14
Chapter Two
"Steed? Steed, it's time to wake up now."
He heard the voice, but it seemed different from Sam's. Why was it dark? He opened his eyes, but the face before him wasn't Sam's. "Purdey," he said, but it came out as a whisper.
A smile lit her face. "Well it's about time," she said. "We were starting to worry about you."
Steed saw Gambit standing on the other side of the bed.
"Where am I?" he asked.
"In hospital," Purdey told him. "You took quiet a hit. We couldn't wake you up."
"I wasn't worried." Gambit added. "I told them you had the hardest head in the department. It would take more than that to put you under, but you know how doctors are."
Steed let Mike's comment slide, but made a mental note to get even later. "How long?" he asked.
"Long enough for me to shoot Gambit down three times," she laughed. Now that Steed had regained consciousness she could breathe easier.
"Oh, not long at all then," Steed quipped.
"About an hour," she told him.
"Only an hour?" It seemed much longer than that, he thought. "And you were here, with me the whole time?"
"Yes, Steed, I never left your side. Why? Is there something wrong?" Purdey was beginning to get concerned. Had that blow done more than knock him out? She glanced at Gambit and he was watching Steed just as closely.
Steed swung his feet over the side of the bed, unobtrusively grabbing the mattress as the room began to swim. "No, there's nothing wrong," he explained, "I just like being watched over by beautiful women. Now I think it's time . . ."
"That you got back in that bed," a voice from the door interrupted.
Purdey made the introductions. "Steed, this is Doctor Kirkland. Doctor, this is your patient John Steed, who, if history tells us anything, probably won't listen to anything you have to say."
The doctor looked at his chart. "Good afternoon, Mr. Steed. I'm glad you could join us. As you may have gathered for yourself, you suffered a blow to the head which left you with a lump that will be tender for a few days, accompanying that was an unusual period of unconsciousness. Your x-rays are clear and all tests have come back negative. My normal advice would be to keep you here for observation; however, several of my associates have dealt with you in the past so I'm not going to waist my breath." He turned to leave, "Aspirin for the headache, ice for the black eye, not that it will do that much good at this late stage, but it sounds like something I should say." With that, he walked out leaving all three agents to stare after him.
"My kind of fellow," Steed said as he buttoned his shirt, straightened his tie and retrieved his coat. "What say I get cleaned up and we all meet later for an early dinner, my treat?"
"That sounds lovely, Steed, but are you sure you're up to it?" Purdey asked.
Steed cupped her gently under the chin, "I'm fine, Purdey, really."
She was looking very deeply into his eyes. She could swear there was something there, but couldn't put her finger on it.
Gambit broke what was quickly becoming an uncomfortable silence. "About seven then," he asked.
"Seven it is," Steed said, "I'll meet you at the house."
***********
"Steed?" Purdey called out as she and Gambit entered his home. They were a little early, but she knew Steed wouldn't mind. She saw him pop his head around the corner from the second floor. He was still in shirt sleeves.
"Help yourself to a drink, won't be a moment."
Gambit didn't mind, it gave him a chance to continue trying to convince Purdey of his latest scheme. "Come on, Purdey. Me, you, a few bottles of wine in the middle of a field of daisies, how much better could it be?"
"The answer to that question, Mike Gambit, is something you'll never know."
Gambit wasn't ready to give up just yet. As he approached the drinks tray he spotted a deck of cards. "Alright, we'll let providence decide," he said as he began to shuffle. "One hand, five card draw, if I win you go on the picnic, if you win, well . . ."
"You come over and help me paint my flat," she finished.
"Agreed." He sat in the chair across from her and dealt out two cards each face down and three each face up. As he looked at Purdey's he felt pretty good. She had a pair of eights showing, and he had one king. He looked at the cards in his hand and smiled. He had another king and two fives. Two pair, he had her. "How many cards would you like?" he asked.
"Two," she said, "how about you?"
"I'll play these," he said with a sly smile. He dealt. "Okay, what have you got?"
"You first," she said.
"Read them and weep," Gambit announced. "Two pair, kings over fives." He watched as Purdey's face fell. "I guess I'll start chilling that champagne."
"Mike Gambit, you're a dead man," Purdey told him. She was vaguely aware of Steed standing in the doorway adjusting his tie. Gambit watched as the smile spread across her face. He knew she was about to do something. She laid down her cards. "Aces over eights," she panned. "Dead man's hand."
