Chapter 25: Haven House
Remington's first stop of the day was The Bijou, the old single screen movie theater in Brixton where he'd taken shelter on many a winter night as a boy. The owner and his wife, Edward and Mary Chapman had been kind people with a brood of six of their own to care for. The building in which the theater was housed provided not only the family's sole source of income, but the modest two-bedroom apartment above acted as their home, as well. The family of eight had hovered on the edge of poverty, yet the Chapman's had still found in their hearts to provide him with a simple meal and a place to sleep when he'd prevailed upon them – which he did only when most desperate, fearing that one day he'd discover he'd asked one time too many. The only thing they'd ever requested in return was that he give the old theater a good sweeping when the last moviegoer of the evening departed.
In the two decades since Daniel had pulled him off the street, he'd returned to the old theater a handful of times, as much to see how the couple was faring as to indulge in a bit of nostalgia, for it was in this theater that he'd first discovered immersing himself in a film was an excellent way to forget, at least for a few hours, the challenges that awaited him when the movie ended. Standing outside the theater now, he shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. The Birds, The Manchurian Candidate, Whatever Happened to Baby Jane, My Fair Lady, Charade, Marnie – each of them he'd seen here, within only a year or two of their original release. But it was the 'oldies but good ones' Mr. Chapman would show from time-to-time that had forever captured his devotion: Rear Window, North by Northwest, The African Queen, Roman Holiday, The Big Heat… And yes, it was here that he'd first seen Casablanca, a movie Mr. Chapman made certain to show once a year, as it was his wife's favorite.
With a shake of his head, and a long exhale, Remington depressed the doorbell next to the doorway which led upstairs to the family's residence. When it went unanswered he consulted his watch. Ten o'clock. A perfectly acceptable time to call upon someone. He pressed the bell again, and this time was rewarded when a sandpapery voice yelled from the other side…
"I'm comin', I'm comin'."
The door swung open, and a tall man, thin as a scarecrow, with a white shock of hair and white whiskers stood in the frame.
"Well, bugger me," the man rasped in surprise, "It can't be, but be damned if it ain't!" Taking the final step down to street level the elderly man wrapped Remington in an embrace. "It's been a long time, Mick." Remington exchange the hug, then stepped back when the man released him.
"Little more than five years, I'd say," he agreed. "You're looking well. And Mrs. Chapman?" The other man's face fell.
"Lost her six months back to cancer, I'm afraid." Regaining his composure he indicated the door. "Come in, come in. I'll make us a spot of tea while we catch up." Remington followed him inside, then up the stairwell to the apartment as Mr. Chapman continued to speak. "My Mary took notice of you last fall, what with your picture on the news and the papers as it was. She was bloody well proud of you, my boy, discovering the vagabond that used to appear on our doorstep from time-to-time had gone on to do so well for himself. A light wind could have blown her straight over, having seen that name of yours…" The man looked over his shoulder at Remington. "What was it again?"
"Remington Steele," he grinned.
"What a name! Well, my Mary went on and on about that, let me tell you, wondering why it is you were running about calling yourself Mick when you'd such a distinguished name as that. I said to her, 'Now, Mary, the lad was already a target for being Irish born, and that bulls-eye on his back would have been twice as large should some of those delinquents have found out he'd been hung with a name straight out of the Kensington phone directory.' Of course, my Mary had to argue the point, saying…"
Remington's smile widened as Mr. Chapman continued on. He might have to bring Laura around for a visit with the elderly man, he mulled, because if she believed he spoke to excess at times, well, Mr. Chapman's loquacious nature put his own to shame.
By the time the noon hour rolled around, Remington had secured two jobs for Haven House's future residents. Mr. Chapman would have a day position opening up in the next couple of months as the lass currently running the ticket booth and snack bar was with child and had let Mr. Chapman know that after the baby was born her working days were done. A stop round a small grocery store where he used to stock shelves every now and again in exchange for a few pieces of old fruit to stave off the hunger had netted a promise that the shop would take on an evening stock boy once Haven House was up and running.
His afternoon had not been nearly as fruitful. Six interviews had yielded no potential candidates in his eyes, although he'd bring the applicants's dossiers and the notes he'd scribbled to the Earl's with him the Friday afternoon. In the end, it wasn't his call who would… or would not, as the case might be… be offered the position. But, if asked, he certainly had some very firm beliefs of what the qualified applicant should bring to the table. No matter how long a child had been on these streets – a day, a week or years – something had brought them there and someone with a heavy hand or harsh words would only send them on their way again. He, of all people, would know what was needed to garner the trust of these kids and not an applicant amongst the half dozen interviewed had what it would take.
