1 Ashes to Ashes Part II
"April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring." T.S. Eliot
As Emma soaked in the warm, soapy water of the bath, she reflected with a mortified twinge on her behavior in the last twenty-four hours. If anyone had told her that she would have acted in such a disgraceful, undignified manner she would have sworn that they didn't know her, that didn't understand, who she was at all. Emma Knight, who valued the triumph of intellect and reason over emotion had just put on the most appalling display of bad manners she had exhibited since age eleven. What Steed thought of her was almost secondary; she felt shocked and betrayed by her own emotions. It was mortifying remembering how she had been so moved by jealousy and anger to have actually slapped him. And then this last escapade on the beach... It was too much to endure. Still, she couldn't hide in the bath forever. Eventually, she would have to emerge from the rapidly cooling water and face the one person whose opinion she actually gave a damn about, the one person she trusted more than she trusted herself. She emptied her glass and pulled the drain plug. Emma exited the bathroom driven equally by the realization that her fingertips were now quite prune-like and by the delicious smells which wafted in from under the door. God, she was famished. Steed was obviously cooking something scrumptious. Emma lifted Steed's dressing gown off the robe hook and breathed in Steed's scent deeply before putting it on and belting it around her slim waist. How wicked that he was capable of laying such siege to all her senses in such a relentless fashion after all these years. Emma put on her most imperturbable face and emerged from the bath to face whatever consequences that lay beyond.
"Ah, at last. I thought I might have to send a search party after you." By scarcely glancing in her direction, it was obvious that Steed was remaining aloof. For all the insouciance of the man, he was surprisingly sensitive at times and Emma found that endearing.
Steed had at some point, taken off his jacket and lost his tie. His shirt was unbuttoned to the center of his chest. Emma admired the fine feathering of dark hair exposed where the top of his white shirt diverged as she stood next to him. She indecisively wondered whether to apologize again for the second time in twenty-four hours, or to continue as if none of the earlier unpleasantness had ever occurred. Emma chose discretion and carefully poured herself a generous measure of wine into a glass. Her irritation from earlier had vanished entirely and was replaced by a bewildering myriad of emotions. It was easier when she was angry with him; anger was a much simpler emotion which actually served to enervate her. She enjoyed their verbal fencing -their banter served to deflect underlying tensions and personality clashes. Their cultural differences were inconsequential. They had differing tastes in music and in art, but were both mature enough to allow for their individuality. Upon reflection, they actually had far more in common than they had differences. Both enjoyed the country lifestyle with forays into town for dinner, theater and other events.. They liked the same books and attended the same parties. In fact, Emma admitted, the only time they resorted to verbal skirmishes was when they weren't sleeping together. Oh, they had fought intensely once or twice but it had always been because of reciprocal jealousy. They had been mutually insatiable. Emma acknowledged with regret that nothing she had experienced with Peter, either before or after his disappearance, had ever duplicated the same heights of passion. Gazing at Steed, Emma couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to again be in his arms, or more accurately, in his bed. What she asked instead was how much longer before dinner was ready.
"Steed, it smells wonderful. The sooner we eat the sooner I can get back to the hotel and a much needed change of clothes."
"How wonderful that you're counting the minutes till dinner. I'll consider that as a ringing endorsement of my culinary skill," Steed said with exaggerated politeness. "But as for the ride back to the hotel, I'm afraid that would now be impossible."
"Impossible… how?" Emma said evenly.
"While you were languishing in the bath, the coastal fog of which this area is so famous for, has crept in on the proverbial cat feet. I'm afraid we're stuck until the wind changes." Steed said with only a trace of satisfaction betraying his carefully cultivated tone of commiseration.
"I haven't got a stitch of clean clothing." Emma wailed and starting for the first time to feel well and truly sorry for herself. At this rate, she would soon be reduced to washing out her unmentionables in the sink.
"Really, Emma. This recent obsession with clothing and luggage! You look most fetching in my dressing gown. And you'll find lingerie in the left bureau drawer."
"What did you say?"
"I bought you some underwear."
"Why would you do something so presumptuous?"
"I prefer to think of it as being optimistic. Considerate even. Must be that boy scout training."
Emma's explosive exhale of air imperfectly conveyed her complete exasperation with Steed and with her current situation as she stalked off to sulk in the living room. She curled up on the couch and considered her options. Emma's state of mind made her anxious to get back to the neutral ground of the hotel and to fresh clothing That avenue for the time being was now closed to her. She was tired of the strain of being in the company of Steed without actually being able to fully relax. She needed solitude to think, to regain her equilibrium. The most dangerous part of being around Steed was that one could lose their objectivity and be pulled into the vortex of his charm. She wondered for the umpteenth time just what exactly she was doing here. She really had no desire to play cloak and dagger. She dreaded Monday and her return to the Eubury Plant. In the moments when she was being honest with herself, Emma acknowledged that she was waiting for Steed to do or say the one thing that would finally mend the breech between them. Close the distance that she was unwilling or unable to transverse alone. No matter how many times Emma went over it in her mind, she could not forget the easy manner in which Steed had let her go. The simple truth was that she had left with Peter not only out of a sense of duty, but because of the simple three word phrase that Steed had always found impossible to say. In the end, all she would have required was one word- stay. And yet, Steed had never uttered the simple request. He had thanked her as one would a fellow traveler with whom she had shared an afternoon's discretionary diversion. When Emma had cried that evening, Peter mistook her hot tears for a weary relief at his safe return. But Emma's tears had been for the impossible situation she found herself in; married to one man and in love with another. She had tried for seven long years to make an uneasy peace with her own emotions.