"What?" Steed broke in. "What did you say?"
"I was just telling Gambit that he loses again."
Steed walked over to the table and picked up Purdey's cards. He stood there staring at them as though they were something he hadn't seen before.
Purdey glanced at Gambit who shrugged his shoulders. "Steed, are you sure you're up to dinner tonight?" she asked. "We can always do it some other time." There was no reply. She reached out and touched his arm. "Steed?"
"Huh?"
"Are you okay?"
His gaze finally shifted to her and his eyes seemed to focus. "I'm fine," he told her. He dropped the cards on the table. "Shall we?" he asked moving toward the door.
The drive in was uneventful. They passed the time discussing work and Purdey's upcoming redecoration. Traffic picked up as they got closer to the city. Purdey was still apprehensive about Steed's health and that didn't change as she felt the car gaining speed. She turned away from Gambit in the backseat and noticed that Steed seemed to be trying to catch up to the car ahead. She didn't see anything out of the ordinary. It was a black sedan, two passengers as well as the driver. She looked at Steed. He was leaning slightly forward, squinting just a little. Rationalizing that he'd only do that if he were trying to make something out, she glanced at the car again. Steed's headlights were illuminating the license plate. MI ll88, it read.
"Would you look at that," Steed said.
Gambit moved forward and looked between them. "Three ones and two eights, you're contagious, Purdey."
"Do you believe in omens, Steed?" Purdey asked jokingly.
"Only the one that says we are going to have a lovely, relaxing dinner," he told her, but the coincidence was beginning to give him that same uncomfortable feeling he'd had while in the fog. He told himself it had all been a dream, but still . . . he shook it off. He couldn't afford to think about that now. Emma was someone he'd put behind him a long time ago. It hadn't been easy, but he managed. Now he only thought about her . . . every day, his mind said. Shut up, he told it.
"Anyway, that first one's not a one. It's a capital aye," she said.
Gambit and Purdey were still laughing about their card game when Steed was forced to stop at a traffic light. He looked around at the other vehicles waiting their turn when his eyes caught sight of a lorry to his right waiting to turn. Written in large letters on the side were the words, "Love Peel". He closed his eyes to clear his vision. Surely he'd miss read the message. This was getting silly, he thought. When he opened them again, the lorry began its turn passing through his headlights and he could see that some words were faded. What it actually said was, "Love The Peel, It's Where The Vitamins Are". There was a badly faded picture of an apple underneath. He let out the breath he'd been holding and almost laughed out loud. Although he dismissed the abundant reminders of his dream, he could feel the heat rising under his collar.
As he parked the car just down the street from the entrance to the restaurant he noticed a newsstand on the opposite corner. A strange sense of curiosity overtook him. Gambit and Purdey watched as he went to the stand. He came back and spread the evening paper on the bonnet of the Jaguar. Under the streetlight he turned to the sports news. His companions saw him run his finger down the list of winning horse races. Steed was an avid horseman, even raised his own so it didn't seem that unusual. To be preoccupied just before going into dinner seemed a bit odd, the man was entitled to his eccentricities. His finger stopped at one of the names and Purdey heard him mumble something she couldn't make out. She leaned in to get a better look. The notice read, `Emma's Pride won in the fourth and paid ten to one'. Steed closed the paper tossed it on the backseat without explanation.
They were seated with all the fanfare and flourish of long time customers. Steed ordered a bottle of champagne and they settled down to look at their menus. With the order placed and the champagne cooling and relaxing Steed's concerns he turned to listen to Purdey musing about the color scheme of the restaurant. He was beginning to think that this redecoration of hers was going to be more complicated than either he or Gambit realized and he was glad that he wasn't on the receiving end of that card game. He was just getting into the swing of the evening and succeeding in pushing his demons back into their respective closets when he heard a man at another table call out.
"Emma!"
