Chapter 12

Laura and Remington arrived in London on Sunday evening. Before departing Estoril, he'd terminated his lease of the small home in the hills with the rental agency. Having let the place on a month-to-month basis, he'd provided the pre-requisite thirty-day notice and accompanying one month payment, then had packed up the little that he'd collected since he'd been gone from LA, which was not much as he was man with a lifelong habit of traveling light. He hadn't glanced back as he'd shut the front door behind he and Laura, for as pleasant as his brief stay had been, there was only one place he'd ever missed when he'd left it behind.

The hired hack delivered them directly from Heathrow to Daniel's townhouse in Abbey Gardens, located in the St. John's Woods section of London. Laura had looked out the window in surprise at the quaint grade II historical property, whose exterior featured white washed concrete block walls on the lower two levels and beige brick on the upper two. The pristine white window casings, the wrought iron railing running in front of the third floor, and the white stoop and stairs only added to the home's allure. Her eyes were still glued to the building when Remington offered her a hand out of the cab. Automatically, she retrieved her overnight bag and slung it over her shoulder, while he did the same with his and picked up a suitcase.

"I never expected Daniel..." She stopped and rethought what she was about to say. "It's lovely." He grinned down at her.

"You never expected Daniel to reside in a home such as this," he finished her initial thought, as he guided her up the stairs with a hand to the small of her back, as the hack driver followed behind with the rest of their luggage. "You're quite right. He was enigma as far as his choice in housing was concerned. St. John's Woods is an affluent enough neighborhood for him to be viewed as a well-to-do gentleman, but he was unwilling to sacrifice the feeling of home simply for show." Setting down his suitcase, he pulled his keys from a pocket. Unlocking the door, he swung it open and indicated she should precede him. Dropping her overnight bag onto the foyer floor and laying her purse on the credenza, she waited until Remington had tipped the driver and sent him on his way before speaking again.

"Has he owned the house long?" she wondered. Setting his own overnight bag on the floor next to hers, he took her hand in his and led her into the formal living room. She took in the sun-filled, airy room, with its white washed walls, and dark stained, wood floors. The furnishings were obviously expensive, yet leaned towards concern for comfort as opposed to grandeur. A massive fireplace, the same color as the floor, was the clear centerpiece of the room.

"Since well before I re-entered his life," he shrugged. Her head snapped in his direction and her eyes widened.

"Is this where you grew up?"

"Not at all. He wouldn't have risked my divulging the location of this house," he flashed her a crooked grin, "or me helping myself to its contents in those early years. I was seventeen, maybe eighteen, before I even became aware he owned a home in London." A thought brought a frown to her face.

"If Daniel's owned this house for decades, why didn't you stay here last summer instead of that pit where Mildred found your passports?"

"In case it's slipped your mind, I had the whole of Scotland Yard looking for me. This is... was Daniel's home, Laura. My leading the coppers here was never even a consideration." She lay her hand on his upper arm.

"I understand," she assured him, as they entered the dining room.

They toured dining room, kitchen and library on the main floor before he showed her the master suite on the third floor and the three bedrooms on the fourth. He gave her carte blanche as to which room she'd like to call her own while they were in residence, including the option of the master. She chose a bedroom on the third floor, with windows looking over the back garden. The final floor of the home, the lower, featured another sitting room, billiards room complete with a bar and glass roofed conservatory which looked out over the garden. She ran her fingers over the white baby grand where it stood in the conservatory.

"Did Daniel play?" Remington chuckled at the question.

"Not a single note. I once asked him about it, and he looked at me as though I'd gone quite mad." He drew himself up, imitating Daniel's impeccable posture. "'A conservatory sans piano, my boy, is just another room.'"

"Did you spend a lot of time with him here?" He drew his lips in, a flash of grief crossing his face as he looked around the room.

"Not' a'tall, a brief visit here and there," he answered. "I lit out on my own, for the most part, at nineteen, or thereabouts. Oh, we'd meet up now and again: Monte Carlo, Hong Kong, Rome, St. Moritz and the like. We made certain to always know where the other was, but rarely worked a job together, the two of us drawn towards different pursuits."

"What do you mean?"

"Daniel was drawn to the con, the sting whereas my interests ran more towards theft, or recovery, if you will," he shrugged. He cleared his throat. "Care to take a trip to the market with me? I've made us reservations at Rules for dinner this evening, but would like to stock the cupboards for the next couple of days." She nodded her head slowly as she regarded him thoughtfully.

