Chapter 21: An Offer
"I see you're at it bright and early, Daniel," Thomas Phillips, Earl of Claridge and tenth in the line of succession for the British throne, commented as he entered his library.
"Early relative to myself at least," Daniel agreed, exchanging handshakes with the man. "You know Har-… Remington Steele, of course.
"Lord Phillips," Remington greeted with a formal nod of his head.
"Thomas, please," the Earl corrected, offering a hand to Remington. As they exchanged handshakes, the Earl took a slight step back his eyes perusing the man across from him. "It's good to see you again, Remington."
"The pleasure is mine."
"I hear you're going to assist in Daniel's project this morning?" Daniel stepped to Remington and slapped him on the back, propelling the younger man forward a step and earning Daniel a frown over the shoulder.
"The boy's the best there is," he bragged. "If he can't crack the safes, then your valuables are as secure as they'd be within the confines of Buckingham Palace."
"Last evening, just as I'd do on any job, I reviewed the schematics of the SK2000. That it's hardwired into the alarm system seems to be its greatest advantage over competing models," Remington explained. "If you wouldn't mind showing me where the alarm and electric panels are."
"Daniel." Thomas singular use of Daniel's name indicated he should take the lead.
"Of course. Right this way, my boy."
Remington studied the alarm panel, identifying the main power source as well as the circuit the safe was set to. In only a couple minute's time, he was able to identify the circuit assigned to the alarm system and using a series of conductive clips, gave his nod of approval before the trio retired to the den again. Four turns of the dial on the safe, he gave the handle a yank, and easily opened the door.
"Incredible," the Earl murmured. "We purchase the best safe on the market and in mere minutes it is fully breached."'
"To the contrary, the safe is a fine model," Remington disagreed. "There's but a handful of individuals on the Continent skilled enough to crack the safe and those are not well verse on electronic monitoring. As it stands now, the wiring is so… organized… that any bugger could easily follow the route. It's simply too direct. I would suggest an illusion of chaos combined with a couple of choice booby traps. I've a great deal of time on my hands at the moment and would be happy to lend my assistance."
"I'd hate to burden you on your holiday," Thomas answered. "I can't imagine, in your line of work, that you're able to take much time away to simply enjoy yourself."
"Actually, I find myself at loose ends at the moment. I'll be here – well, at the very least in Europe – for the next several months while a matter is resolved back home." The Earl looked at Remington with interest.
"Should you have time on your hands, there's a little project I've had on my mind. Perhaps I might convince you to offer up some of your time, as well as your thoughts." Remington fingered his chin, thoughtfully.
"I must admit, I'm intrigued, although I can't say for certain how long I'll be in London." Thomas lay a companionable hand on Remington's shoulder.
"Then perhaps I might be able to convince you to extend your stay for a spell. If you wouldn't mind keeping me company as I see to something, I can explain what it is I have mind. I'm sure Daniel is fairly itching to get to his morning rounds." Daniel cleared his throat.
"Yes, you're quite right," he confirmed. "And after, if you might spare a few minutes so we can go over some changes I'd recommend at Chesterfield Manor."
"You'll join us for lunch, then," the Earl decided.
"Of course. I'll just be on my way for now." With those parting words, Daniel left the room, leaving the Earl and Remington to themselves.
"Would you mind joining me?" Thomas requested of the younger man, beckoning with an arm to the doorway and the hall beyond.
"Not at all."
Remington couldn't deny that Thomas had roused his curiosity. Him be of aid to a member of the peer? He may have been born in Ireland, but he had enough of the Brit in him, that he couldn't help preening a bit: A member of the peerage asking him for assistance! He couldn't imagine how. Well, outside of putting the Earl's serial killer brother-in-law-to-be behind bars, clearing the Earl's good name in the process and, of course, that little matter of foiling an assassination plot that would have left the Earl six feet under.
He didn't disguise his surprise at the room Thomas directed him into.
"I know it's not quite the thing for a man of my position," Thomas related, "But I've always found cooking to be most relaxing.