The last ten months with Peter had been extremely unpleasant. She and Peter had been fighting nonstop about whether they should have a child. Truthfully, Peter had never really liked children. Peter tolerated Emma's nieces and nephews and they had in turn, rewarded him the gift of their complete indifference. On the other hand, they had adored Steed. Steed who never minded practicing with and perfecting their cricket skills, who had taken them for break neck rides over the fields, and demonstrated the definitive way to tickle a trout. In the end, Emma had solved their mutual differences by divorce. To take her mind off her current ruminations, Emma worked out her frustration by loudly and vigorously building a large blaze in the fire place.
"God bless you, I see you've lit a fire. Just the thing to offset the chill." Steed looked askance at the angry young woman wielding the fire iron with such violence. He refilled her wineglass with a pale liquid and motioned Emma to the immaculately set table. "Trout Almondine. I was thinking something more indigenous to the coast, but as it turns out there are also several fresh water streams in the area. They say the fishing is superb….."
"I think Sean Mortimer might have argued the point. However, I am willing to concede it's a perfectly charming area. Again, its unfortunate location at ground zero to the Eubury Plant does tend to detract from the appeal," Emma said witheringly..
"Yes, well, there are drawbacks in any situation. It's how one deals and adapts with the disappointments that define one. For instance, you'd think all that the radioactivity around the Dungeness plant would just frighten off the fisherman, but on the contrary, the anglers regularly fish the boil. That's the area where the hot water and sewage are dumped into the sea via the waste pipes of the plant. I think they call it the patch." Steed said conversationally, spearing his fork into the trout with obvious gusto. "It was still jumping this morning."
"I guess we're just lucky it doesn't have two heads."
The remainder of dinner was quiet. After dinner, Emma decided to draw and went to retrieve her much traveled art case from the boot of her car. Steed hadn't exaggerated about the fog. It was as thick as pea soup. Even though she was barely seventy-five paces from the cottage, the lights were dimmed as if viewed from a great distance. Once safely ensconced back in the warmth and light of the cottage, Emma began to sketch. Drawing soothed her nerves, and she admitted wryly, gave her complete, if only artistic control, over her environment.
Emma sketched for the next thirty minutes and Steed, stretched out on his back in front of the fire remained silent. Emma studied her subject at leisure from top to bottom, carefully avoiding letting her eyes linger below his belt. Emma shook her head to chase away any memories that lay down that path. Still, she couldn't help being reminded of that rainy weekend in Perth. The weather had been dreadful. They had been stuck inside for days by unrelenting sheets of rain and Emma had, after much coaxing, convinced Steed to pose in the buff. Emma had rendered her subject with slavish devotion to detail. She simply adored the sheer physically of him- the softness that overlaid the muscle. She wondered idly if Steed still had the pen and ink drawing that she had presented to him with a flourish. Steed had remarked at the time that it was very illuminating to see what she valued most in a man. Emma replied playfully that it wasn't her fault that he found it so hard to relax. Steed had demurred that it absolutely was indeed her fault and had wasted little time before demonstrating cause and effect.
'Do you mind if I have a look?" Steed said bounding to his feet and rapidly closing the distance to her side.. It never failed to astound her how quickly Steed could move. He reminded her of the lizards of Ibiza, one moment lounging indolently in the sun, the next as if alarmed by some minutiae shift in the wind, skittering from view.
Emma reflexively clutched the sketch pad to her chest.
"I'd rather you didn't," Emma stated. Her voice sounded rather formal even to her own ears.
"Oh, come now! I thought this was a collaborative effort! I'm quite willing to pose, it could be a sort of retrospective. I'm perfectly willing to strip off as I did in Cardiff. Really, I think I've managed to keep rather fit." Steed flexed his chest muscles beneath his Turnball and Aster shirt.
Emma, unable to contain herself any longer, burst into a fit of laughter.
"I must say I missed your laugh almost most of all, Emma," Steed said softly as he sat beside her on the sofa. He took her sketch pad gently from her hands and looked at it ruefully.
"What are these flame like things surrounding my head? It looks as though you've got me in one of Dante's seven circles," Steed said frowning at the drawing.
Emma shook her head gently. "It's unfinished. It's you against the backdrop of the fireplace. Really, Steed, as a Rorschach test it's much too obvious. But for curiosity's sake, in which circle would you feel must at home? Gluttony, lust, or perhaps, treachery?" Emma teased.
"Hmm. I respectively refuse to answer on the advice of my solicitor. No offense intended towards the artist, but it absolutely makes the hairs on the back on my neck stand up," Steed apologized as he handed back the sketch pad.
