The next morning Steed was fixing himself a pot of tea and thinking about Tara's visit from the previous night. She had told him all about the fake Mrs. Peel file and Mother's failed attempt to brainwash her. What was most intriguing was Mother's word choice to Tara, accusing her of having an "overactive imagination." He knew he had heard those words before recently…
Steed was interrupted from his musings by the doorbell. He hurried to his front door, hoping it was Mrs. Peel. However, a different female met his eyes. "Mrs. Gale, what a pleasant surprise." Steed jovially beckoned her to come inside the apartment. "You'll have to excuse my appearance. I wasn't expecting guests."
Mrs. Gale surveyed his attire, which included casual pants and a white shirt under a forest green sweater with a large V neck. "I'll pretend not to notice," she assured him in her cool and sophisticated manner.
"Can I interest you in a cup of tea?" Steed offered politely. Cathy accepted the invitation and was soon sipping tea noiselessly. "Well, what bit of business brings you to my humble abode?" he asked.
"I've come to discuss an incredibly important issue with you."
Steed chuckled, wondering what Mrs. Gale was going to say. He stopped laughing when he observed the seriousness in her demeanor and voice. True, Mrs. Gale had always been the no nonsense type, but this time the gravity in her tone couldn't be ignored.
Cathy looked like a parent who was about to admit to a child there is no Father Christmas. "You remember the time your friend was brainwashed to believe that you were a murderer?"
"How could I possibly forget? They tried to brainwash me, too, and almost succeeded." Steed shuddered as he continued, "Those were some clever villains."
"Not only villains are using hypnosis techniques these days." Cathy set her teacup down with a loud clatter. "People on the right side of the law are involved in this ghastly procedure as well."
"Oh, do you mean people like Mother?"
"So you know already?" Cathy looked extremely relieved.
Steed eyed her suspiciously before replying, "I know Mother tried to brainwash Tara yesterday
when she found some valuable information."
"What information did she discover?" Mrs. Gale asked eagerly. Steed relayed all the events from yesterday, starting with Mrs. Peel finding the strange revolver in her flat and ending with Tara fleeing from an infuriated Mother. When he finished, Cathy remarked, "I can understand why Mother tried to brainwash Tara. She was getting too close to discovering the truth."
"What are you talking about, Mrs. Gale?"
"Several years ago the ministry brainwashed a number of its top agents, and one of those people was you, Steed."
"Did they program me to be a dependable and topnotch agent?"
"No, you already were when they brainwashed you. It was your acumen as a spy that led to your reprogramming. Several other agents, such as Smyth and Shuston, were also put under this program."
Mr. Steed stared blankly at her for a moment and then burst out laughing. "You almost had me fooled! What an excellent joke!"
"I'm telling you the truth! Do you think I would waste my time telling you stupid lies?"
This comment sobered Steed up in an instant. "You're absolutely right, but why did they need to reprogram me?"
"Because the ministry wanted machines more than men running their operations. They viewed your relationship with a certain young woman as a risk. So they rearranged your memories so that you viewed this woman as just another notch in a long line of conquests and not as anything more. They trained you to view all relationships as fleeting and inconsequential and took away the love you had for your affianced. Then they supplied some false memories to your fiancée, and she went away, none the wiser."
"You have an overactive imagination. I am John Steed, topnotch agent, noble gentleman, and well known bachelor. I would never devote myself to one woman unless it was absolutely necessary. I'm loved too much by too many ladies to ever have a fiancée."
"Don't wave your wonderful attributes at me." Cathy spoke churlishly. Seeing that Steed was bent on rejecting her story, she raised her hands to the ceiling in defeat. "Fine, don't believe me, but don't say I didn't warn you. When you fall in love—"
"When I fall in love I will be in my seventies, and it will be because I can't think of anything better to do."
Cathy gave him a weathering look and stood up as if to leave. Changing her mind, she began talking again much to the displeasure of Steed. "Remember when Mrs. Parker was speaking to you at the party? She began to say something, but I interrupted her. Mrs. Parker was in the middle of saying, 'Of course, you can't marry anybody! We all know that you are engaged to be married.'"
