Chapter 10: Business as Usual
Saturday afternoon saw the Steele's happily embroiled in their own pursuits. Laura sat at her piano, her fingers elegantly dancing across the keys, paying homage to Chopin, as the last strands of Nocturne in E-flat major, Op.9 No.2 floated in the air before she flawlessly transitioned first to Prelude No.15 in D Flat Major, Op 28 and then to Nocturne No. 20 in C-Sharp Minor. A sure sign she was thinking and digesting all she'd read that morning and what she should expect in the upcoming months.
Among those things, morning sickness, for certain. Remington had risen before her and was just setting down a tray next to the bed, laden with hot ginger tea and dry wheat toast when she vaulted from the bed for the bathroom. He'd followed behind, once again holding her hair and soothing a hand over her back, then offering her a cool, damp washcloth when she slumped backwards to sit, leaning her back against the counter drawers.
"You don't have to do this you know," she'd panted through the cloth pressed to her face.
"Do what?" With a hand she waved in the general direction of the toilet she'd just been leaning over.
"This. It's bad enough one of us is miserable, there's no need to subject yourself to it as well." A smile toyed at the corner of his lips.
"Ah, you say that now. But should I not keep your company in your misery, I can all but be assured sometime down the line you'll be griping endlessly about how I've not suffered through any ills of the pregnancy," he answered lightly.
"I won't—" she began to disagree.
"Alright, then how about we simply agree it gives me the rare opportunity to offer you some comfort and, in doing so, also honors those vows we exchanged, particularly as they refer to 'in sickness and in health,' hmmmm?" He grasped the hand she held out and helped her to her feet. Bracing an arm against the sink, she rinsed her mouth by way of handfuls of cool water before reaching for her toothbrush.
"I don't think I can do this for two more months," she whispered, her shoulders slumping as she admitted to what she viewed as weakness.
"And if I have any say in the manner, you won't have to," he assured her. "We found yesterday you were able to keep down a bit of egg and toast, certainly the tea. Noodle soup, contrary to lore, has proven not to be the remedy for ills." She eyed him as she brushed her teeth, then rinsed the brush and tapping it on the side of the sink, set it into their toothbrush holder.
"So we're going to experiment?" she questioned, the suggesting appealing to her logically ordered mind.
"In a manner of speaking, yes. This morning: ginger tea and dry wheat toast. Should they stay down, in a couple of hours I'll whip up another omelet and see if we meet with the same success as yesterday." She nodded her agreement and returned to the bedroom. Climbing into bed, she reclined against the headboard as he lifted the tray to sit over her lap, then joined her from the other side of the bed.
"Nothing more substantial for yourself?" she questioned over the rim of her tea cup, eyeing the two plates of dry toast and the matching cup of tea in his hand.
"This will do for now." He wasn't about to admit he didn't have it in him to feast before his wife who was unable to keep anything down. Sitting down his cup, he tugged at an ear while pressing two fingers against his lips in thought. "Laura, I know we agreed last evening not to tell anyone of the news quite yet, but—"
"Remington—" she began warningly, eyes narrowing. If he suggested they seek advice from Frances, she might well put her hands around his throat, and suspected any jury of women would see it as justifiable homicide.
"Just hear me out. You can always refuse and I won't say anything further on the matter," he cut in. "I'd like to ring up Elena this morning, just Elena…," he emphasized, "… swear her to secrecy and all that. I seem to recall when Calista was pregnant with her first she was much the same as yourself and Elena had gathered any number of recipes for foods she guaranteed would conquer the morning sickness."
"Did they work?" she asked, eyeing the dry toast while resisting the urge to shrivel her nose at it. Let's face it, Laura, you've been spoiled by his cooking. This does not qualify as food by comparison, she admitted to herself. Remington gave her a shrug.
"Must have as I don't recall her being poor of health the remainder of my stay that round." She gave his suggestion some thought, but another glance at the unappetizing toast sealed the deal.
"As long as you swear her to secrecy. If mother or Frances finds out she knew before them, I'll never hear the end of it." He glanced at the alarm clock. Five-thirty Greece time. Standing he circled the bed, then patted her hip urging her to scoot over, sitting beside her again once she had. Picking up the handset he tapped in twelve digits, then settled it against his shoulder. "You have their number memorized?" she asked, surprised.
"Laura, they've had the same number since I was a child. I should hope so. And even I can remember '30' as the international code," he scolded lightly.