He regarded her thoughtfully. "I'm off to bed. I rang through to Miller and he's agreed to check us out of the hotel and bring the luggage in the morning. In the meantime, please feel free to keep my dressing gown. You can take the master bedroom at the back of the stairs. I left a pair of my pajamas on your bed and a spare toothbrush. Please make yourself at home. Goodnight, my dear." Steed stood and drained his brandy.
"Steed."
Steed paused in the doorway to the downstairs bedroom. "Yes, Emma?
"It was Perth."
"Yes, of course I remember. I just wanted to see if you were paying attention."
"Do you still have the drawing?" Emma asked suddenly.
"Right next to the shot of me on my bearskin rug," Steed said solemnly. 'Of course, I only bring it out in select company. As a matter of fact, I don't think it's seen the light of day for the last seven years. I don't suppose you'd care to tuck me in?"
Emma with her index finger laid against her front teeth, regarded Steed appraisingly before shaking her head. "No. Goodnight. Sleep well."
"Oh, by the way, if you hear me about in the middle of the night, don't be alarmed. I've had the most appalling bit of insomnia," Steed said apologetically.
"I've got just the thing to put you right to sleep." Emma said confidently.
Steed looking rather stunned, did a double take from the doorway of the bedroom.
"Warm milk," Emma said firmly. "My nanny always gave me warm milk on the nights when I had trouble sleeping."
"Ah..I was thinking of something a little more strenuous," Steed said with a faint smile.
"Perhaps a fierce game of scrabble? No, Steed. You always cheat," Emma said.
"Well, goodnight then," Steed said with amazing good humor as he closed the door.
Emma remained staring at her sketch, and whether it was the reaction Steed had to the drawing, or a case of late night nerves, Emma shivered. Really, she was over tired and needed rest. There was no other rational explanation for the sudden feeling of dread conjured up by the simple lines of an unfinished drawing.
Emma woke at 1:30am, startled out of sleep by the muffled noises of someone who was trying desperately to be quiet. Straining her ears, Emma identified the sound of two male voices and placed them as coming from directly downstairs. The voices were low but there was an underlying urgency to the cadence and rapidness of reply. With years of practiced ease, Emma slipped from the bed swiftly and silently.
As she crept within sight of the entryway, Emma first saw the back of an unknown male, and then looking past, gazed directly into the very annoyed countenance of Steed who stood facing her. He was dressed in dark green cord trousers and a black turtleneck. Most telling of all, he had on his skulking shoes, a well worn pair of hiking boots.
"There, you see! I knew that you would wake her!" Steed said triumphantly. "You ministry types have all the field expertise of a pack of French boy scouts!"
The figure turned and Emma was amused to recognize the familiar, if now rapidly colouring face of George Miller.
Emma brushed her hair back out of her eyes, and crossing both arms in front of her said sweetly, "Insomnia, indeed. Now, exactly what are you two doing in the middle of the night?"
The men exchanged glances. It was Miller who broke first. "Well, it's a high level alert. There has been a flurry of activity in the area and the Ministry felt that the, uh, situation warrants closer investigation."
"A flurry of activity? Well, then the fog must have lifted." Emma
"Mostly." Miller cleared his throat nervously.
"Really. I'm not at my best with guessing games at this hour."
"What Miller means is that we are using the latest in infra-red night vision goggles. "
"You mean project T737-21," Emma said sagely.
Miller looked at Steed inquiringly. "You surprise me, Mrs. Peel. That project is classified. Even those with top secret clearance have no knowledge of the project"
"Quite. What you forget is that Knight Industries is on the cutting edge of electronics. You know, very top hush, spy counter spy sort of thing. I believe we bid on the contract, " Emma said conspiratorially.
Miller blinked in reply.
"Good. I see you've brought the luggage." Emma immediately lost interest in Miller and moved to claim her bag.
"Ah, well. We should be back by the time you've unpacked," Steed said over his shoulder as the two men headed towards the front door.
"Oh, no you don't Steed. You're not going without me. I'll be changed and ready to go in 15 minutes."
"I'm sorry that would be impossible! We only have four goggles," Miller sputtered and immediately looked to Steed for support.
"I'm sure that Steed will share. He is uncommonly good about that sort of thing." Emma said patiently as she re-tightened the belt of Steed's robe around her waist.
"Yes, I'm sure," Miller stammered.
Steed raised his hands palms outward and shrugged. "Well, she does have complete top, hush, hush clearance from the Ministry, he murmured. " Why don't we invite those two sergeants out front in for coffee, Miller?"
The two sergeants had been remarkably amiable to the offer of coffee and now sat open mouthed as Emma re-entered the room wearing dark tailored trousers and a black leather jacket. Steed too lost himself in a moment of unabashed admiration before collecting his wits and making the introductions. "Gentlemen, this is Dr. Emma Knight the noted micro-biologist. Emma, sergeants Whittier and MacGregor of the Royal Fusiliers."