The day had concluded on an upward note, however, as he'd made a stop on Bond Street on the way back to Daniel's in order to pick up something very special.
Sitting on the terrace overlooking the expansive back garden at Daniel's home, a couple of fingers of scotch on the rocks in a tumbler at hand, Remington slowly opened the hinged jeweler's case.
Two days after arriving in London, he'd commissioned the world-renowned jeweler, Harry Winston, to design an engagement ring for Laura. Since Christmas last, he'd been doodling with the design of the ring, trying to determine what she would consider the perfect ring. He'd pondered the idea of a ruby as the center stone, a nod to the dress she'd worn the first time they'd danced with one another... and had fought with each other, he recalled now with a smile, but he'd quickly discarded the idea. He'd looked into acquiring Royal Lavulite, in honor of the stone that had brought them together, but cast that idea aside as well. Squawk all she wished about women's liberation and rejecting archaic gender roles, at her heart she was a woman who appreciated tradition.
A diamond it was to be, then.
Next came the question of cut, for the choices were many. For weeks he'd chewed upon the thought, eliminating one after another. The easiest to dismiss was the heart shaped, for she was far too refined a woman to wear something so gauche. Round and oval were too simplistic. The sharp point of the pear and marquise cuts might prove a hindrance at work, inspiring her not to wear it during the work day and for him that wasn't an option. The princess, Asscher and emerald cut were far too trendy. Soon, only the cushion and radiant cuts remained. In the end there were two facets of the cushion cut that had seen it triumph: the lengthy history of the cut when compared to that of the radiant, once more speaking to tradition, and, above all, the cut's superior fire.
A fire that very much reminded him of her.
The carat and a half center stone was chosen with Laura's practical nature and slender fingers in mind. His lone requirement had been that the diamond, as well as the half moon baguettes flanking either side, be absolutely flawless.
He held the ring up to inspect it in the waning light. Sheer perfection, he estimated, and he'd paid dearly for it, enough so that if she ever discovered how much, she'd likely blister his ears for weeks over his spendthrift ways. But she was worth every penny… and so much more
Now it was a matter of easing her towards the idea of holy matrimony, a complicated task, to be certain, on the best of days, but in light of his rejection of her proposal at LAX made all the more so. It would take a great deal of patience, of finesse, to convince her-
"There you are, Harry." Daniel's greeting drew Remington from his thoughts and instinctively he snapped shut the ring box and shoved it into his pocket.
"Daniel!" he returned the greeting far too effusively, meriting the lift of a single brow by Daniel, "Been back a half hour or so. Thought a bit of fresh air was in order after a day spent amongst the saw dust. Why I ever agreed to take on this project is beyond me at the moment." Daniel merely nodded, then, sipping at his own scotch, sat down across from Remington.
"So, you're really going to do it then, are you?" Daniel inquired, neither feigning he hadn't seen the ring nor mincing words about it. Still, Remington did his best to side-step.
"Finish the project with the Earl? I gave the man my word and I've every intention of following through no matter the challenges." He flashed Daniel a quick smile, then prepared to stand. "If you'll—"
"Funny, I never saw you as the marrying kind," Daniel noted, refusing to play along as he swirled his drink while regarding it intently. "In fact, I seem to recall you once fiercely vowed never to find yourself in shackles." With a pained look, Remington sat back down.
"Yes," he drew out the word, "And I meant it. But then I met Laura and... things changed. Believe me, Daniel, I didn't plan on it."
"I must say, I've never understood your attraction to Linda." Remington laughed low in his throat.
"Mmmm, yes, you've certainly made that clear enough over the years," he noted, sarcasm threading through his words.
"Why limit yourself to one when there are so many to be had?" Daniel questioned. Remington looked his mentor in the eyes as raised himself from his chair.
"Because there's only one that I want," he answered with a lift of his brows. Stopping beside Daniel on the way into the house, he laid his hand on the other man's shoulder. "Do me a favor, old man, and keep this under your hat. I'll need time to ease Laura around to the idea." With that Remington walked towards the French doors leading inside, the remainder of his tumbler of scotch in hand.
"Oh, Harry," Daniel called after him. Come to a standstill, Remington turned to look at his mentor. "I'm hosting a poker game this evening if you'd like to sit in." Remington pursed his lips in thought. It could be precisely the distraction he needed.
"What time?" he questioned.
"Ten o'clock."
"I'll be there. I'll see you at dinner, Daniel."
With that, he disappeared inside, thinking to review his notes for the changes he'd recommended in the restaurant of Haven House.