"Here I thought you only memorized the number of your favorite restaurants and your tailor," she retorted with a smirk. Before he was able to deliver a proper rebuttal, the phone was picked up on the other end.
"Kalispera, Elena," he greeted, a smile lighting his face at whatever Elena had said in return. "Se epithimisa, as well… Right here next to me…" He looked at Laura and addressed her. "Elena and the family send their love. Says we must come for a visit very soon."
"She doesn't know we'll be there in June for Roselli's trial?" she wondered.
"Slipped my mind," he answered her then returned his focus to the phone. "As Laura just reminded me, we'll be there in June." He pulled the phone slightly away from his ear, chuckling at Elena's enthusiastic response to the news, then listened briefly to the next bit. "Elena would like to know if we wish to make use of the old house again this stay?" Laura's face lit up at the suggestion. Despite the memories of Roselli's reappearance there, she loved the small house in the Cyclades where he'd spent part of his childhood under the loving care of the Androkus family. She nodded her enthusiastic confirmation. "It seems we would," he relayed to Elena. "Elena, I've called as we're in the need of your assistance. But I'm afraid I need your word that the news I'm about to impart will not go beyond yourself, at least for now."
"Xenos, you worry me," Elena worried. "Is all not well? Is something befoul at hand again?" The motherly concern made him smile.
"No, nothing such as that. Quite the opposite, in truth," he answered, quelling her fears. "Still, I'm afraid I'm not permitted to share the news unless I'm assured it will go no further than yourself." She clucked her tongue, letting him know how she felt about his statement.
"Με απογοητευεις… You disappoint me with such a request. Έχω αποκάλυψε ποτέ τα μυστικά σας… I have never revealed your secrets. You know this, my Xenos," she admonished. He squirmed uncomfortably, like a ten-year-old taken to task.
"Λυπάμαι. Έχω μόνο τον βαθύτατο σεβασμό για σας, σας γνωρίζουμε ότι," he answered, apology lacing his words, then remembering his wife next to him looking on with a great deal of curiosity, he repeated the apology again in English. "My apologies. You know I mean no disrespect. It's only that we've not told anyone yet."
"Xenos, mοιραστείτε τα νέα σας. Tell me," she prompted. Closing his eyes, he nodded, then let out a slow breath.
"Laura's with child," he shared, a smile lighting his face as he reached for Laura's hand. When she weaved her fingers through his, joy sparkling in her eyes at the words he'd spoken, the smile only widened further as he drew their joined hands to his mouth and skimmed a kiss over her knuckles. On the other end of the line, Elena drew in a sharp whoosh of breath.
"Ενα μωρό!" she gasped. "Our son, 'eνας πατέρας επιτέλους... a father! Our Laura, mια μητέρα. Δεν υπάρχει μεγαλύτερη χαρά! Είναι το μόνο που μπορώ ποτέ ονειρευτεί για εσάς. Για μεγάλη αγάπη για να σε βρω! It's all I've ever dreamed of, my Xenos. For such happiness to finally find you."
"I know, Elena, I know." He turned to look at his partner and wife when she tugged at his sleeve, eyeing him with open curiosity. "Thrilled would be an understatement," he filled her in.
"Xenos, give the phone to our Laura, I will tell her myself," Elena scolded in his other ear.
"Elena wishes to speak to you," he told her with a shrug, handing her the phone.
"Elena? It's Laura," she said into the receiver. Her eyes blinked, then widened as Elena spoke.
"Our Laura, mια μητέρα. The joy Xenos has given me at the news this morning!" Elena spoke rapidly. "Είστε μια ευλογία για όλους μας. You are a blessing to us all, my Laura. Δώσατε τον γιο μας πολύ αγάπη και τώρα ένα παιδί. You have given our son much love and now a child! With you he has found all the happiness we've ever prayed for him to have. Our son will be a splendid father!" Laura blinked her moist eyes several times before speaking.
"Thank you. He will be. You're absolutely right," she agreed, as Remington now watched her with a good deal of curiosity.
"How far along are you? Are you well?" Elena inquired, concern in her voice.
"Eight weeks or so, from what we were told yesterday. For the most part, I'm fine. Xenos said you might have some suggestions on what I can eat to help with the morning sickness?" Unseen, Elena nodded her head as she crossed the kitchen to another counter and drew her recipe box towards her.
"Yes. Yes. Meals and treats which have done well by the women in our family," she answered.
"I'm going to give the phone back to Xenos," Laura advised, then handed it off to Remington.
