This is the first writing collaboration between RSteele82 and SuzySteele. After a recent view party of "Steele at It", the two of us got into a vigorous discussion as to who was in the right. Was it Laura? Was it Steele? Were they both right and both wrong? We realized there was much more that needed to be said about Laura and Remington and their trip to Cannes. And its aftermath. In this writing experiment, we took separate perspectives on the situation. Tell us what you think! If you like it, there may be more to come!
Cannes Steele be Trusted?
Steele – Part 1
The day had begun just like the host of days before them. Steele had sauntered into the office at a little past ten in the morning, then pausing to rap his knuckles on Mildred's desk called out, "Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Morning," bringing an effervescent smile to the face of the secretary who adored him. Within only moments of settling into his chair and opening his paper, Mildred bustled into the office with his cup of tea.
"Thank you, Mildred," he told the older woman, smiling fondly at her. "Is Miss Holt in?"
"She's been holed up in her office for hours now pouring over the agency's budget."
"Oh?" he asked, curiosity peaked. "I could have sworn she made mention last evening that she was going to be doing some legwork this morning on the Brown case."
"She's waiting on a call from Brown's accountant as we speak. I imagine as soon as she gets it, she'll be heading out."
"Ahhhh," he acknowledged while rocking back in his chair and kicking his feet up on the desk, crossing them at the ankles as he settled in with his paper.
Mildred frowned briefly, then with a slight shake of her head slid a stack of paperwork over in front of him. Laura had intentionally set the files on his chair that morning so he couldn't claim he'd overlooked them. He'd simply picked them up and placed them at the end of the desk - out of sight, out of mind.
"Miss Holt told me to remind you that you need to sign off on these files before lunch."
Steele glanced somewhat disinterestedly at the stack of paperwork, and gave a sigh of discontent. It would have to be dealt with... later. No use annoying oneself with something that could be put off until later.
"Yes, yes, I'll get right to it as soon as I'm done with my paper," he agreed. "Any appointments this morning?"
"Not a one."
"Wonderful," he smiled.
"Wonderful?" Mildred asked, perplexed.
"Well, uh," Steele quickly sought a cover for his gaffe, "We simply have so many cases right now, that it will be good to wrap up a few before taking more on."
Satisfied he'd prevaricated adequately, he snapped his paper open with a flourish.
"Mildred, be a love, and see to it that I'm not disturbed until, oh," he glanced at his watch, "Eleven-thirty."
"The paperwork?"
"Don't worry, I'll have everything done before lunch," he assured her, with a lopsided grin.
"You better or you won't hear the end of it from Miss Holt."
"Believe me, I am well aware of that," he answered with a sigh. "Eleven-thirty then?"
"It's your goose," she told him, then turned and left the office closing the door behind her.
Steele spent the next half hour catching up on the news of LA, checked the local movie listings hoping for a retrospective only to find himself disappointed, and had just settled in to enjoy The Blaster comic strip when the buzzer sounded. Snapping the paper down, he frowned at the phone in annoyance.
Leaning over he stabbed at the button for the intercom.
"I thought we agreed, Mildred, that I'd not be disturbed until eleven-thirty."
"You have a call on line one..." she began, only to be interrupted.
"Well, then, take a message," he told her, trying not to sound as peevish as he felt.
"He says he's an old friend."
"I imagine he does. How many prospective clients have used that line before? Need I remind you?"
"He says his name is Henri Lebret," Mildred persisted.
Steele swung his legs off the desk and sat up abruptly.
Henri, he smiled to himself. What a pleasant surprise this is.
Steele disconnected the intercom, then, picking up the handset, stabbed a finger at the blinking light on line one. He leaned back in his chair with a wide grin on his face.
"Henri! Bonjour, vieil ami! To what do I owe this pleasure?" he greeted the caller, jovially.
"Ah, mon ami, it has been far too long!" the caller replied. "I wish I could say this call was simply for the pleasure of catching up with an old friend, but I fear I need your help."
Steele frowned with concern.
"What's going on, Henri?"
"You remember the Palermo brothers, oui?"
"Of course, of course, nasty bunch they are. Tell me you haven't gotten yourself mixed up with them again."
