Chapter 7: Details

"Can you give me a description of the first man?" Laura asked.

She was curled up in a chair next to Remington's bed, her memo pad and pen from her purse at the ready.

Laura had taken time to enjoy the amenities Remington's new room offered as soon as she'd been left alone in the large space. A long, hot shower helped ease away the remnants of the headache left after her medication had taken effect. More importantly: She felt clean for the first time since she departed LA. She might still be lacking a blow dryer and her makeup, but she felt a little more like herself.

By the time she stepped out of the bathroom wearing the slacks and shirt Mildred had bought her, she found a breakfast tray waiting for her on the coffee table that sat between a sofa and loveseat. The eggs were too bland, the sausage too greasy, the toast too soggy after being left steaming beneath the lid of the tray with the other foods and the potatoes? Well, she wasn't a fan of potatoes at breakfast under the best of circumstances, and lacking the herbs and spices Remington used to bring them alive, they simply hadn't been palatable. Thus, she'd settled on rearranging the food with her fork as she examined her surroundings.

This certainly was unlike any hospital room she'd ever seen before, reminding her more of a luxury suite at a hotel. The hospital bed awaiting Remington was a full size, if not queen. While the typical ports, plugs and pieces of medical equipment were scattered across the wall behind the bed, the admiral blue walls, walnut dressers and tables, white and blue striped furnishings and multiple large windows that allowed London's stingy sunlight in gave the expansive room an unexpected warmth. That the room also offered a living room area and a big screen television replete with VCR viewable from the bed? Well, the room had certainly been designed with the privileged in mind.

By the time Remington had arrived in the room, Milton had delivered the items Laura requested earlier, along with message from Daniel that with the crisis now past, he would be by at the lunch hour and she'd sent Mildred out shopping again, with a very specific list of the items she'd need along with an admonishment not to go crazy: With no one generating income back at the Agency and not wishing to dip in the Agency's reserve account, money did matter. She even managed to squeeze in a quick call – collect of course – to Murphy back in the states. Mildred hadn't finished her research into where Keyes was staying while in London and with no resources at their fingertips, she'd need Murphy's assistance.

When Remington was settled in his new bed – garbed in pajamas and robe brought by Milton - he was exhausted and paler than she could recollect ever seeing him before.

"They took tubes out of me that have no business being inside a man's person at all, Laura, let alone where they were," he bemoaned. "And as if that wasn't enough of an assault upon my person, after poking and prodding my various ailments, they decided to move my IV to the other hand."

Despite his earlier behavior then their skirmish, she took pity upon his plight. She couldn't even allow herself to think about what the removal of a chest tube would be like and she could only imagine where other tubes might have been 'in his person.'

Crossing to the coffee table she picked up the lidded Styrofoam cup, then joined him at his bedside.

"Would you like some tea?" He looked on her with gratitude in his eyes.

"You're truly an angel of mercy, Laura." A corner of her mouth quirked upwards, and she puffed a short laugh while tapping a finger to her cheek.

"I don't think that's how you'd have referred to me an hour ago," she mulled with a playful note in her voice.

"All in the past," he dismissed, eyeing the cup hungrily as she removed the lid. She offered it to him, then watched as he winced at the strain on his ribs caused by lifting it to his mouth.

Still, it was absolute heaven…

"Well, we may as well accomplish something while you're enjoying your tea," she decided, then had retrieved the memo pad and pen from her purse before curling up in the chair next to his bed – a ridiculously, comfortably overstuffed arm chair. She had to admit, there were times it was nice to know people in high places.

"Late twenties, perhaps early thirties. Five-eleven, maybe six foot," he began describing one of his aggressors, "Not much shorter than me. Huskier though. Correct that. Paunchy, is a better word. He looks like a bloke who enjoys his ale a bit too much. Brown hair that hasn't been cut for a spell. Ah, and a ruddy complexion."

"Eye color? Any idea what part of the building you saw him working in?" she questioned. He searched his mind then shook his head.

"No idea on both."

"The second?"

"Mid-twenties, at most. Taller than me. Six three, six four," he answered, envisioning the man. "Red hair. Not bright red, but almost just not quite brown. Cut close. Often seemed as though he'd lost his razor."

"Scruffy?" she offered.

