24

MCB Camp Pendleton, San Diego, California-

Penelope was at a fashion shoot when news broke of the Unity Complex attack. Having rescued that vulgar harridan of a reporter from a band of incompetent gunmen, she'd proceeded to San Diego for a Vogue spread on Fleet Week.

Francois' latest mad notion involved US and Royal Navy uniforms re-imagined as translucent, strapless gowns. Penelope had donned some perfectly hideous frocks (and men) in the service of King and Country, but this latest affront left her questioning the designer's sanity, and her own.

She found herself that evening on a windy Camp Pendleton parade ground, draped across an amphibious assault vehicle which Francois urged her to,

"Caress... cherish, Ma Cherie, Ma Petite! It is your... how you say... sailor... returned from the sea! Make him happy."

All a bit much, really, especially in front of a large and enthusiastic crowd. Nevertheless, Penny 'cherished' the vehicle as the wind slashed, the camera whirred, and her dark-haired little photographer twittered ecstatically (a tad eccentric, Francois refused to let anyone else shoot pictures of his designs). Meanwhile, Penny fought a long, grim battle to keep the inadequate costume together. The gathered Marines and Sailors had a lot to write home about.

"No, no, NO, My Darling!" Francois raged, stamping a sandaled foot. "The frown, no! The scowl, no! It is the pout, the smoulder, the look of desire that climbs through the lens and seizes him... ah... like the lover. That, Ma Cerise, is what will sell the clothing designs of Le Francois Etonnant!"

The wind picked up, sweeping some utterly hypnotized sailor's ridiculous white pill-box of a hat off his head and onto the ground at Penny's feet. Francois stopped shooting for an instant to dart forward, seize the cap, and place it on her carefully arranged 'artless tangle' of a hair-do.

"Oui!" He rhapsodized, almost sobbing, "It is perfection! It is... art!"

Sometimes, she veritably hated modeling.

Pattering back over to the camera, he fiddled with the lighting, had the makeup girl spritz a bit more water on Penny's exposed skin (giving her a sudden chill, which she fought to suppress. Gooseflesh simply wasn't haute couture), then resumed chirping orders.

"To the side, Ma Petite..., over the shoulder. C'est-ca! Leaning back, now, arms over the head... Tres belle! You are welcoming him! You are making him want you!"

Penny had no idea how well her come-hither pouts would translate to the glossy pages of Vogue, but they certainly seemed to be striking home with the United States Marines. She was going to get another 500 email addresses, Penny realized... and a most wretched windburn.

Arching her back as Francois demanded, she tried to keep the various strategic areas covered, while still looking 'casually sexy'. Then came Francois' anguished, steam-whistle shriek.

"Non! You ape! You terrible... gorille! You smash the vision of Francois!"

"One side, mate; Oi 've business with th' Lidy, I 'ave."

Parker. Thank God.

Her chauffeur strode through the cameras and light poles like a bull scattering tenpins. He held her phone in one hand, and carried a big, Burberry raincoat in the other. Carefully focusing his gaze on her forehead, he remarked,

"Bit chilly out, Milady," and offered her the mackintosh.

"Indeed. Thank you, Parker."

She put the coat on gratefully, while Francois carried on with his nervous breakdown, and the assembled military men grieved their loss.

"Call for you, Milady," the tough old criminal informed her, presenting the phone. They might have been standing in the East Garden, back at the manor. He'd the wonderfully useful ability, Parker had, to be present exactly as often as needed, while never getting in her way.

No matter the situation, whatever the Mata Hari nightmare her various poses required, he supported and protected her, and never once passed judgement. Time after time, he'd silently driven her to assignations and sniping posts, patched her up, pulled her out of danger... killed for her, even; and all without a single word that might not pass between high-born lady and respectful manservant. In truth, she'd have been lost without him, and they both knew it.

As she took the phone, and Parker stepped off a bit to allow her a measure of privacy, Penelope couldn't help hoping that the call would be personal. That it would turn out to be John, again; only... not in the service ofsome wretched reporter.

"Penelope Creighton-Ward, here," she murmured into the mouthpiece, leaning back against the iron clad hulk of her 'cherished' assault vehicle.

(A/N: some 'first meeting' bits excised, as far too long for the chapter. Will reappear, later)

She cradled the phone to her ear, hoping for a certain voice, but it wasn't to be. Instead, the person on the other end was female, and terribly frightened.

"Concepcion?" Penny enquired, a bit startled to hear from the secretary at her WorldGov office. "Is everything quite all right? ... What? But... calm down, Dear. Speak slowly. Where are you? ... And the others? ... Very well. Stay together, try to gather beneath something stable, and wait for me. Concepcion, I shall be there as quickly as possible. You have my word. We will find a way to rescue you. Now, I must call a friend to arrange assistance, but the line will be open again soon, I promise you."

She couldn't bring herself to hang up on the girl, trapped in her office with seven others by a wall of shattered rock. Concepcion had to break the connection herself, freeing Penny to call John Tracy.

Alarms began blaring, and calls resounded over public address for Marines and Sailors to report at once to their units. Penelope remained by the assault vehicle, shivering beneath the raincoat and silently praying the call to go through. At last, she got a response.

His picture came up, in casual civilian clothing that he couldn't possibly be wearing. Not in space. There was no warmth in the amethyst gaze that met hers across the vast distance.

"John...?" She began, a trifle doubtfully.

"Thunderbird 5, go ahead."

He sounded business-like to the point of disinterest. Perhaps there had been something between him and that odious journalist, after all. Forcing professionalism, she went on.

"I have received word froma secretary that there's been some sort of difficulty at the World Unity Complex, and that quite a number of people are trapped."

"Yes. We are aware of the situation, and a team has been dispatched to resolve it."

He sounded... odd.

"Very good," Lady Penelope replied, keeping her voice brisk. "I'll just nip off to do my bit, then. Take care, Dear."

"I strongly recommend that you leave rescue work to those best trained for the task, Lady Penelope. You are unlikely to do much but obstruct the efforts of others."

Thinking, 'You absolute, frigid bastard! You can jolly well rot out there, for all I care!' , Penelope purred aloud,

"Of course, Dear, and thank you ever so much for the advice. Ta!"

She snapped the phone shut, and put it away, something stinging at the back of her eyes. Then, pulling herself resolutely together, Penny turned.

"Parker, bring the car around. We'll be taking a bit of a drive."

"Yes, Milady."