"Not by choice, I assure you. No, somehow they found out that two business men will be making a discrete transaction here at the hotel and they have decided they wish to disrupt that transaction."
"Transaction for what, dare I ask?"
"The Hapsburg Dagger."
Steele raised a brow at the news and rubbed his chin in interest. While many believed the Hapsburg Dagger to merely be a myth, it was in fact very real. The jewel-encrusted dagger had been presented as a gift to the Hapsburgs during the 16th century. For years now it had been in the possession of a private collector. With the dagger going back on the market and the Palermo Brothers already on the scene, it was a sure bet that others with interest in the dagger would soon arrive as well. Steele felt the early stirrings of adrenaline entering his bloodstream as memories of planning a heist such as this stirred in his mind.
"I see. I am sure it is safe to assume that the Palermo Brothers are not a party to that exchange."
"Of course not. You know as well as I, they do not purchase what they want, they arrange to gain possession through more nefarious means."
"Which is where you come in?"
"Oui. They have threatened to mutilate my dear Joelle should I not gain possession of the dagger before the sale takes place."
Steele leaned forward in his seat, his face filled with anger.
"Bloody hell," he muttered. "The world would be a far better place if someone had taken out those murderous buggers long ago. What can I do to help?"
"As you are well aware, my particular skill set was in smuggling. I am afraid I am out of my league here."
"So you thought of me, of course," Steele said with a sigh.
"I know it is much to ask. You have retired from the life, built yourself a new life there in Los Angeles. I have seen the papers. I am proud of you, mon ami. I simply do not know where else to turn. Joelle..."
Steele closed his eyes, and began unconsciously gnawing at his thumb. He had only been a lad of thirteen when he'd arrived in Cannes, a stowaway on a freighter. For weeks he had lived on the streets there, nicking food where he could, and sleeping in alleyways before fate had arranged for Henri's path and his own to cross. Henri had seen something in him, though Steele was never sure what, and before he knew it he was learning the smuggling trade, had a safe place to kip at night, and meals each day that staved off the gnawing hunger that had so often been a part of his life since he ran away at ten years old.
It was a good life, at the time, and only ended when Henri had retired and Steele had set off on his own, heading back to London at fourteen years old, where of course, he would eventually meet up with Daniel. Across the years he'd visited from time-to-time, the Lebert's feeling a bit like the family he'd never had. Henri had taken him in, despite their iffy introduction, and had never judged, simply accepted him, scruff and all. It was one of the few times in his life that he'd truly experienced the kindness of strangers.
So profound was his gratitude towards Henri that, when his beautiful young daughter Joelle had become infatuated with him when he'd visited years later, he worried constantly that Henri would realize and feel the sharp knife of betrayal. Henri trusted him with Joelle, had in fact bragged on many occasion when he was just a lad, that he, Steele, was her protector. To find her, as a young woman, looking at him in hopes of romance had shaken him. Eventually he had learned that a few stolen kisses would keep her happy and content, without raising an alert that the beautiful teen daughter of his friend had developed a tendre for him.
He owed Henri, owed the family, knowing full well that Henri's graciousness had provided him respite from the cruel streets, the aching hunger. It was a debt he knew he could never repay. At the very least, he owed it to Henri to help keep Joelle safe.
But what of Laura? He knew she would be immediately on guard as soon as he announced yet another person from his past had arrived on the scene. They had barely made it through the last time, with Anna, and it had taken them months to truly recover. It had only been in the last few weeks that he had seen the uncertainty and distrust fade from her eyes.
If he set out to steal the Hapsburg Dagger and she found out, it would likely be well and truly over between them. That was not an option, as far as he was concerned.
Yet, he owed Henri.
If only there were a way to steal the dagger but not really steal it...
Steele's eyes flew open, and he rapidly sat forward in his chair, a smile on his face.
"So let me get this straight, Henri. Unless you steal the dagger and give it to the Palermo brothers, they will harm Joelle, correct?"
"Oui," Henri answered resignedly.
"So if there is no dagger for you to steal, then that lets you off the hook. You cannot steal for the Palermo Brothers what does not exist, and they would need to set out to figure out who now has it, correct?"
"Yes, but, as I have already explained to you, the dagger will be here in the hotel."