Whittier, the younger and more expressive of the two, blushed as he rose to his feet, uncertain whether to salute, or to shake Emma's hand. MacGregor, a dour Scot, rose and nodded curtly in her general direction.
"Well, then, now that we have the polite chatter over and done with… What do you say we synchronize our watches?" Steed asked briskly.
Once the five had reached the outer perimeter of the Eubury Plant, Steed reached into the back of the jeep and grabbed a medium sized backpack. It was agreed that since they only had four gas masks and Emma was the only one who had actually seen the inside of the plant, Sgt. Whittier would remain with the jeep and the remaining quartet would split into pairs and meet back at the rallying point at 0430 hours. Steed and Emma elected to search the actual plant while Miller and SSG MacGregor would trace the route of the numerous trucks that had been observed in the area.
Steed knelt in the grass, and after he had fitted his goggles, unwrapped an oilcloth containing two weapons. He handed Emma a nickel plate, pearl handled, 9mm that he had purchased for her early on in their relationship of which he had somehow retained possession. He then pulled out a Walther P38 fitted with a silencer and placed the one clip into the butt of the gun with a metallic click and placed an additional clip into his front pocket. Lifting his sweater, he placed the weapon down the front of his trousers.
"That's a big gun," Emma said sotto voice as she arched an eyebrow.
Steed whispered, "I took it off a German Officer who was trying to blow my brains out. It's been my good luck piece every since. One can never be too careful."
"It's not your brains I'm worried about. Speaking of careful, I hope you have the safety on."
Steed snorted softly. "The objective is to get samples from the tanks and from the packaged product. If time permits, we'll have a peek through the files. Tell me my dear, how good were you at Blind Man's Bluff?"
"Oh, I think I always managed to hold my own. Lead on, MacDuff." Emma said, locking her fingers firmly into the belt loop of Steed's cords.
It was a silent, two click walk before they reached the door of the warehouse. Steed reached into his pocket and sorted through an assortment of pick locks. He chose the longest and had the lock picked within seven minutes. He then removed his backpack and pulled out two masks and stowed his government issued goggles. After fitting both their masks securely to their faces, Emma and Steed entered the factory.
If the interior of the Eubury Plant had been slightly unworldly in the daylight, it was positively eerie in the dim security lighting. The huge industrial vats gave off noxious vapors that swirled and reflected in the amber light. Emma sought cover that strategically positioned herself to observe both the exterior and interior doors. Steed then drew a pair of rubber gloves from the pack and several steel vials which approximated miniature flasks which he then proceeded to fill from six of the twelve vats. This exercise took approximately 35 minutes and consisted of Steed climbing the iron scaffolding and then quickly lowering the vials from a chain. Once completed, Steed then carefully stored the vials into a leak proof wet bag which he then stowed back in the pack.
"Do you remember your way to lab?" Steed muffled in her ear.
Emma nodded and, getting her bearings, started towards a side door. Once outside of manufacturing, Steed and Emma removed their masks and wiped the sweat from their faces. They crept thru the darkened building and, as they drew close to shipping and receiving, discerned the loud hum of activity within the double doors. They listened diligently for several minutes, but were unable to note any conversation or commands. It was however, apparent from a quick recon that they were outnumbered by an approximate ratio of four to one. Finally, Steed indicated with a jerk of his head that they should continue on to the lab.
Once there, Steed quickly collected samples of all the beakers while Emma scoured the files and made photos of all the formulas and inter-office memos she could access. They were disturbed at their labors by the rapidly approaching footsteps of four booted feet. Both agents now worked frantically to remove all evidence of their presence. With the voices now directly outside the metal door, Steed opted for the coat closet and was joined in short order by Emma.
"Good. I don't see any signs of other intruders. We'll report back to Collins and let him deal with the situation. I suggest we work a little harder at getting those two to talk. After all, we don't have all night."
"Fine. Do what you have to do, and I'll move the last of the weapons out."
Steed and Emma remained motionless until the two were safely out of the room.
"I'm guessing Miller and MacGregor have been captured."
"Damned ministry pallor types! I have told Mother over and over that they are a hazard in the field to themselves and others," Steed said scathingly. "The only thing to do", Steed continued, "is to wait until the last load is dispatched and the numbers are a little more favorable for our side."
Steed looked at his watch. "4 am, they should be wrapping up anytime now." Steed gestured towards the door. "After you."
Emma smiled," I'll let you take the lead. I've got your back." Emma crouched behind Steed covering his flank and rear while sweeping visually left to right. Ahead, Steed surefooted his way thru the corridor. They found Miller and Macgregor bound and gagged in the broom closet adjacent to the loading dock.
As Steed bent to pull the duct tape from Miller's mouth he whispered."How many and where."
"Seven." Miller jerked his head towards the dock. Steed replaced the tape as Miller's blue eyes widened above.