"I don't find it odd at all, actually," Remington replied, "I enjoy cooking quite a lot myself. And thank goodness I do. If I relied on Laura to make our meals…" He shuddered comically, garnering a chuckle from the Earl as he dropped an onion, mushroom, sun dried tomatoes and tomatoes on the counter.
"Would you like to join me?" the Earl inquired, indicating the vegetables before him. "While I much prefer experimenting with French and Indian cuisine, I woke this morning with an inexplicable hunger for cottage pie." Remington's eyes lit up.
"Cottage pie? My God, it must be a good decade and a half since I last had it." He spoke as he removed jacket and tie, slinging both over the back of a barstool. Rolling up his sleeves, he rubbed his hands together with relish. "What do you need me to do?" Thomas set four small bowls, a cutting board and a chopping knife on the counter.
"If you'll be so good as to chop these fine, I'll see to peeling the potatoes and setting them to boill." Thomas handing Remington a white apron, then tied one around himself as well.
"My pleasure," Remington agreed. And it was indeed his pleasure. He'd love to have a new meal up his sleeve to prepare Laura when he returned home. "Tell me about this project of yours," he suggested, as the two men worked companionably alongside one another.
"It's a project inspired by you actually," Thomas announced. Remington's hands stilled over the onion he was chopping and looked up in surprise.
"By me?" he asked, lifting a pair of brows.
"Mmmm," the Earl confirmed as he turned the oven on to preheat and set a pot of water and large saute pan on the stove. "Daniel shared with me, some months ago, the story of how he found you upon the streets of Brixton, unwanted, alone, trying to survive." Dropping a bag of potatoes on the counter, he reached for one and began peeling it. "I've lived in London nearly the entirety of my life. I'd heard such tales, of course, but I suppose I simply didn't want to believe they were more than that: a tale. After our conversation, I spent a few days touring the area and—"
"Forgive me, Lord Phillips, but do you believe it's wise for a gentleman such as yourself to be strolling those particular streets?" Remington suggested. "On the best of days, you'd be a target for pick-pocketing, mugging, or worse. And, as I remember it, the last time Laura and I were here in London, the streets of Brixton were rioting once more."
"Thomas," the other man reminded, to which Remington lifted a hand of apology. "To the contrary, it occurred to me that as a member of the peer and a lifelong Londoner, it was an obligation to see firsthand what it was happening in my own backyard, so to speak, and to take whatever steps were needed to improve the conditions, should I be able to."
"A notion to be applauded, for certain, but at what risk to yourself?" Remington countered. "You can hardly affect change should you be left laying in a gutter with a knife in your gut."
"And if I were to turn my back on the plight of children fighting for survival on those streets, what kind of man would that make me?" Thomas argued. The knife in his hand paused over the potato he was peeling, as his eyes glazed over with faraway thought. "I haven't always been a good man, Remington. In my rage at the loss of my son, I turned to drink and took that anger out on young women who'd nothing whatsoever to do with my circumstances." He gave his head a small shake and returned to reality, knife once again paring the potato. "I can't change the past, but perhaps, in some small way, I might be able to give something back." Remington nodded his understanding, a passel of regrets not a foreign feeling unto himself.
"What do you have in mind?"
"A refuge, if you will, for wayward youth," Thomas proposed. "I found a building for sale off of Tunstall. The lower level is a restaurant in desperate need of renovation, the upper three levels are apartments, four for a total of twelve units comprised of thirty bedrooms, twelve baths. Two of those units would be designated for whomever it is that we hired to manage the restaurant and a house mother or father, so to speak. Still, it would provide the opportunity to remove two dozen of those children from the streets, giving them a chance at a real future."
"A worthy endeavor indeed," Remington acknowledged, using the edge of the knife to scrape the now chopped onions into a bowl. But not all those children are simply lost, Thomas. If those streets resemble the ones I lived upon, some of those children are veritable sociopaths in the making, willing to put a knife in your back as soon as look at you." He turned his attention to the mushrooms.