"Alright," she agreed.

Busy. In a word that is what Laura would describe Remington. Keeping busy. Finding excuses to stay busy. A trip to the market was followed by a tour of Westminster Abbey and a stop by Buckingham Palace to watch the changing of the guard. Back to Daniel's townhouse to change, then dinner at Rules and afterwards a suggestion the drop into the movie theater to catch a viewing of Top Gun, which he'd heard was all the rage back in the States. They hadn't returned to the townhouse until a little after midnight, both retiring to their respective rooms for bed.

Showered and changed, Laura paced her room for a few minutes, before climbing into bed. Rolling onto her right side, facing the outside of the bed, she tugged the covers up around herself. She tried to force sleep to come, but in the end flipped to her back and slung an arm over her eyes. Try to ignore it, set aside, all she may, she was worried about Remington. His silent admission in Estoril that he'd yet to settle Daniel's estate, the flash of grief that crossed his face in the conservatory, the need to keep busy... his long history of avoiding, even fleeing, from intensely emotional situations. All of it had her instincts screaming that when he'd left Ashford that night, he'd run from it all: Daniel's revelation, the death of his closest friend turned father... the end of their own relationship and all it entailed.

She hadn't been there for him. It was an incontrovertible fact that still made her stomach sink to her toes when she thought about it. There after Daniel had died in front of him, yes, for those few short seconds before Mickeline had arrived with the announcement of the coffins being delivered and they'd been swept back into Roselli's mess. But she hadn't been there when Daniel had finally told him the truth. Instead she'd been helping Roselli, the man who would have put Remington in the ground without a blink of an eye. Mildred had been there – thank God, for that – but it should have been her and both she and Mildred knew it, for she'd easily read the censure on the older woman's face.

Until that final night at Ashford, they'd never talked about Daniel's death, and, even then, it was only a passing glance.


"Only Daniel could end up being buried as a national hero in both London and Moscow."

"It's the ultimate con. He deserves nothing less."

"You're a good son."

"I only wish I could have spent more time with him."

"On the other hand, you spent twenty years with him."


She blew out a long breath. No, he hadn't dealt with his grief over his loss of Daniel, hadn't dealt with how he felt about a deception which lasted two decades, just as he hadn't dealt with Daniel's estate. Looking back at it now, she'd assumed he'd come to her when he was ready to talk. She'd been operating under a false belief, one created by the year prior. He'd begun to make huge strides in confronting emotionally laden topics. He'd asked her directly, during the Cranston case, why she hadn't come to see her in jail. He'd admitted freely his fears during the Shane case. He'd approached her at the Spa when ready to talk. He'd laid into for her fame before all else attitude during the Young case. Yes, she'd believed he'd do the same when he was ready to address Daniel.

But that assumption had been based on who they'd been weeks before, not who they'd become... what they'd become since. Trust in one another, faith in one another had been shredded and scattered to the winds. No matter how much he might have wanted to come to her, he wouldn't have. In truth, the thought of doing just that probably had never occurred to him at all. There had been too much distance between them.

And he won't now, no matter how much he might want to, she thought. They'd taken long strides towards healing all the harm they'd done one another, but she knew to the bottom of her toes he'd neither come to her in need... nor reject it if she went to him.

Three minutes later she stood in Remington's doorway, watching him lay in his bed much as she'd just been doing... on his back with an arm laying over his eyes. Carefully, she perched on the side of his bed, watching as he lowered his arm and she saw the grief reflected there overshadowed by relief. Standing, she removed her robe, laying it on the end of the bed, then lifted sheets and comforter and slid into bed next to him. Grasping his hand, she rolled to her side, back facing him, bringing him with her. She waited until he silently spooned his body to hers, then brought their joined hands up to rest below her breasts.

"Laura," he rasped.

"We'll talk when you're ready," she told him quietly. "Get some sleep, Remington." She felt the nod of his head behind her, before she closed her eyes.

Remington swallowed hard against the emotions that threatened to choke him. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply of her scent and dared to meld his body more firmly to hers. She shifted slightly to rest her head against his extended arm, freeing her other hand to stroke the forearm attached to the hand she held in hers. With a long sigh, he bussed her on the top of her head and closed his eyes.