His head jerked in the man's direction so fast that his companions thought he'd been hit. His eyes searched the people until he saw the other man stand and greet a woman coming toward him. He kissed her on the cheek and held her chair. Not my Emma, Steed said to himself. His mind seemed to stop in place. My Emma, it repeated. She's not my Emma. She never was. His heart was beating very fast and he realized his mind and body were trying to tell him something his heart wouldn't let him admit. He had wanted it to be his Emma. But he'd been incapable of acknowledging his feelings. Now whether it had been a dream or something he couldn't explain Sam was right. He did love her, had always loved her. Ten years ago he thought he had all the time in the world, until it ran out. She belonged to someone else. There was nothing he could've done, or so he'd thought. Of course he'd run the questions through his mind. What if he'd said something then, what if he'd asked her to stay, what if . . . He'd made himself sick with the `what ifs'. When he heard she was free again, he waited to see if he would hear from her. When he didn't he assumed she had figured exactly what he did, that they were a thing of the past. It had been fun, but it was over. His pathetic call to her had only served to confirm the diagnosis. There had been no return response. He'd closed and locked the door forever. So why all of a sudden was he being bombarded with thoughts and memories? "There's no point in it."
"No point in what?" he heard Purdey ask.
He looked up at the faces of his friends. Both were looking to him for some kind of answer. "I beg you pardon," he said.
"You said there was no point in it. What did you mean?"
Steed looked at Gambit, young, strong, loyal and devoted to the department, Purdey, beautiful, intelligent, just as loyal and just as devoted. He wondered if they realized the type of relationship they had. So reminiscent of another couple, their word play, furtive glances, the unspoken communication built on top of a deep respect and . . . well, he was never quite sure how they felt about each other, but isn't that what people used to say about he and Emma? Perhaps they'd be lucky, or brave enough to figure it out before fate came along to destroy their world, before time ran out. There was that word again. Time. He looked at his watch and back at the two. "I'm sorry," he told them, "but I've got to go. He stood and headed for the door.
Purdey chased after him catching up just outside. "Steed," she took his arm going to try and talk him into returning, but she saw the look in his eyes. She still couldn't decipher it, but knew she wouldn't talk him out of whatever he felt he had to do. "Something's not quite right, is it?" she asked.
"No," he answered simply.
"It hasn't been for some time, has it?"
Steed touched her cheek. "What a wonderfully intuitive girl you are, Purdey. You're right, it hasn't."
"Is there anything I can do?"
He leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. "Wish me luck?" he said.
"You've never needed luck. You're Steed," she said. She stayed long enough to watched him drive away.
Steed parked on the street in front of the fifteen story building. It had been a long time since he'd been here. As he looked the place over, he noticed a light on the fourteenth floor. Maybe his luck was holding out. He started up the front steps that led to the lobby wondering what he was going to say to the night guard. He entered the door expecting the watchman to ask if he needed assistance, but there was no one there. Umm, the stars must be with me, he thought and an image of Sam, sitting behind the desk, feet propped up, eating from a Chinese take-away waved a pair of chopsticks telling him to get to the lift, appeared to him. He blinked and she was gone, but he still looked under the desk just to make sure. He stepped on the lift and pushed 14.
The doors opened and he turned right, but as he walked down the hall he could see that things had changed. The layout wasn't exactly as he remembered and he didn't recognize the names on any of the office doors. Perhaps the office wasn't this way any more or maybe it's not even on this floor. He turned, what he remembered as being, the last corner and was rewarded with a name plate he finally knew and there was a light coming from under the door. With a deep breath of determination, he opened the it. The outer office had changed somewhat, but still reflected warm tones and plush, soft furnishings. The woman behind the desk looked up, a bit surprised to see a stranger inter. She was, perhaps in her early thirties, brunette, with a no nonsense look on her face. She immediately pushed one of the many buttons on her desk.
"Mr. Parker, we have an unannounced visitor in Miss. Knight's office," she stated.
"That won't be necessary, Miss.," he glanced at the name plate on her desk, "Turner, I can assure you." He gave her his best smile. "I mean no harm, I'd just like to see Mrs. . . err. . . Miss. Knight."
She put down the pen she was using, folded her hands on the desk and looked straight through his smile. "Believe it or not, sir that's not the first time I've heard that. Most people that come through that door wish to see Miss. Knight; however, they generally make an appointment."
Steed leaned on the desk. "But I'm not most people," he told her.
She waved his comment off. "That's as may be," she said, "but at any rate, Miss. Knight has left for the evening." She went back to her work.
"Left for where? Did she go home?"