"Let's keep you two quiet and see who comes back to baby sit you. Just think, if we hadn't come back you two would have probably wound up as fertilizer." Steed indicated that Emma should take a position on the other side of the door while they waited. Their patience was rewarded in short order as they heard the sound of approaching footsteps. The door swung inward and Steed clipped the first guard on the back of his head with the butt of his gun. The second guard following in short order gaped at the prone body of his comrade and had a moment of pure fear in his eyes as Emma gave him a short chop to the carotid artery. He crumpled and Steed caught him as he dropped. Both he and Emma paused as they heard the sound of lift gates being latched and engines coughing to life.
"Sounds as if the troops are pulling out. Let's get out of here."
Steed and Emma quickly freed Miller and MacGregor. Steed bent and placed two fingers on the neck of the first guard then quickly repeated his ministrations to the second. "They'll both have crashing headaches, but they'll live."
They arrived back at the jeep Miller noticeable out of breath and MacGregor looking shame faced. Steed took the radio handset "Alpha Bravo 7 calling .Over. Come in Charlie Delta Niner. "
"Alpha Bravo 7, this is Charlie Bravo Niner. Over. "
"Charlie Bravo Niner, there are" , Steed paused and gestured to Miller wiggling the fingers on his left hand to indicate how many.....
Miller wanly held up three fingers.
Steed continued. "Three lorries that left thirty minutes ago from the Eubury Plant. More than likely they're heading out on the A250. Don't intercept, just follow and report back. Somewhere in those trucks are six cases of rifles, BARS , Enfields, and Brens. Out."
Steed and Emma were dropped at the cottage just as dawn was breaking lazily over the white cliffs.
"What now?"
"We wait for the sample reports. Miller and MacGregor will drive them back and London will rush through the analysis and my report," Steed yawned. "You'll have to forgive me my dear. I'm absolutely bushed."
It was almost noon before Steed wandered downstairs, freshly showered and shaved. Emma was already up and having coffee on the terrace.
"Ah. There you are. I thought you were going to sleep the whole day away. Help me with this: 89, radioactive, and the end of the line. Eight letters." Emma looked at Steed inquiringly her pen posed over the crossword.
"89, radioactive, end of the line. I've got it, unstable," Steed snapped his fingers.
Emma flashed Steed a brilliant smile. "The periodic table. You know Steed, there are those moments when you thrill me all the way down to my toes."
"Yes, but I always imagined, those occasions to be less cerebral in nature. I have my own big bang theory," Steed said with a good-natured leer.
Emma threw back her head and laughed. It amused her that Steed wasn't really even putting any effort into any semblance of seduction; he was just teasing.
"I'm bored. Let's go sightseeing." Emma threw the crossword and pen onto the table.
"You have to forgive me. I'm a little rusty at entertaining young ladies. We could drive to Ramsgate and get some pub grub. If you're really good, I'll take you to Dreamland and buy you all the candy floss your little heart desires. One stipulation."
"Anything."
"I'm driving."
"Alright," Emma acquiesced. "What is this sudden aversion to me driving? You were never a nervous passenger before."
"Tara only just learned to drive as a ministry trainee. She cracked up a car the very first time I rode with her, and after that she remained an appallingly bad driver. I had to let her drive every time we went anywhere. I think I have a permanent twitch."
They wound up in a pub in Ramsgate called the Churchill Tavern which Steed said had the best ales on tap. Emma led Steed by the hand, and by deft hip work, managed to insinuate them through the Saturday crowd to the bar. They examined the chalked menu board and both decided on the fish and chips.
"So, what will it be? Black Jack, or Old Thumper," Emma said indicating the ales.
"Old Thumper, surely. I'm surprised you had to ask."
They managed to get an outside table, and even through the evening chill was coming on, they sat comfortably outside and watched the sun set.
"Just our luck! The Soul Smugglers are playing. Apparently, they do top forty pop. You, know I haven't danced in ages....."
Steed looked askance. "You know I'm more the ballroom type, Emma."
"I'm confident in your versatility. Anyway, I'm sure if you're unwilling there must be someone in the crowd who would be willing to partner me." She gave a tiny wave to the three French Marines who had been eyeing her admiringly all night from across the bar.
"In that case," Steed looked dourly over at the young men and said darkly, "I'm going to need more beer."
Steed kept his promise and danced with Emma. His dancing improved as his drink consumption increased. He was actually quite good by the end of the night, and very, very drunk. His condition was hastened on by Emma who constantly caught the bartender's eye, and had his pint refilled. It was after all, two for one night. When time was called, Emma brushed back Steed's hair from his forehead and noticed he was swaying dangerously. Emma had a brief moment of panic. What if she had over played her hand? She was simply no match for his dead weight if he were unable to walk back to the car under his own power.
As Emma and Steed left the bar, the three French soldiers followed. When Steed and Emma got to the car park, Emma, who had been assisting Steed with his navigation, tightened her arm firmly around his waist, and whispered in his ear, "Darling, I don't know if you've noticed, but we have apparently picked up an entourage."
"Yes, Of course I noticed," Steed hissed. "I'm not that drunk. Why do you think I've been doing this exaggerated staggering?"
Emma wisely held her tongue.
Steed stopped and made a great show of turning out his pockets, swaying in the wind, and searching vainly for his car keys.