"As good a description as any," he concurred. "Muscular, big hands. Packs one hell of a punch. I seem to recall him on the framing crew." She looked up from where she was scribbling.

"Was he there the day of the errant nail?" He frowned, understanding where her mind had gone.

"In the room, yes, back of the room near the door, but he's not the man who took responsibility."

"The man that did, was he one of those who attacked you?" He took another long drink of his tea then shook his head.

"No, the third I'm fairly certain worked with the flooring crew. Not quite six foot, barrel stomach that spilled over ill fitting pants that hung too low, providing a none too attractive view, if you understand my meaning…" She crinkled her nose. She did. "Dark hair but nearly fully bald on top and a close cropped beard. Bulbous nose. Um, and in his forties." He took another drink of his tea. "You'd think those thick, beefy fingers of would mean softer blows, but you'd be wrong."

"Do you recall the name of the flooring company?" she questioned.

"Oliver James."

"And the framing company?" she asked, while making notes in the pad.

"Peter Fullers Contracting."

"And which of these men do we have to thank for your gunshot wound?"

"Not a one of them, actually. That would be the fourth." Her brows lifted and eyes widened in surprise.

"A fourth?" She drew out the words.

"Mmmm," he confirmed with a hum. "The man in charge. Hands off type - one who prefers not to mess up his manicure, but wishes to call the crowning achievement his own."

"This man's the leader?" she asked, scrawling in her pad.

"Without a doubt. I've no idea what game he's running, but I assure you he's a conman…" His brow furrowed "…of the most dangerous variety." That statement caught her interest.

"What makes you think that?"

"He speaks like a toff, but with just enough underlying East Londoner for those who follow his orders to believe he's a man who pulled himself up from out the gutter and rose to a position of power," he explained. "He's good, I'll give him that and what he does is more than sufficient to convince the average man or woman that he is precisely who and what he claims."

"But not you." It was a statement, rather than a question. He finished his cup of tea then looked about for a nearby trash receptacle. Standing, she took the cup from him to dispose of. "Why?" she prodded.

"Very few are able to truly immerse themselves in a role, extinguishing any essence of who they are," he elaborated. "His accent is good, but not quite perfect. As a betting man I'd wager he was born into gentile poverty and has spent his lifetime being resentful of those who have what he believes he is entitled to. His bearing tells me he went to boarding school, although not one the ilk of Eton or Harrow – which he also resented – and even there was not the top of the pecking order, so to speak, which was of further insult. He ran with a fast crowd on the streets away from school and at school garnered favor with those that were at the top by acting as their enforcer, all the while vowing he'd have everything he wanted one day, no matter the method." She held up a hand and dropped it.

"How would preventing Haven House from opening play into those plans?" she wondered.

"Dunno, unless he's acting as an enforcer for someone else," he admitted. His brows pinched together. "I had the feeling I'd seen him somewhere before, and I don't mean at Haven House." He had her undivided attention after that announcement.

"Do you remember when?" His eyes narrowed, searching for that snippet of memory, only to have it slip away again. His tongue traced his lips as he shook his head.

"Uh, um, a meeting of some type. People milling about, as though it had just broken up. That's all I can recall," he shared, "Other than I feel confident we were neither introduced nor exchanged a single word."

"Well, that won't help much," she pointed out, her shoulders drooping with disappointment. "Alright, so what does he look like?"

"Five nine, maybe five ten," he pictured the man in his head. "Mid to late thirties. Medium length brown hair, cut by a superior barber. Average build, fair skinned." She scribbled the information in her memo book and then closed it.

"There is one more thing." He waited until he had her attention. "He knew who I am. Right before he pulled the trigger he said, 'Goodbye, Remington Steele.'" Her initial reaction was alarm, but a split second later was followed by cool logic.

"Well, your face was all over the newspapers and television not even a year ago for your part in identifying the Whitehall Slasher and for foiling the assassination plot against the Earl. It's not unreasonable to think he may recognize you for that reason alone." She stood to pace. "Still, it does mean we have to consider the possibility the target wasn't Haven House, but you." He had the uncomfortable feeling he knew where her thoughts were taking her.

"I give you my word, Laura, the only thing I've been involved in since setting foot on European soil is Haven House and I'm sure the Earl—"

"I believe you," she stated simply.