"True, true, so we'd need a process to weed those individuals out, to identify those thrust into the streets as pooposed to wanting to be there," Thomas concurred.
"So how is it that you envision I can help?" Remington inquired.
"Who better than a man who once lived on those very streets to identify those trapped by, not reveling in, the depravity?" Thomas proposed. "Then there is the need for someone to oversee getting the project off to a sound start. I can purchase the building and finance its renovations easily enough and I've any number of associates always seeking a charitable write off, which would support the fiscal demands of such an endeavor. But I'd like someone I trust to oversee the restorations and from what Daniel tells me, you've a keen eye for details."
"I'm flattered," Remington answered, as he moved from the mushrooms to the sun-dried tomatoes, "But, again, I've no idea how long I'll be in London. My time here was meant to be nothing more than a layover, of sorts, until I decided where to spend these next months."
"Is there a reason you can't spend that time here? I've three residences here in London, beyond the one in which we now stand. If it is privacy you're seeking, you could choose amongst them and simply consider it recompense for your endeavors." Sweeping the sun-dried tomatoes into a bowl, Remington moved the tomatoes to the cutting board.
"That wouldn't be necessary. There's more than sufficient room at Daniel's." He made quick work of the tomatoes, and once they were in the bowl, he dropped the knife and lifted his hand to gnaw at his thumb nail nervously. "However, there's Laura to consider. I'd want to talk any decision over with her first and, to be truthful, she's planning on several trips over the pond and I'd hoped to take her to various cities through Europe that's she yet the opportunity to experience."
"How is your Miss Holt?" Thomas inquired, politely.
"Fine, fine. As determined as ever. The Agency's keeping her busy at home."
They continued the small talk throughout the meal preparation, and the meal that followed, not departing from the Earl's home until near the dinner hour. When they arrived back at Daniel's, Remington found himself in a kitchen once again, in search of a cup of tea.
The familiarity of puttering about in this particular kitchen was comforting, and he relaxed enough to allow his mind to wander. There was a certain… allure… to the Earl's offer, he had to admit. In his years living upon those Brixton streets he'd witnessed many a child destroyed by the hardships of living there. Young girls, not much older than Mindy, feeling they were left with no recourse but to ply their bodies for trade, just so they might find themselves a decent meal on the day. Children as young as ten, sought out by predators, raped, beaten and left for dead, and should they survive, they were left thoroughly broken. Pre-teens and teens that had escaped homes where they'd been brutalized, only to discover the streets were often far less kind.
To help those that could be saved, who wished to be saved? It was a heady thought.
Taking his cup of tea to the small table tucked against the wall of the kitchen, he sat down to enjoy the relative peace.
Cold nights when you could swear your bones themselves were freezing. Miserable nights spent huddled in an alleyway no amount of cardboard able to prevent you from being drenched by the torrential rains. Steamy nights when you prayed for just such a downpour. Days, weeks, months, years, keeping on eye over your shoulder, lest someone decide to attack your flank. All of it preferable to the gnawing hunger that clawed at you for days at a time, finally rendering one willing to dig through garbage pails for anything to make the hunger subside.
It wasn't an existence suitable to an animal let alone a child.
But, if he were to take on the task, to get this project off the ground, how would one choose a mere two dozen children from the hundreds hidden in abandoned buildings and warehouses, living in alleyways, behind businesses. It was a daunting task, to be certain.
Then, too, was there was the matter of overseeing the renovation. He'd no idea of building codes or whatever else might be required and even the idea of furnishings was a bit daunting. Laura was the one with a designer's flare on a frugal budget, not he. It was, after all, she who had selected the furnishings in his flat. After a lifetime of living light so that he might pack up and leave on a moment's notice, even after four years in LA, his contributions to the flat had been minimal: his posters, a few pieces of art, the large screen TV and VCR, and, of course, the kitchen he'd stocked with meticulous care. But that was hardly the same as providing even the basic needs for twelve units.