The biggest soldier stepped forward and with a shove in Steed's chest demanded his wallet and suggested that maybe they should see the charming lady home. Steed dropped him neatly with a well-timed knee to the groin followed by an upper cut. The second soldier, who had maneuvered behind Steed, now launched himself onto Steeds back. The third soldier in the melee took his moment to deliver a punch to Steed's face. Steed somersaulted the fellow on his back over his head, and placing his right boot in his ribs, twisted the soldier's arm with sufficient force to break it with an audible pop. The third sailor then dropped back to a defensive position, and realizing that he had bitten off more than he could chew, grabbed a board off a skip and swung it wildly back and forth in front of him, attempting to fend of the charge that Steed was on the verge of making.
"If you don't drop that board, I'm going to shove it up your ass," Steed said in a conversational tone made all the more menacing by its complete lack of emotion.
The soldier dropped the board with a thud.
"Now, take your friends and get out of here before I call the police."
As the soldier gingerly moved passed Steed to help his friends off the asphalt, Steed rabbit punched him in the solar plexus.
Steed stood over the prone man as he lay gasping for breath on the ground.
"I owed you that," said Steed, wiping a spot of blood off of his lip.
Emma, who had been lounging up against up the car wing, now walked up and looped her arm through Steed's. "Thank God you defended my honor," she said in an exaggerated southern drawl.
"You might have offered some assistance!"
"Steed, I'm wearing a skirt. Surely, you don't expect me to fight in a skirt? Besides, you didn't look as if you needed any assistance. I do think that young soldier took you literally. And, you said ass."
"Stop making fun of me. There were several nails in the end of the board. Someone could lose an eye. And yes, I noticed you're wearing a skirt. A very short, skirt. I think half the men in the bar noticed. Certainly, your fan club did. I had forgotten how perilous it is to take you out on the town. I don't even know where you get the gall to complain about my flirting. I don't think any barmaids have ever followed us out to the car park. And, Emma, I really don't have the car keys," Steed looked at Emma perplexed.
Emma produced the keys from her handbag.
"I picked your pocket on that last bit of close dancing. Let's go before we have a lot of explaining and paperwork to do. Given your delicate condition, I'll drive."
Steed, who was looking ill used, slid into the passenger seat of the rover. He remained mum for the next thirty minutes until the twisting and turning of the coast road became too much. Steed, who hadn't uttered a sound now made an urgent plea for Emma to pull the car over.
Steed bolted from the car and bent over the guard railing while his back heaved gently. Emma felt the first pangs of guilt. Straightening up, but without turning around, Steed then continued down the trail to the shore. Emma waited a decent interval and then switched off the ignition and followed.
Emma removed her heels and walked barefoot onto the loose sand. The full moon illuminated the night and glittered off the water. She scanned the beach and found Steed crouched down by a tidal pool splashing water on his face and spitting it back onto the sand.
Emma laughed. "Steed, you resemble one of those Gargoyles spouting rainwater."
Steed looked up balefully. "Stop humiliating me woman."
"I'm not humiliating you." Emma closed the distance to Steed as he stood and wrapped her arms around his neck. She had to raise on her toes to reach his lips. He didn't bend down, but he didn't draw away either. He flinched a little as she kissed his cut lip.
"You taste of salt and your lime cologne, and I choose you Steed. Warts and all. With all my sensibilities unclouded by all that physical heat, and friction. Anyway, who else would put up with us?" Emma looked Steed in the eye.
Steed pulled her closer. "Maybe, I like all that physical heat and friction."
"I'm not denigrating the physical; I'm just saying you can't build a relationship based on that alone."
"Yes, but you wouldn't buy a horse without first taking it out for a gallop."
"Oh, but I've sampled the merchandise." Emma dropped her right hand and cupped Steed's buttock.
"Aren't we mixing our metaphors? Anyway, if you wanted your wicked way with me. You needn't have gotten me drunk. My delicate condition, is as you call it, not the most conducive for romance." Steed's eyes glinted in the moonlight, but there was a slight smile on his lips.
"I know. I know. I don't what I was thinking, honestly."
Back at the cottage, Emma helped Steed up the stairs to the bedroom. She knelt on the floor as she removed Steed's shoes.
"You're not going to tumble out any more secrets like one of those Russian Nesting dolls are you?"
"I have one more secret. It's a big one."
Emma looked up apprehensively. .
"Robert Frost"
Emma looked perplexed.
"You know "ice will suffice?" Steed mumbled into his pillow. "I hate the cold."
Emma shook her head. "You love to ski. We went sledding that winter in Wiltshire." Emma trailed off. Remembering now, that Steed always spent more time in the bar. More time by the fire.
"No. I tolerate the cold, but it hurts me. I would never swim in freezing water. I limit my exposure. It brings out the cold inside."
"Like with frostbite." Emma was trying to make sense of what Steed was telling her.