The pair discussed numerous suggestions ranging from sugared ginger drops to banana oat muffins to lemon soup with chicken and orzo, ultimately agreeing that after the family left, Elena would copy and fax all her recipes from the shipping office to the Agency as no one would be there over the weekend. Remington finally hung up the phone amid Elena's moist-voiced well wishes and after numerous promises by him to keep her abreast of how Laura was fairing with the family recipes.
With no signs of the tea and toast planning to revisit, Laura had finally crawled from bed and taken a shower, dressing in a pair of rolled cuff shorts and a sleeveless blouse then had pulled back her hair in a simple ponytail in anticipation of the predicted mild day. She'd found herself frowning several times, as she tried on one bra after the next, swearing they felt snugger than they once had, uncomfortably so, as they pressed on tender breasts. She promised herself a date with one of the books Remington had brought home.
They'd wiled away the morning lounging in the gently swaying hammock, lying on opposite ends as they each read the book of their selection. Remington couldn't help but smile when he glanced up at one point and found Laura eyeing her breasts, returning to the book, then eyeing her breasts again before her eyes widened. Lying her head back, she closed her eyes and uttered a few muffled curses. Her skin flushed when she opened her eyes again and found him peering at her with amused interest.
"Has something caught your attention, love?" he asked in a casual tone that instantly alerted her he knew exactly what had. She eyes him speculatively.
"Oh, I think you know exactly what's caught my attention," she observed, receiving only a hitched brow in response. "How long have you known?" He gave her an infuriatingly casual shrug of a shoulder.
"I may have noticed… something… had changed… while we… indulged in one another yesterday afternoon." Her eyes narrowed dangerously.
"And you didn't say anything?" she clipped.
"I considered it," he admitted while trying to suppress the smile which might find him lying supine upon the pavers beneath the hammock. "Then thought better, believing it best if you discovered the new… development… on your own."
"You realize this means I'm going to have to go out this weekend and shop, don't you?" She caught the smile twitching at his lips, and smacked him on the leg for his troubles. "Mr. Steele," she ground out.
"Sorry, sorry," he apologized, holding up a hand in deference, while choking back a laugh. "It just seems you'd have also realized you'll be doing quite a bit of that for yourself in the months to come… sooner than later, I would guess." She paled a bit at that statement.
"Why is that?" This time both brows lifted.
"You're but a wisp of a thing to begin with, Laura," he held up a finger before she could protest, "A comment on your physical stature, nothing more," he qualified. "From what I've read so far, you could begin showing in as little as two to three weeks from now. At the same time, it could be a couple of months. But at some point, not far down the line no matter when it happens, you won't fit in into those surprisingly enticing little suits of yours." The idea secretly thrilled her, but she wasn't going to admit as much to him, not yet. Easing off the hammock, he leaned down and bussed the top of her head. "I'm going to whip up those omelets since you seem to be fine so far."
After brunch, they'd parted company. Now, Remington sat on the terrace, sketchbook in hand, as the music created by Laura's talented fingers trickled outside to his ears. He'd already put the final touches on the sketch of them at the hospital the day prior and was now working on a piece he'd every intention of adding to the sketches above the fireplace in their bedroom. Laura shown only from ribs to hip, shirt open, his hand upon her still flat abdomen. He found the idea of creating a sketch a week showing the progress of their unborn child's growth while in his or her mother's womb titillating, and had embarked upon the first of the series. He suspected Laura would be equally enamored of the idea after he presented his first few works, and made a note to himself as he drew to have her bare slightly more of her abdomen so he'd accurately be able to depict the swelling of her body as her pregnancy lengthened.
Soft shadows cast across the terrace served as a reminder the day was growing long. Closing the sketchbook, he laid it on the dining room table on his way to the piano, where he leaned down to press his lips to Laura's neck. Fingers pausing, she looked up at him with a smile.
"Are you ready to go?" she asked.
"I am," he nodded. "Yourself? How do you feel?"
"The same as yesterday afternoon: Slightly nauseated but not overwhelmingly so," she answered as she closed the fallboard, then dropped the sheet music inside the bench she'd been sitting on. "Well enough that…" she drew her fingers down his front, "… I can't seem to take my mind off another nap before dinner." She lifted her brows and brown eyes lit with desire met twinkling blue ones. Leaning down, he sampled her lips.
"Mmm, yes, well let's hope that feeling of good health holds until after we return, eh?" Laying a hand on the small of her back, he guided her towards the front door. "Porsche or Auburn do you think?"