Steed seemed ready to accept Mrs. Gale's story, but at the last moment he shook his head in incredulity. "And why is it that Mrs. Parker and you know about this mysterious fiancée but not Tara?"
"Because at the time we were brought into the ministry there was a chance that you might fight the brainwashing and return to her. So we were trained to prevent that. Later, she was married off, so it didn't matter."
"So that's the reason you never accepted my advances," Steed teased. "Because I was already taken!"
"No, it's because I found you a chauvinist pig," Cathy shot back.
"But was that really me, or my programming?" Steed wagged a playful finger at her.
"All right, Doubting Thomas, have it your way. I'm not going to listen to your denial a minute longer." She angrily flounced to the door.
"Are you on your way to some other hapless bachelor's flat, ready to tell him that he's engaged to a nonexistent woman?"
"No, I was going to buy a new pair of tyres for my motorbike." With that last remark, cat-suit clad Cathy stormed out of the vicinity.
Steed laughed to himself once more at the preposterous idea. However, his laughter was checked at the recollection of him bending down on one knee and procuring the most unbelievable diamond ring he'd ever seen. Steed beheld his betrothed standing above him, a vision of loveliness in her lace and satin. He tried to visualise her face, but all he could see was a shadowy countenance, obscured as if by a veil. He could hear her voice, though, and it reminded him of silvery bells and ocean waves all rolled into one.
Steed snapped out of his reverie and looked about him. Mrs. Gale's nonsensical talk was playing on his mind. "Now I'm 'remembering' an event that never happened," Steed said to himself. "What an overactive imagination! I'll wager Mrs. Peel will get a few chuckles out of this news."
After dressing in more respectable attire, namely a suit, Steed headed towards Mrs. Peel's flat. As he drove, bits and pieces of what seemed to be another life flashed before his eyes. He saw himself playing at the beach, having weekend picnics, traveling to France and Italy, all with an unknown woman. It wasn't like Steed to forget a pretty face, but he was positive that these events really took place. Could what Mrs. Gale have said actually be true? And if it was true, did he really want to remember it?
Steed barged into Mrs. Peel's flat without a single rap on the door or a ring of the doorbell. "Mrs. Peel, I'm engaged to be married."
Emma peaked out from behind the still life of champagne which she was working on again.
"Congratulations; who's the lucky girl?" She believed this was merely another one of Steed's jokes.
"I don't know who my fiancée is. If you want to know so badly you might ask Mrs. Gale. She's the one who came over to my flat this morning, claiming I had been brainwashed to forget I was engaged. Isn't that the most absurd news you ever heard?"
"It is, but I'm afraid if it came from the serious Mrs. Gale it must be true," replied Emma Peel half in earnest and half in jest.
"Don't tease me, not when I'm in this terrible predicament. I'm beginning to believe it was really true, and that makes the whole matter worse. I don't want to be married to any woman unless she is my absolute ideal girl."
"And with your high standards she probably does not exist."
"That's why I gave my dream woman such impossible requirements, so I'd never fall in love with anybody."
Mrs. Peel smirked, but fortunately her face was hidden behind the canvass. "Being married can be a truly enjoyable experience," she proclaimed diplomatically. Under her breath she added, "If your spouse is ever at home, anyway."
If Steed heard her, he made no response. Instead he picked up the bottle of champagne Mrs. Peel was painting and began inspecting it. After Mrs. Peel produced several admonishing sounds, he set the bottle back in its proper place.
"Speaking of spouses, mine paid me a visit last night."
"The real Mr. Peel!?" Steed demanded more severely than was necessary. He was rather disconcerted at the thought of Mr. Peel popping up from the Amazon.
"William Avery came home last night, and I confronted him." Mrs. Peel dabbed and dashed at her painting, enjoying Steed's noises of dismay at her comment. "He managed to escape, but not before I pried some valuable information out of him. He told me that the ministry no longer wanted me, and that's why they hired Thoms to pose as Mr. Peel."