Not for the first time, he wished Laura was there by his side. As it were, before bd he'd solicit her input, certain she'd be able to quickly assess the situation and develop a list of pro's—
He was drawn from his thoughts when Tilly walked through the kitchen, never so much as acknowledging him, to open the oven and check the progress of the pork roast she'd prepared for supper.
"Still angry with me, Tildy?" he dared to ask.
With merely a glare in his direction, she left the room.
Exhaling a long sigh, Remington pushed to his feet. After his cup was washed and set in the drain board, he departed for his room, to switch to more casual attire for the evening.
"So, tell me, Daniel, how is it that my days in Brixton came to be a topic of conversation between the Earl and yourself, hmmmm?" Remington inquired, tossing two cards in front of him on the table. "Two." Daniel dealt the cards, then exchanged three of his own.
"It's not as though I've not shared how we met before, my boy," Daniel pointed out.
"Yes, but neither to people who know who I now am nor to people closely associated with the government, Daniel," Remington replied in a censorious tone as slid a pair of chips towards the ante. "Remington Steele's dossier says nothing about him growing up a homeless youth. Should word get out and questions arise, Laura will be furious."
"Relax, Harry. The man bears you no ill will." Daniel tossed several chips to the center. "I'll see you and raise you fifty."
"This coming from the man who eschews the very notions of trust and loyalty?" Remington added a couple more chips. "I call."
"Queen high straight," Daniel announced, splaying out the cards and reaching for the chips.
"Not so fast, old man," Remington warned him off, laying his cards on the table, then jabbing them with an index finger. "Flush." He took the deck Daniel passed to him and began to shuffle as he glanced at his watch. "One more hand, then I'm off to prepare for bed."
"So soon? The night's barely gotten started, Harry," Daniel noted, clearly disgruntled.
"Mmmm, yes," he agreed. It was just past eleven London time. "But more charming company than your own awaits me, even it is from afar." He flashed as quick smile. "Besides, if you don't mind me borrowing a car, I'd like to go 'round Brixton tomorrow morning, have a look at this building the Earl spoke of, perhaps get a feel for where things stand these days."
"Thinking of taking Thomas up on his request?"
"Seven card, deuces wild" Remington announced, dealing them each a pair of cards face down, then tossing a pair of chips into the center of the table. "Ante up." He took a long draw of his brandy then set down the snifter. "Considering, yes. Decided, no. I'd like to get Laura's input before making a decision on the matter and I imagine she'll need a good deal more information than I've at hand at the moment."
"Five-thousand miles away yet Linda still has her clutches in you," Daniel groused, add a pair of chips to the center of the table. Remington dealt a card up to each of them, then added another chip.
"It's not like that, Daniel. Laura and I are partners. One of the reasons we've been so effective is that she often sees details I overlook and vice-versa." Another card was dealt after Daniel deposited a chip of his own. "Even more so, she can have Mildred research salient details such as codes and the agencies whose cooperation we'd need in order to make this little project of the Earl's a reality." The hand continued to play out.
"And you believe Thomas hasn't investigated these very things?" Daniel challenged. "The man's nothing if not a stickler for details."
"I'm sure he has," Remington conceded. "However, I'd feel more comfortable knowing what I might be getting myself into before I agree. It's no different than planning a heist. Have you ever known me to take something on without understanding the potential risks versus rewards, what surprises might await me?" Daniel nodded his head to the side, acknowledging the point.
"Feel free to help yourself to the Austin Healy," Daniel offered. "She's still somewhat of an eyesore, so I doubt the scallywags in Brixton will understand what's right under their noses. I'll raise your twenty-five."
"I call," Remington replied.
"Two pairs, aces over kings," Daniel announced in a self-satisfied voice. Lifting his snifter, Remington drained his glass and set it down, before revealing his cards."
"Four three's." Standing, Remington gathered his chips. "We'll settle up in the morning. I hate to say it, Daniel, but your slipping. You should mark your cards better. Goodnight."
Daniel glowered at the cards as Remington left the room. The night's game had cost him nearly three-hundred pounds… and the problem wasn't in how poorly he'd marked the cards, but that he'd forgotten to do so at all.