"Porsche, if we're going to the market." Plucking her keys off the credenza, he guided her out the door.
"I've been thinking, Mr. Steele," Laura began as she and Remington rode the elevator towards the eleventh floor of Century Towers. He did a double take and settled his eyes upon her.
"Why is it I always experience the most unsettling feeling when I hear those words cross your lips, Mrs. Steele?" he pondered warily.
"In light of recent events, neither the Auburn nor the Porsche will soon be conducive to our new lifestyle." He winced visibly at what she was sayin.
"That's why," he deadpanned. "Surely you're not suggesting we sell?"
"Do we have a choice?" she challenged. "Or are we going to simply toss the baby, car seat and all, into the trunk when we have to go somewhere?"
"Certainly not. Strap the car seat to the top of the trunk perhaps." He held up his hands when she looked at him as though he'd lost his mind. "Just kidding. Just kidding. But the Auburn? It's so sleek, so elegant, it… it… it… speaks to the image we've fought so hard to convey to the public." He became increasingly desperate when she rolled her eyes at the last. "It's the Auburn, Laura. Selling it would be akin to… to… to… modeling the renovation of the offices after Cranston's taste in décor, to… to… to… our arriving at a benefit in t-shirts and jeans, to—" This time it was she who held up a hand as they walked down the hallway.
"Save it," she cut him off. "I'm not suggesting we sell the Auburn, but the Porsche has to go. And we'll both need an appropriate vehicle for baby Steele to be transported in." He looked up at her from where he was stooped down unlocking the Agency doors a lopsided smile on his face. "What?" Standing, he shoved his hands in his pockets.
"Baby Steele, eh?" Pulling his hands from his pockets he cupped her head in his hands, thumbs caressing her cheeks and drew her up, giving her a lingering kiss. "Has a certain ring to it," he commented before swinging open the door and guiding her in with hand to back. She came to a halt so suddenly, he stumbled trying not to collide with her.
"What on earth?!" she screeched. Remington's eyes followed hers to the gaping hole covered with a plastic sheet beginning shortly after the guest couch and extending to nearly the corner of Bernice's desk and filing cabinets which had also been shifted a couple feet closer to the office doors.
"Given your surprise, it would seem the contractor joined the two suites while you were out on Friday," he answered, stating the obvious. "Perhaps we might have a look in my office as well, eh?" He grimaced as he walked through the door of his office and prepared for the shriek he knew would follow.
"Oh, my… We can't work like this!" her voice rose and octave and decibel when she took in the scene around her. All the pictures from his wall had been removed and stacked on his desk; the sofa and end tables had been shoved down until they sat in front of the first of the two alcoves in the wall; the wood accents on the wall had all been removed and stacked on the floor; and a hole matching one the size in the reception area had been cut out of the far end of his wall. His office appeared exactly as what it was: a construction zone.
"Now, Laura, we knew it would happen sooner than later and, frankly, that it's happened so soon is a good sign. Shall we at last take a look on how the other side is fairing?" She threw up her hands.
"We may as well," she huffed, slipping through the opening in the plastic he held back for her.
He was impressed by the work he'd seen thus far. The nursery/safe room had been framed out as well as the small dining area for he and Laura. This also meant the walls on the other side of his office had been shifted, support beams put into place and the walls framed out for her new office. And, at the end of her office, her new executive restroom had already been replumbed, drywalled and tiled. Crossing to the door leading from her office into the hall, the surveyed the walls erected for the conference and file rooms, which would by themselves create a corridor for the new associate/intern offices and breakroom. Nodding his head in approval throughout their tour, he turned to her at last.
"What do you think?" She shook her head, reserving judgment.
"How much longer until we have presentable, workable space in the old offices?" she asked.
"I've no idea. But I'll request Monday that they press hard to install the door by Mildred's desk so at least the reception area looks presentable. Not to mention, of course, getting my office in shape by no later than mid-week. Think you can bear it that long, hmmm?" She pinched the bridge of her nose while giving the question consideration.
"Mid-week?" He nodded as they walked down the hall towards their old suite.
"I'll hammer on the importance of just that… turn the screws on them… drill it into—" He drew the laugh his was seeking from her as they re-entered the reception area.
"Alright, alright. You can stop. Mid-week," she confirmed. "In the meantime, I'll have Bernice reschedule everyone but the potential new employees. We can interview them in my office."
"How many candidates left standing?" he asked as he fingered through the twenty or so pages of recipes faxed to them by Elena.