"You know how the clergy is always on about the fiery pits of hell. And about excruciating it is to burn, but I have to side with Robert Frost for his vision of nihilism. Please don't look at me, Emma. When Teddy shot me, while I was bleeding out on the carpet....I willed myself to die. I was so cold, Emma. Like I was already dead. I hadn't been that cold since the war. Bone chilling, aching in every muscle cold. You can't unclench your jaw. Miserable cold. I never told you about my cousin David. He was a year older. Better looking, smarter, a better athlete. A better man. We were assigned to the same unit. He was with me when our small cadre was caught behind the lines in Germany. David, who was like a brother to me, died there, shot in an ambush. Just a small hole behind his ear. He looked like he was sleeping. He was the first dead body I ever touched. It's strange, you know the precise moment when the body just becomes dead weight. The ground was too frozen to dig him a proper grave. We covered him with stones to keep him from the animals. I was five months from my 21st birthday. I couldn't cry in front of my men. Eleven of us were dropped in, four of us made it back. Sgt Hall had his brains blown out all over my shirt front. Pvt. Brown, a boy really, died gut shot crying for his mother. Smithey, had his leg blown off by a landmine. We couldn't transport him, couldn't afford to wait with him. Promises to keep don't you know. I wrapped him up warm in a blanket and pooled all our morphine for his overdose. I lied to him when I told him it would be all right, and then I closed his eyes and took back my bloodied blanket when he went all cold. Four of the dead, I can't even recall their faces. I remember where they died and how, but I can't see their faces. What kind of man doesn't remember the faces of the men who died alongside him? All I remember is the unrelenting cold and the hunger eating me alive. A man doesn't cry. All the guilt, the grief, and the terror compacted down into one hard, block of dirty ice that gnawed at my insides. I was like a piece of rotten fruit, except everything looked good on the outside. I didn't want to go home. I felt dirty. I took any job after the war for the money it afforded and the physical thrill. I only felt alive was when I was on the brink of physical danger, or in some stranger's bed. I wasn't very choosy. Sometimes, I forget the coldness is still there. That's my secret, Emma."
"Don't talk any more tonight Steed. Go to sleep. You're my knight in shining armor and I love you. Everything will be alright in the morning." Emma climbed in bed beside Steed and held him till she felt him relax. When he began to snore softy, Emma went back to her room to cry for the 20-year-old boy who had never cried for himself.
Early the next morning, Emma slipped back into Steed's room. He was lying on his stomach; his head buried underneath his pillow like an ostrich trying to block out the morning light. Emma flopped on the side of the bed. Steed groaned.
"Emma for the love of God, please stop shaking the bed."
Emma placed a warm hand on the back of Steed's neck. "I was hoping that you and I could have another drive around the coast. I hear the oysters are good in Hythe. You know, you never bought me that candy floss. How do jellied eels sound?"
"Did anyone ever tell you that you have a sadistic streak?"
"Hmm. I bought you aspirin and a glass of orange juice. I rather saw myself as a Florence Nightingale guise.. If you want black coffee, you'll have to come down stairs under your own steam. I refuse to carry you."
Steed twitched one bare shoulder in a gesture Emma interpreted as a shrug.
When Steed finally came down to the kitchen, Emma poured him a juice and coffee.
"How is your head?"
"Like the percussion section of the London Philharmonic has taken up residence in my left frontal lobe."
"I imagine. Are they using whalebone, or ivory?"
"I can't really tell."
"Is there anything on for today? The weather looks positively dreary."
"I was hoping for a quiet day at home after all the excitement last night. A simple meal. A loaf of bread and ...." Steed trailed off. "I'm waiting for the dispatches from London. And, I have an old friend dropping in for dinner, Michael St. Crispin. We were in the same house at Eton."
"Another one of those all shooting, all hunting types of fellows that are so ubiquitous to your crowd?"
"Emma, when have you known me to go hunting? You know I'm an animal lover. It seems unsporting with the animals so badly out armed."
"Tell that to Cathy Gale. And, you fraud, you go fox hunting."
"Yes, but you know that my sympathies are with the fox. I just like a good trot around the country-side. But granted, a charging Rhino does seem to be a more sporting match. I'll cede that to Cathy. And as for St. Crispin, he's a Professor at the University of Chichester. Ancient Languages. An interesting fellow. He doesn't really like women, but he'll love you."
"I can't imagine how I can construe that as a compliment. Doesn't like women, but he loves them? Sounds like every man I've ever known."
"That's not true of me. You know I both like, and love women. But as for St. Crispin, he's not sexually attracted to women. Prefers men, actually."
"Really? And he fought in the war with you?"
"Well, sort of. He was R.A.F. I like to say he flew above the war. In the Army it's just slog, slog, slog. I always resented the Air Force and the Navy boys. They never had to hike like we did in the Army. I'll have you know that St. Crispin almost has as many military decorations as I do. Of course, St. Crispin insists that the only reason I have more decorations is because the Army had better dispatch writers. He swears they all went on to be writers for the Rank Organization. He may be right. But he's a lethal shot and I'd much rather he have my back....don't snort Emma…than any of those so called macho men. He pulled me out of some sticky spots in East Berlin."