"I'm sorry, but I can't give out that information,"
Steed straightened and paced back and forth for a few steps. He hated to use it, but it seemed like his best option at this point. Of course, he knew if it were reported he'd have to take the heat, but it was worth it, he reasoned. "I'm afraid you can," he said. He pulled out his Ministry identification and showed it to the woman. "Knight Industries maintains several government contracts and it is imperative that I speak with Miss. Knight as soon as possible."
Miss. Turner examined the card thoroughly, especially noting the name, `John Steed'. Steed, that rang a bell somewhere in the back of her mind, but she couldn't recall why. Was it something her boss had mentioned not so long ago? She wasn't certain. There was no denying the identification, however. She pulled out a note pad. "Miss. Knight is at a party this evening at the home of Frances March. It's something of a celebration," she explained holding out the paper with the address to him.
Steed's confidence wavered slightly. "Celebration?" he queried.
"The partnership of Knight Industries with March Electronics. They just agreed on a merger, that's why I'm still here. I was typing them up for her signature. The party is for the investors of March, a chance for them to meet the CEO and board of the new controlling interest."
Steed hoped that the momentary panic he felt didn't show on his face. "I see, thank you," he told her and walked out. Back in his car he looked at the address she had given him and grinned. This was good, he mussed. The location of the party was not very far from his own residence. He'd have time to change.
Steed stopped his Jaguar outside the gates of the March estate. It was a grand property and he could see the valets greeting and parking cars for the guests. Considering that he was crashing the party, he didn't think that a frontal entrance was a good idea. Getting thrown out, or rather, causing a scene while someone tried to throw him out wouldn't do. He needed to find Emma with as little commotion as possible. After all, he had no idea how she would react to seeing him again, let alone showing up with no notice. He parked the car on the street and slipped through the gate making his way around the grounds to the side entrance. It was a nice evening and he reasoned that the garden would be open to guests. Just as he had suspected, the garden was lit only for decorative purposes, not enough light to make his approach noticeable. He lingered on the patio close enough to the doors to slip inside behind a couple more interested in themselves than anyone tagging along.
In his best tux he fit right in with the other guests and relieved a waiter of a glass of champagne as he walked by with a tray. It wasn't the best quality, but it would do to add to his cover. His eyes searched the crowd. There were quite a few people at the party and it was difficult to see around everyone. He stayed on the edge picking up a few Hors Devours when they were passed and agreeing when occasionally addressed with, `nice party'. When the orchestra began to play the crowd thinned a bit as couples took the floor to dance. It was then he saw her and his heart stopped. She was still so beautiful. Dressed in a white, silk dress that swept the floor, her hair cascaded softly down her shoulders accented to almost red against the brilliant white, she was smiling. Steed suddenly felt butterflies in his stomach and he chastised himself. Confidence with women was not something he had ever lacked, but this was no ordinary woman and the magnitude of what he was about to do struck him like lightening from the sky.
He looked out at the dancers as he drained the last of the champagne from his glass and then almost choked on it. For there, on the dance floor, in front of everyone, he saw Sam and damned if she wasn't dancing with Winston Churchill! He scanned the guests, but no one seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary. When he looked back, they were gone and so were his butterflies. A waiter walked by and accepted his empty glass. That was when it all came together. He looked up at Emma and saw that her glass was empty. He caught up with a waiter that had a full tray of charged glasses. "I'll take that if you don't mind," he said. The young man started to protest, but looked at the size of the tip Steed held out.
"As you wish, sir," he said and disappeared without a second glance.
Steed skirted the guests, never taking his eyes off of Emma as he made his approach. She was lost in conversation with a man about five feet nine with gray hair and a partial beard. Probably March, he thought. As Steed got closer, the man was distracted by another couple and he found his opportunity. He walked up to her side and held out the tray. "More champagne?" he asked.
Emma placed her empty glass on the tray and took a full one. She didn't even give him a glance. "Thank you," she said.
Steed stepped around to face her. "You're quite welcome," he said, "but it's a bit of an inferior vintage, I'm afraid." She stopped with the glass raised halfway to her lips and he saw a light come on in her eyes. God, how he hoped it was because she was glad to see him and not just surprise.
"Steed," she said, "what in the world . . ." Recovering from her shock, she leaned over to kiss his cheek almost upsetting the tray he was holding.