The meeting with solicitor Henry McGregor had been... anticlimactic. As Remington had explained on the drive to the attorney's office McGregor's 'specialty' was handling legal matters for those who walked on the shady side of the street. Oh, McGregor had enough 'regular' clients to keep the authorities, or anyone else, from wondering how he paid the bills, but he'd lined his pockets quite nicely over the last three decades in fees for services rendered from his confidential clientele as he developed a reputation for discretion... and not particularly caring where his client's money had come from. McGregor's office, a single shingle operation in a fairly opulent space on Bond Street in London, spoke of success, drawing in the honest client. As for the others? Meetings with those individuals were generally conducted at pubs around town or out of his home.

Since Remington Steele was an internationally well-regarded private investigator who would draw no attentions of the wrong kind to his business, their meeting was held at McGregor's office. They'd been hustled into McGregor's inner sanctum within seconds of their arrival by his dowdy, yet obviously, efficient secretary.

"Harry," McGregor greeted, taking to his feet and offering Remington a hand when the door closed behind he and Laura.

"Steele, Remington Steele, if you don't mind, Henry," he corrected while shaking the man's hand and clasping it between both of his. "The years have been kind to you."

"What's it been now? Two, three years?" McGregor inquired.

"Going on four." The younger man smiled.

"I was terribly sorry to hear of Daniel's passing. A truly good one lost, that's for certain," McGregor offered his condolences, leaving Remington clearing his throat.

"Yes, well..." He released the man's hand and held out a hand towards Laura. "My partner, Laura Holt."

"Ahhh, yes. Delighted to meet you," McGregor offered his hand, "I've heard much about you over the years from Daniel." She winced involuntarily, imagining what the man had heard, as she shook his hand. "Daniel took a great deal of comfort in knowing Harry... Remington, would have you watching out for him after he passed." That left her turning her head and blinking her eyes as she released the man's hand. "Please, have a seat, this shan't take long. Daniel was quite organized in his affairs, as you are well aware."

"He was that, indeed," Remington acknowledged, then waited until Laura was seated before he took his place in the chair next to hers. Automatically, he began searching his pockets for a toothpick to gnaw at. When he didn't find one, he began to lift his hand to mouth to worry his thumb nail, only to find said hand captured in Laura's. She weaved their fingers together and gave his hand a squeeze of reassurance. Blue eyes rested on her with gratitude as McGregor retrieved a file from his drawer and set it before him, then buzzed his secretary asking her to bring him the box he'd indicated he'd need for this client.

"For the most part, Daniel left the entirety of his estate to you Har—Remington, less a few minor bequeathals to his housekeepers in London and Saint Jean-Cap-Ferrat, to tide them over until they find new employ, as well as a few... knick knacks... friends had admired across the years. All those have been sent onwards, already with the exception of two: a package of undisclosed contents for your Miss Holt, and a small Renoir for an..." He looked at the papers, and read off, "...'Abigail Holt, that she'd particularly enjoyed during her visits in Saint Jean-Cap-Ferrat.'"

Laura blanched at that and her hand twitched hard. She looked at Remington who appeared just as surprised as she.

"Elsewise, you inherit the rest. I've already taken the liberty of having the townhouse in London and villa in France retitled in your name." McGregor shoved two enveloped across the desk to Remington who picked them up and handed them to Laura. "His investments are carefully detailed within this file, and once you've signed the paperwork accepting claim of your inheritance, I'll have his bank accounts both on and off-shore transferred into your own, minus inheritance taxes and my fees, of course."

"Of course," Remington nodded numbly.

"If you'll sign here..." McGregor pointed to a place, then turned several pages once Remington had, "...Here..." another signature and turn of pages "...And here." With the final signature he set the documents aside. "Should I expect you to transfer your own interests stateside?" the solicitor inquired. Remington gave his head a little shake at the ease with which it seemed a man's entire life was settled.

"Uh, no, um, I'll be leaving them in your capable hands," he managed.

"Good enough. Two last matters then." He placed another envelope on the edge of the desk, along with a single piece of paper. "From Daniel to you, marked confidential. I've no idea what's contained within. And," McGregor looked up at Remington, "the location where Daniel was buried outside of Moscow should you ever find occasion to visit." The younger man was held speechless. With a squeeze of his hand, Laura stepped in.

"How did you get that?" she inquired.

"I called in a few favors owed," McGregor provided, elaborating no further.