"Not if I steal it first," Steele replied, a smile of satisfaction on his lips.
"I do not understand."
"It's quite simple really. I'll come to Cannes, steal the dagger. Word will get out that it was taken, and the Palermo Brothers will be forced to divert their attentions from yourself and Joelle to finding the thief. In the meantime, we can return the dagger to the rightful owner, and all ends well. It's bloody brilliant," he enthused. "Okay, Henri, we need to put together a plan. When is this all to take place?"
Steele searched his drawers and found a pencil but no paper. Writing down the information Henri provided on the corner of a page of the newspaper, when he hung up the phone with Henri he ripped the corner off and stuffed it in his pocket, glancing at the door leading into Laura's office as he did so.
Now what? he asked himself.
He stood and began to pace.
He couldn't very well disappear for the several days it would take to travel to Cannes, pull off the heist, make the exchange and return home without Laura noticing. His departure would raise a bevy of questions from his persistent and inquisitive partner.
No matter what, explanations would have to be made.
Crossing the room, he perched a hip on the window sill and stared at her door.
His first impulse was to go to her, tell her about Henri's troubles and ask her to help him help his friend. She had stood by his side when Wallace was killed, vowing they would find his killer together, regardless that it appeared at the time Wallace had robbed their client. She had come through, after all, when Daniel needed help, hadn't she? Even after he had tried to conceal their scheme, and she had discovered his lie. At the end of the day, Laura always came through. It was in her nature to help the potential victim, no matter their station in life. She would be angry at first, of course, as that too was her nature. React first when his past came to call, then calm down and approach it analytically it as she would any other case.
But that was before Anna had arrived on his doorstep... before he had shut Laura completely out... before he had nearly died in the process. He had hurt her deeply, he knew that, although she had never said the words. For months he'd been trying to make amends, to close the distance that she had unconsciously placed between them. He'd even gone so far as to create the elaborate ruse of a secret admirer, using it as a vehicle to express how much she meant to him. He'd been relieved when it had worked, when she had let down her guard. Until, of course, she discovered the truth, shaking the foundation of trust between them again.
This was too soon, too soon on the heels of Anna. He could hear the death knell of their relationship even as he sat there.
It was possible, however remote, that his sharing what was going on would strengthen her trust in him. But as a gambling man he knew the odds were not in favor of that outcome. Still, if he took that risk, would she help? Even more so, would she trust him to know how best to handle this particular situation? This was the life that he'd lived. He knew the players, the potential outcomes, not to mention how best to relieve the current owner of the dagger. No, his Laura wouldn't have the trust in the situation and these people that he had. She would insist from the outset to have control over every aspect of the plan. Worse, if she believed that there could be no positive resolution to the situation - one that would not place the Agency at risk - she would put the kibosh on it and expect him to come to heel. Then in turn, he would be forced to lie to her.
Once again, the death knell rang.
That only left lying to her from the outset and hoping that she wouldn't learn the truth, at least until it was over and done with and the dagger returned to its original owner. He could simply tell her he needed a few days away, to unwind. He had taken many side trips in the past and she'd not questioned him too doggedly about them. Yet, after each trip, he had noticed the distance she placed between them and the return in the veiled looks of distrust sent his way.
Was there no way out, then? No way to help the friend he owed and not risk her trust in him, risk what they were building together?
If only there was a way to get her on board, he thought somewhat wistfully. The idea of Laura and him spending time with one another touring Cannes stirred his blood more effectively than the remembrance of the adrenaline rush of the heist. He could easily imagine dinner at La Palme d'Or, followed by a romantic stroll along la Croisette on a moonlit night and holding her in his arms as they looked out over the Suquet of the bay of Cannes. A day trip down to Nice where he could share the Picasso and Matisse Museums would definitely be in order, as was a drive along the coast to Menton followed by a picnic lunch on one of the cliffs perched high above the water. It would be the best of both worlds: he would be able to help a friend he owed a debt a gratitude to, while sharing the romance of Cannes with Laura.