Steed shook his head in disbelief. "But I needed you! What was the ministry thinking? Did they just ask every man attired in a bowler and suit to come over for auditions? 'Here ye here ye, a proclamation from Her Majesty's ministry has been decreed. If any one of you is Mr. Peter Peel, please step forward and claim your bride.' Every single man must have been swearing he was your long lost husband." Steed let his offhanded compliment sink into Mrs. Peel's brain.
The flattery had no effect on Mrs. Peel, who was clearly unamused. "You're absolutely no help at all." She gave her painting one last vicious stroke. "There, it's finished. Will you have a look at it, Steed?"
He admired it for several seconds before declaring, "It's one of the best works of art I've ever seen. It captures the true essence of champagne in a bottle. However, you should have painted some champagne flute next to the bottle. It would have added even more depth to the painting."
"I'll devote my next portrait entirely on that subject."
Steed patted her arm, utterly pleased.
"And while we're still on the subject of husbands," Mrs. Peel began, "I don't believe my husband ever had a mustache. I think that Avery just added the mustache because he was modeling himself after Thoms."
Steed arched an eyebrow. "You 'believe'? Can't you remember."
"As much as it shames me to admit it, the memories of my husband are jumbled. I've been thinking of getting this picture enlarged." She gingerly handled the locket with the last remaining picture of her husband. "I know it only shows his mouth and nose, but if I'm going to be trying to jog by memory, I've got to at least have some idea of his face."
"Where do you plan to go for this process?"
"There's a photography store not so far from here that specialises in enlarging pictures."
"Splendid, I'll go with you."
Emma and Steed climbed into her Lotus and sped off. Steed jolted back as the fast car raced down the street at a frightening pace. He gripped his hat with one hand and the edge of the seat with his other.
Soon they arrived at a shop bearing the sign, Finney's Film and Photography Ltd. Steed escorted Mrs. Peel inside, and they were met with a strange sight. Humongous pictures of human appendages aligned the dimly lit room. The pictures were on a thick poster board that obviously had been designed to keep the five feet high photos from falling over from its own weight.
One picture showed just an elbow, clad in a wool sweater; while another photo showed a pair of
shapely female legs wearing sharp stilettos. "I'd like to meet the owner of these," Steed said idly as he eyed that picture.
A man with bottle cap glasses and frizzy hair entered the room. "May I help you?" he asked in a nasal voice.
"For starters, would you mind telling me who belongs to those legs?" Steed asked in a most wolfish manner.
"I beg your pardon?" Mr. Finney stared at him in confusion.
"I would like this picture enlarged, Mr. Finney," Emma replied before Steed could make some unsavory response.
"What part of it?"
"Well, all of it, naturally." Now Mrs. Peel looked befuddled, but she quickly regained composure.
"I'm sorry to confuse you, but my specialty is in enlarging only certain sections of the picture." Mr. Finney smiled as if this was a most important art form. "You see, most of this work was used for advertisements. This," he gestured at the legs, "Was used in a magazine ad that was selling a pair of high heels."
"It must have been a successful campaign," Steed remarked.
"I wouldn't think there would be much need for elbows, though." Mrs. Peel nodded at the other strange picture.
"That," Mr. Finney began sadly, "was originally going to be used for a watch ad."
"There's no watch in this picture!" Steed exclaimed.
"Of course there isn't! I accidentally cut out the rest of the arm when I was first enlarging it. Hence why it was never used." Mr. Finney sighed in dismay, and then asked politely, "What picture do you want me to enlarge?"
After seeing what sort of photos Mr. Finney was interested in, Mrs. Peel was dubious as to whether she should give him her picture or not. After all, he might destroy it, and then she would have no pictures left of her husband. After a moment of hesitation, Mrs. Peel reluctantly handed over her locket.
Mr, Finney examined it and replied, "This is a very easy piece to enlarge; there are no sharp angles. Who is this man, Miss-"
"Mrs. Peel," Emma finished for him, "and the man in the picture is my husband."