He felt his knees weaken at her touch. The jangling of the glasses must have caught the attention of the host for he approached the two.
"That will do, waiter," he said sternly, "you're here to serve the guests not irritate them and Mrs. Parker's glass is empty.
Steed didn't even look at him, but handed the tray over. "Here," he said, "give her these, they aught to keep her busy for awhile."
March's face turned crimson, but one look at Emma's face as she continued to gaze at the man told him that discretion was the better part of valor. He took the tray and handed it over to the fellow Steed had originally taken it from before returning to his other guests.
"What are you doing here?" Emma asked.
Steed broke their eye contact and looked around the room. "We need to talk," he told her and took her hand leading her to the closest door he could find.
"Steed," she protested as she grabbed her dress to keep from getting her feet tangled up in it. "Wait, what are you . . . ?" she drew silent as they emerged into a hallway occupied by several party going couples. She simply shot them an apologetic smile as Steed rushed her down the hall.
He opened a door and stepped inside what appeared to be a study. As he closed and locked the door behind them he took Emma by the arms and turned her to face him. "Emma," he said and froze. What was he going to say to her? His mind raced with possibilities, but nothing came out.
She was staring at him with curiosity now. She could see the evidence of a bruise under one eye. "Steed, what is it? Is something wrong?"
And he found his voice. It all came rushing out. "Yes," he said. "And it's been wrong for years. Emma, I love you. I have always loved you. I should have told you so ten years ago, but I didn't feel I had a right. My world fell apart when you left. I need you in my life as I've had you in my heart. I know it's been a long time, but please say we can start over, get to know each other again." He waited. The expression on her face was incomprehensible. Not one single sign to guide him as to her reaction. Why should she give you another chance, his mind asked. She's been through a lot, the loss of her husband, the shock of his sudden return two years later. Your disappointing and hurting her, it added. You're right he told himself, that's probably why he had never heard from her. She had no way of knowing that he would die before hurting her ever again. "Emma, I . . ."
She cut him off with her fingers on his lips. When she was sure he wouldn't speak she slid her hand around to the back of his neck and he felt fire course through his blood. She came to him, her lips soft and warm on his. He heard the sound of voices just outside the door, someone saying they thought she went in there, but he didn't care. Holding her close he pressed his back against the door as much to prevent their entry as it was to keep his knees from buckling with shear pleasure. She tasted so good, felt so wonderful, the most exciting . . . ah, oh, he was distracted as the rest of his body began to respond. There was nothing he could do, it had been too long, but he noticed that she did not pull away.
She broke the contact as the din outside grew louder. "I think we're about to be discovered,: she whispered. "Did you give your car to the valet?"
"No, and I see a convenient window," he said drawing her to him again. He didn't really give a damn what was going on on the other side of the door.
"And I believe your place is not far away. What say we make a discrete exit?"
So she had kept track of him, he thought. "I'd follow you anywhere," he proclaimed and was rewarded with the brightest smile he had seen in years. They made it out just as they heard someone insert a key.
After showing Emma around his home, Steed poured them both a glass of champagne. "I think you'll find this a much better vintage," he said.
"How about a toast," Emma suggested.
Steed reached out and ran his hand along her cheek. He still couldn't believe she was there. "I think the occasion warrants one. What have you got in mind?"
"What I have in mind we can deal with later," she told him and the gleam in her eyes left little to the imagination. "But right now," she raised her glass and he his. "To Sam." She said.
That's when Steed did something he couldn't remember ever doing in his life. He dropped his glass.
They both looked at the broken glass and back at each other.
"You know Sam?" They both said at the same time.
"Short, brunette, undetermined eye color?" Steed described.
"Gambling problem?" Emma added.
"Dances with Churchill."
"What?" she asked
"American accent?"
"Yes, but . . ."
"That's the one. But how? When?" he asked.
"It was a few days ago," Emma explained, "I thought it was a dream."
"So did I." Steed replaced his drink and returned to Emma. "Well, whether it was a dream, a coincidence, or something we'll never know about," they once again raised their glasses.
"To Sam."
Steed moved to her, gently brushed the hair from her left shoulder.
Her skin tingled at his touch. Oh how long she had missed that feeling. As his lips made their way up her neck to that sweet spot just behind her ear she said, "I want to hear about Churchill."
"No you don't," he whispered
The End
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