"—Can vouch as to how—" He stopped mid-sentence and looked at her as though she'd suddenly turned into a stranger before his very eyes. "You do?" She lifted and dropped her hand.

"You haven't given me cause not to," she rationalized, then continued as though uninterrupted, "Then there's Keyes, of course, although I can't imagine he'd have the connections he'd need to pull this off."

"As entertaining as listening to you enumerate the number of people who might have a target on my back, could we take a moment to discuss other matters… Mrs. Steele."

"Huh?" Ah. She flicked a hand in his direction. "Just another role, shockingly contrived by Daniel. When he called me in LA he made it a point to tell me he'd informed the hospital your wife was on the way."

"Daniel?" He lifted his right hand and held it out, in hint.

"It actually wasn't a bad idea," she considered, crossing the room towards the bed. "I've been able to see you, stay with you and to get updates on your condition without question." She eased herself up into the bed next to him and took her his hand in hers, taking care not to jostle the braced fingers. He had a different thought in mind, and shifting his hand, laying it over hers. He brushed his thumb back-and-forth over the diamond ring nestled atop her Peppler wedding band.

"Dare I hope this means what I what I wish for it to or is it just another part of this ruse we're perpetuating?" A soft, contemplative smile lifted her lips.

"Oh, the former I think." His blue eyes lit with warmth.

"Yes?" That warmth was reflected in her own.

"Yes," she confirmed with a quiet confidence that left his heart pounding. Despite the aches and shooting pains the movement brought, he wrapped his right arm around her and rested his hand at the base of her neck.

"Come here," he whispered. She leaned in, stalling when her lips hovered a breath away from his.

"This might not be a good idea," she advised softly, referencing the still healing injuries.

"Kissing you is never…" he brushed his lips across hers "…a bad…" he touched his lips to hers "…idea." He settled his lips more fully over hers, freezing when the door to the room swung open and Mildred bustled through the door.

"I think I got every-…Oops." She grinned, unrepentant, as a pair of heads turned to regard her.

"Mildred," Laura elongated the older woman's name with dismay, sliding out of bed as she eyed the multiple shopping bags in each of Mildred's hands, "I asked you not to get carried away!"

"Awww, I spent less than the boss spends on a pair of shoes," Mildred assured, as she sat the bags on the coffee table.

"His Nike Tennis shoes or his custom Italian loafers?" she asked, dryly, fingering open one bag and peering inside as one who might expect a snake to strike them if they got too close. She could think of two pairs of shoes in Remington's closet that cost more than what an average American earned in a month.

"More than his Nike's, less than one of those shoes," Mildred returned. "I found some great sales. Have a look." She hustled across the room towards Remington's bed, as Laura went through the bags' contents, peeking at price tags now-and-again. "Can I get you anything, Chief?"

"I wouldn't refuse another cup of tea," he grinned. "Thank you, Mil—"

"Make that a cup of ice water, Mildred," Laura directed, while bestowing a smirk on Remington. "It turns out too much caffeine is contraindicated for head injuries." Mildred's eyes narrowed and she plopped her hands on her hips. Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice… He threw held up a hand in self-defense.

"The doctor was speaking of Laura's head injury, not my own. It appears our Miss Holt…" he leveled a pair of accusing eyes on her "…is determined to make me suffer along with her."

"Well," Laura drew out the word, "If you think you might be the exception, I can ask Louisa to call Dr. Town—"

"Water will be fine, Mildred," he informed her, before Laura completed the threat.

"Be back in a jiff," she promised, already moving toward the door that swung open as she approached revealing the Earl of Claridge and Daniel. The Earl stepped aside while Daniel held open the door for Mildred to pass, then both entered the room.

"Harry, my boy, good to see you're finally awake," Daniel greeted.

"Daniel, My Lord," Remington greeted with cool cordiality, drawing Laura's attention.

"Still put out with me then," Daniel assessed. "We'll have it out later, if that is what you wish, but for now, set aside your temper, my boy. Thomas has whipped you and Lin—" The look of irritation that flashed across Remington's features left him correcting himself. "Thomas has whipped you and Laura up a veritable feast in that kitchen of his, and it should be arriving any moment."