"A half-dozen, four men, two women," she answered, looking at their calendar for Monday. I already have a couple in mind. I'm interested in seeing if we're on the same page." Pointing a finger at a page on the calendar, she frowned then picked up the phone and dialed Bernice. When she received no answer, she hung up then dialed again, this time Mildred at home.
"Good afternoon," Mildred greeted when she picked up the phone on the other side.
"Mildred, it's Laura. Do—"
"Well, hey there, Mrs. Steele. Did the Boss make it home okay? How are you feeling?" Laura battled her impatience and fought for a friendly tone.
"He did and much better. Listen, do you have any idea how Marvin T. Slottman Jr. ended up on our calendar tomorrow for an interview? I didn't interview him last week, so I'm not sure why Bernice—" She puffed out a breath of irritation when she was interrupted again, ignoring Remington's sudden interest in the call.
"Oh, Mrs. Steele," Mildred beseeched. "I meant to speak with you on Friday but with you not coming in and all—"
"Mildred, what's this about?" Laura demanded.
"Well, after our little… snafu… last year, I took the kid under my wing until he left. The kid's really got something Mrs. Steele. He's a wizard with numbers and second only to me on digging up the dirt. When he called hoping for an interview… Well, I scheduled him in figuring it couldn't hurt…" she let her words trail off. Laura sighed, vexed.
"Fine, we'll keep the interview, but that's all I'm promising. I already have a couple of candidates in mind… neither of whom will be easily swayed by Mr. Steele to do his personal errands."
"Awwww," the man himself complained, giving her a sulky look.
"Interns… associates… not personal assistants, Mr. Steele," she dismissed his complaints.
"Still, it couldn't hurt—" he tried.
"No," she cut him off before he could start. "End of discussion." She returned her attention to the phone where she could hear Mildred snickering at the exchange. "We'll see you on Monday, Mildred. Bye." Laura hung up the phone and looked at Remington expectantly.
"Ready, then?" he asked. The question had no sooner passed his lips than the phone rang. He looked at her with exasperation knowing she'd been unable to allow it to ring on.
"It's probably just Mildred again," she assured him as she reached for the receiver.
"Given your suggestion of an afternoon 'nap,' and that woman's uncanny timely to put a wrench into things, I don't doubt it for a moment," he commented dryly. She smiled at him before turning her attention to the phone.
"Remington Steele Agency."
"Mrs. Steele? Mrs. Steele!?" the frantic male voice came over the line. In the background, she could hear a 'popping sound' followed by the sound of shattering glass.
"Mr. Morton, what's wrong?" she asked, eyes alight with the adrenalin that has just shot through her, her frame stiffening in alert.
"Someone's shooting at me, that what's wrong!" Another pop and more shattering glass. "They're shooting up my house! Help!"
"We're on our way. Hang up and call the LAPD, we'll be there as soon as we can," she directed briskly. "And Mr. Morton? Keep your head down until help gets there!" Hanging up the phone, she started heading towards the door. "We gotta fly. Someone's taking shots at our client." He followed behind, papers in hand, then stooped down to lock the door before jogging down the hall to catch up with his determined wife.
"Lau-ra," he called after her, grasping her arm as the elevator doors slid open. She turned to look at him impatiently. "Do you think this is a good idea?" She pulled her arm away and stepped into the elevator.
"I'm not planning on dodging a hail of bullets, Mr. Steele," she scoffed. "I only plan to get him out of there once it's clear. This is the second weekend in a row someone's made an attempt on his life at his home. He should be secure enough at the loft until Murphy and I track down the last of the suspects." She leaned back against the elevator wall and sighed. "Murphy. I'll call him from the car." Remington eyed her as he pushed the down button for the lobby
"I suspect we're fully capable of extracting the client ourselves. Do we need to interrupt his weekend as well as our own?" Fingering her throat, she considered the question.
"We'll let him make the call. He's part of this case, will continue working it with me while you focus on Fournier." She shook her head. "I don't want him to feel like I've cut him out. Do you understand?" He pursed his lips and nodded slowly.
"I do. Although I must admit to looking forward to wrapping up the Fournier installations, so we can return to business as usual." That comment provoked a light laugh from her as they stepped from the elevator.
"What?" he asked, doing a double take.
"I don't think business will ever be 'usual' again," she answered, laying her hand against her abdomen and slanting her eyes towards him.
He wore the crooked grin that lit his face all the way to the client's house.