief instant she considered putting her clothes back on and settling for whatever tan she could get on her arms and legs. Then she rationalized that she knew absolutely no one on the beach; these people were strangers, and she would never see or hear from any of them again. Surely, an hour in the bikini could do no harm. After lunch, she could be more conservative and sunbathe in her clothes if she felt too embarrassed.
It took several minutes to apply the lotion, since nearly every inch of skin on her body was exposed. But eventually she was completely prepared for the beach, and she could no longer put off the moment of truth. She crammed her clothes, lotion, and sandals into the beach bag. Then she stepped out of the canvas cabana onto the warm pebbles of the beach.
The sensation was blissful. Rita could already feel the sun baking her as she pranced down to the water's edge. She stood there for a minute to let the incoming surf tickle her toes in an almost orgasmic experience. Then she paced off some forty feet from the ocean and planted her towel and beach bag in the smoothest spot she could find.
Rita was so distracted by the pleasures of the beach that she didn't even notice the other visitors. This was probably for the best, as it would have only reinforced her awkwardness. She was certainly the most scantily-clad woman on the beach that day; maybe even for the whole season. Other women looked on in disapproval as they attempted to divert their husbands' or boyfriends' attention away from the spectacle. Voyeurs with cameras pretended to be taking pictures of the brightly-colored Palace Pier while actually focusing their lenses on her near-nude form.
Oblivious to everything but the soothing ultraviolet warmth, Rita stretched out on her towel and sighed with contentment. It was entirely possible that she would miss her meeting with Steed.
-oOo-