On cue, an orderly tapped on the door then pushed a cart laden with silver serving trays through the doorway. The smell rising from those trays was divine and had Remington's mouth instantly watering.

"If you'll allow me the honors," Thomas requested. "Miss Holt, where would you prefer to dine?"

"The chair will be fine." Once she was seated – her stomach growling in answer to the heavenly aroma rising from those trays – Thomas lifted the lid to the first plate.

"Roast leg of saltmarsh lamb with garlic and rosemary potatoes and roasted cauliflower," he elaborated as he offered the plate to her. She was more than a little impressed. Given it was barely past noon, the man must have been cooking all morning.

"Thank you," she told him with sincere appreciation. She speared a potato with her fork and slipped it into her mouth. Now, this is what I'm talking about. The succulent flavors exploded in her mouth and she fought back the urge to hum her pleasure.

"Remington." Thomas set the plate on the rolling table then positioned the table over Remington's lap.

"You've outdone yourself," Remington complimented.

"I've brought a plate for your Ms. Krebs as well," Thomas shared.

"What's this about Ms. Krebs?" Mildred asked as she returned to the room with Remington's water and sat it next to his plate.

"The Earl of Claridge made us lunch," Laura supplied, taking another bite. "Roast leg of saltmarsh lamb with roasted cauliflower and garlic and rosemary potatoes."

"That sounds like something the Chief would rustle up," Mildred commented, gladly accepting the plate the Earl offered her. Out of the corner of her eye, Laura watched Remington struggle to grip his fork.

"Oh, I don't know," Laura said with a mischievous note in her voice as she stood up, "I think his Lordship's culinary skills may surpass those of our Mr. Steele." With a smile towards the Earl, Laura sat down with Remington on the bed, setting her plate on the table next to his. "You'll have to try one of his desserts sometime."

"I'm flattered," Thomas commented, with a gracious nod of his head.

"You aren't going to join us?" she wondered. Thomas had remained standing after delivering the food, although Daniel had made himself comfortable on the couch. With a casual air, she offered Remington a bite of lamb.

"I gave Catherine my word I'd meet her for lunch after we ran our mutual errands. I should be leaving now." He looked to Remington. "Catherine and I were quite relieved to hear you're out of the woods. You'll have to join us for dinner after you've been released… along with Miss Holt and Ms. Krebs, of course."

"A generous offer, my Lord, although I am sure Laura and Mildred will wish to return to LA as I'm released." Across the room on the sofa, where Daniel had sat, his mentor's brows furrowed with disapproval as Laura offered a bite of potatoes to Remington.

"Harry…" he drew out his protege's name in warning.

"Daniel, need I remind you, Laura has the Agency to run? We've plans to holiday in Italy next month, something we've not only been looking forward but won't be possible if she lingers here too long, as much as I may regret it."

"Mildred and I would be honored," Laura stepped in, while feeding Remington another piece of lamb. "It'll be fine," she told the man next to her firmly. "I intended to stick around a day or two after your release anyway. Someone has to make sure you follow doctor's orders." She gave him a rueful look. "I doubt Dr. Townsend will release me for travel for another few days anyway."

"Then it's settled," Thomas agreed. "If it is acceptable to you, I'd like to return for a visit when I'm not so pressed for time," he commented, with a glance at his watch, "But Catherine will be quite cross with me should I be late joining her."

"We'd enjoy that," Laura replied since Remington seemed disinclined to engage. To cover for his behavior, she shoveled a helping of cauliflower into his mouth.

"Wonderful. For now, then," he nodded his head, in a gesture of goodbye, then with a final glance at Remington, his long strides took him from the room. Daniel spoke as soon as the door closed behind the man.

"Harry, be put out with me if you must, but I'll not abide you being disrespectful to the Earl," he informed Remington sternly. Mildred's eyes flickered from Remington to Laura to Daniel and made a hasty decision. Sitting her plate on the coffee table, she stood.

"I could use something to drink. Miss Holt, are you sure I can't get you anything?"

"Actually, a cup of decaffeinated coffee would be wonderful, if you could find one," Laura answered with a grateful look. Mildred might have a knack for interrupting Remington and her, but she usually picked up on when she needed to make herself scarce.