If only, he thought with regret, recalling that only a few weeks past Laura had fairly bubbled over with excitement when an invitation from the Glee Club Alumni group had arrived, asking her to spend two weeks traveling throughout Europe giving concerts. He had briefly considered, then, convincing her to go, to pry her away from the Agency for a little one-on-one time. But the idea of being tied to an itinerary predetermined by Stanford University, whilst surrounded by fellow members of the chorus had quickly thrown a damper on the idea. Laura had quickly dispelled the notion of closing down the Agency for two weeks herself, for what she viewed as little more than a pleasant indulgence of a fantasy.
If only…
Sighing, he glanced at the files on the corner of his desk, and a peek at his watch told him he had better get moving on completing the dreaded things. Pulling the stack of paperwork over to himself, he pulled the pen out of his drawer and set to work. He had only just signed off on the first case when it came to him.
Good Lord, old sport, he said to himself, you surely are slipping. The answer was right in front of you all along.
The Glee Club Tour, he remembered with a wide smile. The tour would move through seven European cities over fourteen days, wrapping up with the final three days spent in Cannes.
Kismet.
It could not have been more perfect than if he had planned it himself. The Glee Club Tour was the answer to all his problems: he could help Henri, continue to nurture his relationship with Laura by supporting her in what she had just seen as a frivolous dream, and best of all, romance her in some of the most romantic cities in Europe.
It was predestination, for certain.
He glanced at the paperwork in front of him and attacked it with a new vigor. What better way to smooth the road ahead than to present her with all the files signed by her proscribed deadline? No prompting, no prodding, no demanding - just that good old Protestant work ethic that she so admired being exemplified before her eyes.
He diligently worked his way through the files, wrapping up the last one a few minutes after noon. Picking up the stack of files, he headed to her office, prepared to convince his delightful partner of all the reasons the Glee Club Alumni tour was meant to be.
Laura – Part 1
Laura Holt was engrossed in reviewing the agency budget's when Mr. Steele poked his head around the door that connected their respective offices. She'd spent the morning tracking down several of George Brown's business contacts and had a pretty good idea that, in fact, Brown was running a Ponzi scheme. She had a call into his bank and until then, she had time to kill, which meant tackling the paperwork that had built over the past week. Because certainly Mr. Steele wouldn't have tackled it.
She sipped from her coffee mug and slowly leafed through the requested documents that Mildred had left on her desk. She'd been a little anxious over what she'd find and had been pleased to discover that the quarterly budget sheets looked very, very good. Having an experienced accountant like Mildred on board was a godsend; that woman knew every IRS loophole and plus the ones that the IRS hadn't grasped yet. Between that and an exceptionally busy several months, not only had the red ink vanished from their account books, Remington Steele Investigations had acquired a hefty accrual in the black columns. If this kept up, Mildred would have to find them additional deductions.
Obvious, business-related deductions, Laura told herself firmly. Not like Mr. Steele's beloved Auburn from last year. At least she'd manage to squelch that sailboat purchase. Although, if she let herself dwell on it, a weekend with Mr. Steele, just the two of them, sailing to Catalina had distinct romantic possibilities. And maybe that would be an easy way to signal her interest in moving their relationship forward? That business with his ex-flame Anna Simpson had changed her Mr. Steele, mostly for the better if truth be told. Yes, he'd been incredibly stupid in that case, rushing to his ex-flame's aid while cutting out Laura entirely. Damn near getting himself killed in the process. But, as she'd had time to reflect on it, the situation had also shown that this man – whoever he really was – was capable of deep love, which was something she hadn't expected from her bon vivant thief. And it offered a glimmer of hope for their own potential relationship. She had gained a new insight into him. Like her, he'd been badly hurt in love, and she hadn't expected that commonalty. Why she had not expected this did not bear close examination, because the answer would not be flattering to her.
There was another factor in her shifting perspective, and that circled around their protection of the Royal Lavulite, the very stones that had brought them together nearly two years ago. She had made a point in trusting him to develop the transportation plan and, despite near catastrophe, they'd come up trumps in finding those stolen stones. There was also her narrow escape at the end of that case when she'd so stupidly fallen off his balcony, and the memory made her blush with embarrassment. It wasn't how she'd intended to test his commitment, but afterward he'd seemed more forthcoming and candid with his thoughts. Apart from that ridiculous business with the flowers, which only annoyed her by how she'd fallen for such an obvious gimmick. She'd refused to put the expense onto the agency's account books on a matter of principle. She hadn't approved of the method, but she certainly got his message. And as Bernice Foxe had spelled out to her a few weeks back when they'd spoken by phone, it was now two full years and he was still here. Not exactly carrying his weight with the agency and still allergic to paperwork, but definitely an asset to her investigations. She considered him a good friend and companion as well. Maybe it was time to rethink their relationship?