Remington took the envelope and paper and handed them off to Laura as well, then stood to shake the man's hand again. They departed the office with the stack of papers secured in Laura's purse and the box held under Remington's free arm. The entire meeting had spanned a tenth of the time it had taken for them to travel to McGregor's office.

"Were Daniel and my mother involved?" she finally blurted out ten minutes into the cab ride back to St. John's. Remington turn and cast amused eyes on her.

"I wasn't aware, if that's what you're asking. I knew he enjoyed her company when they spent time together in LA, obviously," he pondered. "But, if you're asking my opinion: Yes, the evidence would seem to support they'd had an affair of one manner or other."

"Oh, God," she bemoaned, lifting a hand and laying it at the base of her neck.

"What upsets you? Knowing your mother has sex or that she had a fling with Daniel?"

"Yes, to both," she proclaimed. "We're talking about your father and my mother."

"Two consenting adults who liked one another and have needs just like anyone else," he argued. She clamped both hands over her ears.

"Please," she elongated the word. "Let's not discuss my mother's needs." He chuckled next to her, and removing the hand closest to him from her ear, he brushed his lips against the back of her knuckles, keeping her hand in his the remainder of the ride.

Busy appeared to be the name of the game again on this day. Remington cast aside the suggestion they open the envelopes filling her purse, instead insisting on taking her on more tours across London: a visit to Big Ben, the Royal Mews, London Tower and the British Museum, fortified with a lunch of traditional fish and chips. They hadn't returned to the townhouse until six and then he immediately set about preparing their evening meal. Dinner was followed by a sweet chardonnay and several games of rather raucous billiards, which echoed their rivalry upon the golf green. He quickly discovered her mathematical mind could easily discern the perfect angle on bank shots, but in the end, his years of experience prevailed, and he'd won each of the games, though narrowly on more than one occasion. Finally, reluctantly, he'd racked their cues.

"Shall we do this then?" he asked, eyes strained, a hand rubbing at the back of his neck.

"Alright," she agreed, preceding him up the stairs to the living room where they'd set box and envelopes.

They sat together on the couch, hips touching. Leaning forward, he braced his chin in a hand supported by elbow to knees, fanning his fingers up over his mouth.

"Where do you want to begin?" Laura prodded, after her watch had ticked off a couple of minutes and he continued to sit, unmoving. Remington looked at her, then returned his gaze to the envelopes meant for him, the box meant for her. He finally moved, picking up the two envelopes holding the deed to the London and Saint Jean-Cap-Ferrat homes and setting them aside, selected the envelope containing an accounting of Daniel's investitures. Prying open the flap, he extracted roughly two dozen pages, handing half to her. She leaned back into the couch cushions resting the instep of her feet against the coffee table as she scanned the pages.

"To think I always had Daniel pegged as a spendthrift," she mulled with a shake of her head.

"Oh, he was that," he laughed aloud. "But whilst he had few rules, those he did have were cast in stone. Amongst them, squirreling away at least a quarter of the take from any job, no matter how large or small, then setting another bit aside to finance the next job, whatever that might be. Under no circumstances was the former to be touched until one decided to give up the game for good and retire."

"Some retirement," she mused. "He has multiple accounts in Switzerland and the Cayman Islands, all with... healthy... balances." She slanted her eyes in his direction. "Too bad that rule didn't rub off on you," she smirked. He raised a single brow in her direction.

"Who's to say it didn't? Hmmmm?" He left her with that morsel to ponder as he continued to look through his own papers. "He was certainly well diversified between stocks and bonds." Next to him, Laura suddenly slapped the papers in her hand into her lap and sat up straight.

"What did McGregor mean by 'your accounts' and taking 'your interests stateside?" He flicked his eyes in her direction then returned their focus to the papers in front of him while an amused smile lifted his lips.

"I'll say no more, at least for now, other than that rule did, indeed, stick. Certainly, I've left enough clues along the way for you to discover which would declare I'm not a pauper," he teased, then leaned over to touch his lips to her cheek.

Taking the papers from her lap, he combined them with his and returned them to the envelope. With great trepidation he picked up the last of the envelopes and peeled back the flap, removing the single piece of paper from inside. Skimming it, his jaw clenched before picking up the envelope and looking down inside it again for anything he might have missed. With a furious oath, he crumpled up the piece of paper, tossing it at the coffee table and took to his feet, striding across the room. Hurdling himself through the front door, he slammed it behind him.

She could only watch, stunned, as he departed.

(TBC)