"I'm on it."

"Would one of you mind telling me just what is going on here?" she demanded to know, addressing the man next to her. "I know from Daniel…" she held her hand out towards the man "…that you and he had words of some kind, but it's not like you to be to take out your frustrations on someone else."

"I'm more than a little embarrassed, frankly," Remington replied. "Here I believed the Earl saw me if not as an equal given his station, at least as someone he respected. To discover the man wanted me a part of this project not because he held me in some esteem but because Daniel had been sharing stories of my time in Brixton with the man and he pitied me?" He puffed out a breath and shook his head, the twitch of the muscle in his jaw indicating exactly how angry he was. An angst riddle conversation with Remington only a few evenings before came to the forefront of her mind.

"Laura? What I told you last night? Did it… change… how you think of me? Did it… lower your estimation of me?"

"Yes, to the first, and quite the opposite, to the second. It has always amazed me that you lived the childhood that you did and yet, somehow, you managed not to let it steal the very best parts of you: Your humor, your optimism… your compassion. Being given a larger glimpse of what you faced on those streets? I am even more in awe."

Frowning, she shook her head.

"I've never seen any indication from the Earl that he pities you," Laura disagreed with his assessment. "Respect, admiration, fondness, even a certain symbiosis – I've seen all of those things, but not pity."

"See, no harm done," Daniel announced with a note of triumph, "And all for good cause." Laura's eyes narrowed on the man.

"Exactly what cause is that?" she demanded to know.

"Why, as I told Harry," Daniel supplied, "To offer the Ear a bit of solace. What is Harry if not living proof a child can survive the worst of circumstances and not only survive but rise above!" The small hairs on the back of Laura's neck rose to attention. He's hiding something. Apparently, Remington was of much the same belief.

"You aren't in the business of bringing comfort to others unless there's something in it for you, Daniel," he indicted. Daniel laughed in the face of the charge.

"I give you my word, Harry, I've no plans to relieve the Earl of his valuables."

"You forget I know you, old man," Remington rebutted. "You're up to something. Whatever it is, find another angle and don't drag me into it again." The directive elicited another laugh from Daniel.

"Come now, Harry, when have I ever dragged you into anything you didn't wish to be a part of?" This time it was Remington who laughed – in disbelief.

"The assassination plot against the Earl comes to mind and you bloody well nearly got me killed in the process," he reminded without pause. Daniel waved the accusation off.

"Why I had no idea Felicia planned to snatch you, let alone declare you the hired gun," he brushed off.

"The Duke of Rutherford fiasco," Laura offered.

"Harry and I had hatched that plan years before," Daniel defended with an easy air. "I'd no idea he'd lost interest until things were already put into motion."

"Other than, of course, me repeatedly telling you I wished to have nothing to do with it," Remington countered, then frowned. "Come to think of it, that little gambit of yours nearly landed me in the grave as well." Daniel openly grimaced.

"And myself in a wood chipper," he noted, grimly.

"Precisely my point!" Remington exclaimed, then sighed heavily. "Daniel, you know how I feel about you—"

"And you know I love you like the son I never had," Daniel stepped in with a wide grin.

"Then I beg of you, please try and understand what I've been saying to you these last years," Remington begged. "The cons, the stings, the heists – all of it – has lost its magic. I've made a life for myself in Los Angeles – a good life! – and one I've worked bloody hard to earn. I'm happy, Daniel, truly happy for the first time in my life."

"You know I only want what's best for you, Harry," Daniel reminded.

"Then whatever scheme you have going or plot you're cooking up, leave me out of it. I don't want it," Remington insisted firmly.

"Whatever you say, Harry," Daniel assured.

The door to the room opened, and Mildred cautiously poked her head in. Laura waved her on in.

"Mildred, come in, eat," she insisted. "This food is too good to waste." As if to prove her point, she shoveled a large helping of lamb into her mouth, then offered Remington another heaping forkful as well. Mildred added the cup of coffee to the already laden table, then eagerly sat back down to her meal. Taking a bite, she closed her eyes and savored the succulent meat.

"I think you're right, Miss Holt. The Earl of Claridge might be a better cook than even the Chief," she praised.

A betrayal, in Remington's eyes, that warranted a scowl in her direction…