Actually, what Bernice had said was, Go for it, girl.
Laura tapped her pencil thoughtfully against the printouts. It wouldn't hurt to research a few numbers, would it? She'd speak with Mildred about the potential tax implications of a boat.
With that incentive, she redoubled her efforts on evaluating the bottom line and was thus engrossed when there was that gentle tap at her open door.
"Miss Holt? Laura?"
Her ersatz Remington Steele wore that look of irresistible charm that still made her heart do a little lurch, ever since he first waltzed into her life and taken it over. She was very good at math and her calculus suggested that she probably ought to take that number and her response seriously. Bernice was right. It had statistical weight.
Steele's face fell as he eyed the papers on her neat desk. "Ah, I've caught you at a bad time. Don't want to distract from the important work of operating the agency. I'll just leave these with you."
And he hesitantly set a stack of papers on the corner of her desk.
She looked at them. Looked at him.
"You said you wanted them by noon," he said helpfully.
"I did." She was unable to keep the wonderment from her voice.
"They all seemed to be in order," he added as she flipped curiously through the clipped pages, putting a little emphasis on the word 'seemed'. "So I signed off. The last one was a little questionable on the numbers; you might have Mildred look at the hours again for the security contractor we used."
"I will." Her wonderment grew.
"How did it go this morning with the Brown case?"
"Just fine. Our clients won't be happy, but it's as we suspected, he's bilking the investors and paid them with money from the new ones. We should get the bank records later today, but it has all the hallmarks of a classic Ponzi scheme."
He tut-tutted. "Amazing that people still fall for them. I'll leave you to it. Didn't mean to interrupt."
"You mean, you hope to avoid an opportunity to pass additional work to you?" she teased him.
"No one could run the agency better than you," he said and looked like he meant it, so she let it pass.
"What's up?" she asked instead and glanced at her small desk clock. It was just after twelve, so he might be angling a proposition for lunch. Or, even better, his evening plans.
He took that as permission to continue and perched himself on the edge of her desk. "I was thinking—" That usually means it's going to cost me money. "—that you've been working exceptionally hard lately. Lots of those billable hour thingies and hardly a proper vacation. What with protecting the Royal Lavulite, and us not stealing the Jennings diamond for Le Reynard, and then recovering those embezzled bank funds while helping poor Rocky escape Eddie Lucas?" He paused for a breath, and Laura thought, Okay, there's the set up. What's he after this time? Do you suppose he'll ever ask for something straight out?
She decided to play along. Which meant tossing his idea out to see what aspect he'd come bounding back with. Experience had taught her this was a tried-and-true way to learn what he really wanted. "Then it's a good thing we had all those other cases to install security and trace missing wills and locate stolen property, because the cases you mentioned didn't exactly pay well."
"Ah." His face fell and she couldn't help but take pity on him.
"Still. You did a marvelous job designing those security systems for the museum and the Nicolson gallery. And the insurance company paid us for the Lavulite work plus a bonus, since otherwise they'd have to admit their clients were thieves."
"There!" he crowed. "See? And all suggesting a well-deserved holiday."
Her eyes narrowed. Ah, ha. That's it. "Oh? And what brought this on?"
"To be honest, your glee club tour."
Okay, I didn't see that one coming. "I decided not to go, remember? Two weeks away from the agency?"
"Yes, but you sing as well as you play, and you do love it. Music's in your blood as much as detection. You have little enough opportunity to enjoy it, these days. What with getting the agency on firm footing and all, eh?"
She leaned back in her chair and considered his suggestion, surprising herself by not immediately dismissing it. "Funny you should say that. I was just thinking along similar lines. We've worked hard and—" she gestured at the pages before her "—we're on much firmer financial footing. The clients are coming in and we've got all the work we can handle."