"Ah, I can see the resemblance." Mr. Finney eyed Steed as he spoke, indicating that he thought he was Mr. Peel.
Steed stared at him in puzzlement before he got the meaning of Finney's gaze. "Oh, no I'm not her husband." Finney raised his eyebrows in suspicion before he set off to his laboratory.
Mrs. Peel wandered around the room, surveying the odd assortment of photographs. "One thing I can say for Mr. Finney is he knows how to make large pictures." She gestured at a massive picture of a toothy grin. "Do you suppose it was used to advertise for a dentist office or for a brand of toothpaste?"
Steed stood next to her and likewise analysed the picture. "Definitely toothpaste, Mrs. Peel."
Steed and Emma exchanged warm glances, and began inspecting all the other pictures on display. This kept them occupied while they waited for Mr. Finney to return with the larger picture.
Finally Finney returned, holding a portrait about 8 X 11 in width and length. Mrs. Peel and Steed stared at the picture in incredulity, wondering why on earth Mr. Finney deemed it necessary to make photos of teeth four feet high, yet failed to make Mrs. Peel's picture any larger than a sheaf of paper. True, it was bigger than the original picture, but it still wasn't large enough to detect anything important.
Steed made several reproachful noises and cried, "Really, Mr. Finney, you utterly disappoint me!
When you promised to enlarge this photograph I pictured it being five feet high and at least four feet across. We want this picture to be so huge that you can recognise this man when you're twenty feet away. We want to be able to feel like he was in the room with us, ready to grab our hands and console us in times of need.
"This picture could hardly satisfy anyone, let alone a demanding man like myself. Take it away and enlarge it to the size of this photo." Steed pointed at the picture of the toothy grin.
Emma had remained silent during Steed's entire tirade, letting him ham it up in his usually charming fashion, but she absolutely refused to stand by while he ordered Finney to enlarge her photo to an impractical size. "Mr. Finney, could you please make this photo two and 3/4 feet in height and four feet in width? And could you put it on this cardboard material? I don't want my picture so large and flimsy that it falls over."
Mr. Finney, thoroughly confused with Steed's diatribe, nodded his head. He finally was beginning to make sense of the odd pair. He scurried off, muttering "That man is the maddest person I've ever encountered." Eventually he returned with the perfect picture, and after Mrs. Peel paid him generously (too generously by Steed's critique), the Avengers were on their way home.
Emma drove up to her apartment complex and inquired of her friend, "How's Mr. Peel fairing?" After racing through town at a speed that wasn't at all befitting for his old school ways, Steed regained his composure enough to gaze at the backseat where the picture was resting. "Mr. Peel appears to be doing very well."
Emma smiled and stepped out of her car. Steed followed her example, and they began lifting the photograph out of the Lotus. Suddenly, Emma commanded, "Look over there."
Steed beheld a man leaving another apartment complex across the street. The man was wearing a black pinstripe suit and a black bowler hat. Swinging slowly as he walked, an umbrella hung from his left arm.
Steed and Peel compared their picture to the man strolling complacently down the sidewalk. "Is there any resemblance?" Steed asked curiously.
"No, his nose is too big." Emma replied, referring to the stranger, "and his hair is lighter as well."
Steed stared at her strangely, for it was quite a ridiculous remark. Besides being a black and white photo, Mr. Peel's hair was mostly covered by his hat. It was impossible to see how dark his hair was.
Letting this strange comment pass, Steed helped Emma carry the photo into her flat. They propped it against a wall and began scrutinising it. They each called out every man who resembled Mr. Peel, even if he only wore the same apparel as Mrs. Peel's husband. They named friends, claiming they had amnesia and didn't know their real name was Peter Peel. Steed and Peel even named people they had passed once on the street. In short, they didn't recognise the man in the photo at all and were merely making a blind stab at what Mr. Peel really looked like.