Blue eyes softened as he met her gaze. "You've achieved the reputation and success that you longed for when you started the agency. How much vacation time has Laura Holt taken since she started Remington Steele Investigations?"
She smiled back. "Precious little, as you know."
"Well, then? Perhaps it's time to consider paying yourself back?"
"When you phrase it like that, it sounds very tempting." She sighed a little, wistful. "I've never been to Europe."
Steele looked a little surprised. "Truly? Never?"
"No. I always wanted to go. I even studied French in high school. But when my father disappeared, money got tight. My family couldn't afford an overseas trip. And then I was just too busy, starting my career."
"Then we'll have to take this opportunity and correct the omission."
"Did I hear a 'we' just now, Mr. Steele?" she teased with a smile. "I didn't realize you sang."
"Nor is Stanford my dear alma mater. But surely you shan't be singing all day. And night. You'll require an expert escort through the sights of Europe." He reached forward to trail a finger down the side of her cheek. His touch sent tingles straight down her spine and suggested other delicious possibilities.
"The invitation did say there'd be plenty of time for sightseeing. You make it sound irresistible." She rose now and came around the desk to meet him, and tilted upward to press a light kiss on his lips.
"Irresistible," he murmured. "I like the sound of that." He kissed her back, his mouth opening in invitation, and Laura met him with a gentle nip of his lips and a teasing of her tongue against his. Just to suggest the possibilities.
She pulled back to ask, "And are you an expert on the sights of Europe?"
"Locations here and there," he murmured, moving on to nuzzle her hair. "I'll need to brush up if you desire the full benefit of my expertise. What was their schedule again?"
Laura sighed happily. Only her Mr. Steele could breathe innuendo into a travel itinerary. These two weeks suddenly sounded much more interesting. Even pulse racing. "Amsterdam. Brussels. Paris. Nice." She punctuated the locations with little kisses.
"Sounds delightful. Not too late to respond with an affirmative on the trip?"
"I think there's still time." She pulled away reluctantly, before things got too out of hand, and retrieved the letter from her in-box. Did he suspect that she had pulled it out occasionally to dream about the possibilities? She looked over the description and added, "Luxembourg, Barcelona, Cannes."
"Each more beautiful than the next."
Then she remembered their last trip out of the country and her brain kicked in to harden her heart and squelch her dream. "No cities that are on your forbidden-to-travel list, are there? No Captain Rios's that I need to know about? We wouldn't want a repeat of Acapulco."
"Laura." He could have been angry at her abrupt mood shift, but instead he placed a hand on his heart in a pose of mock offense. "You cut me to the quick."
"They didn't link your name, eh? I knew you were good." Now she was amused. "And what name will you be traveling under?"
"Why, the famous detective Remington Steele, of course." Then he grinned and her heart skipped despite herself. "Best you don't ask such difficult questions."
"Then I'll give Ron a call and tell him I'm in."
His eyes narrowed. "Who's Ron?"
"The choir director and trip organizer."
"Eighty years old and gay, no doubt."
Her devil got the better of her. "Thirty-five and blond, actually."
"Grr. Then you definitely need an escort."
"That's a very good idea, Mr. Steele. And the more I reflect on it, the more I think you're right."
"I am?"
"About us working so hard and deserving a vacation. I think Mildred would love to come, too, don't you?"
His expression soured and she tried not to laugh. "Seriously? Mildred?"
"Why not? She deserves a little fun as well. She's invested as much into the agency as we have. You're her biggest champion and, I have to agree, she's become indispensable. It's only fair that she benefit equally from the fruit of our labors."
"How equally? Because it's very difficult to split the spoils three ways. Do we really require a chaperon?" he said, petulant.
"It'll give you something to do while I'm rehearsing," she said sweetly. "Keep you busy planning ways for us to evade her."
He made a show of protest but Laura could see he was as pleased as a kid with a new toy. This had the potential to be a new page in their relationship. She made a mental note to shop for clothing accordingly.
When Laura finally returned to her paperwork and Steele departed for his own office, he had his back to her. So Laura didn't see his fleeting expression of glee or his tiny pumped fist of victory. If she had, she would never have called Ron to secure her spot on the tour.