After fifteen minutes of that nonsense, Mrs. Peel gave up all hope. "It's useless to suggest that any of the men we named are my husband. Some of them we've only seen once, so how can we possibly say they resemble my Peter?" Emma pointed at the picture and continued, "Anyone can resemble another person when you just get a glimpse of them. I can't tell you the countless times I've mistaken another man for you. It's even worse in this case, for we have only this silly picture to go by. Anyone can have a nose and smile like that. Well, maybe not that smile."
"If that's the way you feel, I don't think I can be of any more service at the moment. I'll see you later, maybe even for dinner." Steed lifted his hat to place it on his head. In doing so, the bowler passed over his chin, mouth, and nose. When it was over Steed's eyes, Emma's heart did a rather uncharacteristic thing: it skipped a beat. Steed looked exactly like her husband!
"Steed, pass your hat over your eyes again," Mrs. Peel ordered slowly.
Not understanding the reason for her odd request, Steed stared at her in confusion. However, he removed his hat and began circling around as if he were a model. His procedure reminded Mrs. Peel of an unsavory person, Gordon Webster. "Is this the proper setting for such an operation?" Steed joked. "Maybe I need a spotlight."
Emma grabbed him by the arms and manoeuvred him in front of the picture. She took Steed's hat and began lifting it in front of his eyes, first looking at his face and then gazing at the picture.
"Look, I don't mean to be rude, but I can't see straight with that object flying across my face every moment." Steed snatched his hat away from the musing Emma Peel and examined her face. "Are you feeling all right, my dear?"
Mrs. Peel snapped out of her musings and replied in a strange whisper, "I'm wonderful." She must have realised how peculiar she sounded, for she repeated her response in a normal voice. She smiled and straightened his suit coat. "Now, don't worry about a thing. You just run along on your merry way, visit Tara if you like."
"If you keep saying such odd things I think I'll stay." Steed eyed her suspiciously and added, "You don't think I'm that man in the photo? I can tell you right now, you're mistaken. That's your husband, Peter Peel the pilot."
"Steed, how you do carry on sometimes." Emma ushered him to the door, Steed protesting all the while. "Goodbye; see you tonight." She shut the door, deep in thought.
This picture was a dead ringer for Steed. That could either mean that her husband resembled Steed to the point where they were doppelgangers, or the picture was really of Steed. If the photograph was of Steed, then when was it taken? It couldn't have been in Italy as she had thought before. It must have been around the time when she first met Steed, for he looked considerably younger than he was now.
Mrs. Peel tried to recall when she had met Steed, but her memory was hazy. She knew it was when she was still single, working as the chairman of the board at her father's company, but many of the conversations or adventures she had with Steed before she married Peel were a blur. In fact, as she tried to recollect other events in her past, she found it quite difficult. Certain things were easy to remember, like past episodes with criminals and all the education she had learned in school. But when she tried to recall social affairs in her life from 1959 to 1965, she found herself grappling for the information. She could only remember bits and pieces of her life, some hilarious incidents with Steed or a romantic moment with her husband. Emma thought of her husband's countenance, and again was confused. She couldn't see his face or hear his voice at all.\
It's almost as if I have amnesia, Mrs. Peel thought. Suddenly another notion formed in her head, a notion that made Mrs. Peel shudder. "Maybe I've been brainwashed, too," Emma began thoughtfully, "but why?" Her pulse began to thunder in her head, and she felt short of breath. Emma didn't want to think of the answer, not at the moment anyway. She was exhausted and disconcerted, two feelings she didn't often experience.
Not paying attention, Mrs. Peel picked up her locket and toyed with it. She cast it onto her counter and turned the large photo of her husband—or was it Steed?—around, so it was facing the wall. She would relax and ignore the silly notion that she had been brainwashed. She was simply suffering from an overactive imagination.
Emma picked up her newspaper in order to distract herself. The front page headline read: Fatal Car Crash Leaves Survivor Amnesiac. She quickly flipped to the next page and was confronted with the article, World Famous Steeds to Compete in Race Next Week. Emma growled in annoyance as she tossed the newspaper across the room. So far her plan wasn't working.