"I'm not laughing at your friend, Steed. Just the part of him having your back struck me as funny. I didn't mean it in any closed minded way. Shakespeare and DaVinci were possibly gay. Probably Lawrence of Arabia. I find it intriguing that you two are such good friends. I've always believed that you're in touch with your feminine side."
"I'm very secure in my masculinity," Steed with more than a note of finality.
"It would never occur to me to suggest otherwise," Emma said amiably.
"Sometimes St. Crispin and his partner come down to Wiltshire and we all go antiquing together," Steed said and his stare dared her to make a comment.
As Emma was pondering this mental image, there came a knock at the back door. Steed answered to find a dispatch rider on his door step dripping rain. Steed signed for the proffered papers.
"Looks like the lorries made a delivery to Hugh Hennessy's Estate just outside London. And, the results of the chemical analysis for Eubury are here. Would you like to take a look?"
Steed handed the papers over to Emma, who took off her shoes and stretched out on the Chesterfield while Steed busied himself in the kitchen preparing pasta for dinner.
"The secret to the pasta is in the sauce. I thought I would cook your favorite meal served with an excellent sourdough from the village bakery. Finished off with a spirited little red."
Emma jerked her head around to see if Steed was pulling her leg, but all she got was his impervious poker face.
"Wine," Steed said innocently. All raised eyebrows.
"Looks like the sun, if it were to be visible, is well over the yard arm. Hair of the dog and all of that."
Emma took the offered glass. Steed raised Emma's legs off the couch, took a seat and then lowered Emma's legs across his lap.
"Steed, these specs are off. Just a tad, but enough to make them ineffective. As a matter of fact, with this inversion, the fertilizer is not only ineffective, it's more like a herbicide. A chemical burn if you will."
Steed began massaging Emma's feet.
"Steed, you're distracting me."
"I know," Steed grinned. "But, I'm not trying to seduce you. I'd like nothing better to sit here and enjoy your company until our dinner guest arrives."
Emma was touched by the sincerity of Steed's statement. She looked at him fondly.
"I'm imagining that as a girl you would have carried my books home from school"
"Well, Emma I think there were definite laws about that sort of thing. I mean this isn't a Charles Dodgson sort of situation," Steed said with mock alarm."
"I suppose you're right. I never really think about the age difference at all. That July afternoon, when I hit your car, all I could think of was how incredibly attractive you were. How your eyes twinkled, but I couldn't get a fix on the color. You were so charming. It was masterly, the way you vaulted out of that barge of a car. Very athletic. Then you put your foot on my bumper and pushed down on my car until it was freed from underneath your car. I think your thighs rippled under your Saville Suit. And you were so sang froid about the entire situation."
"Emma, I have another confession. I had noticed you in my rear view mirror for three city blocks. I also noticed that you jack-rabbited off when the light changed. And well, I deliberately stalled the Bentley." Steed steeled himself for Emma's response.
"You deliberately caused that accident?"
"I'd hardly say an accident. More a minor fender bender. How was I to know, you'd bury the nose of the Lotus on my undercarriage? And I fully assumed responsibility."
"I would hope so. Because, apparently, you were responsible."
"Yes, because I was desperate to meet you. I thought there might be just a slight bump. Just a slight kiss of the bumpers, if you will. You really do follow too closely. But," Steed finished quickly, "I thought that if I let you drive off, I'd never see you again. It was a calculated risk."
"No wonder you were so insistent on paying for the damages. All this time, I thought the accident was my fault. More importantly, I thought it was fate. You know, my horoscope and everything," Emma mused.
"It was fate. Sometimes we just have to help it along. I was smitten from the very first glimpse of you. Do you believe in love at first sight?" Steed stopped massaging her feet and looked at Emma inquiringly.
"I don't know that it was love at first sight, but certainly, I was very attracted to you," Emma said carefully.
"I was terrified that you were going to be one of those vacuous Sloane Rangers. I was steeling myself for those rounded, drawn out vowels when you opened your mouth. But you were so intelligent and engaging. Warm. Wry. The more I knew you, the more I fell completely under your spell. You changed me so much Emma. First our intellectual connection, then the emotional connection. I could tell you were a bit of hellcat the way you launched yourself out of the Lotus. I need a woman who can go toe to toe with me."
"Hellcat? I'm surprised you didn't wind up with Cathy Gale."
"A little formidable even for my tastes."
"She wouldn't have you."
"Really?" Steed looked at her slyly.
"You didn't!"
"No, but she thought about it. The only problem is that she would have disliked herself more than she ever disliked me afterwards. She's very hard on herself. I'm sure she fancied me more than a bit."
"Modest aren't you?"
"Realistic. It would have been a stormy union. Discretion, rather than valor. No, I've looked far and wide. I'm afraid you're the one. You are the Yin to my Yang, Mrs. Peel. "
Emma stretched out her hand to caress Steed's cheek. "I have a confession as well. I kept a bar of your lime soap and your woodsy cologne in my lingerie drawer, just to remind me of your scent. It used to drive me mad."
"You know that sounds incredibly sexy when you say that. However, if I were to say something like that, it would sound, well, the phrase very inappropriate , comes to mind."
"Now, Steed."
"Now?"
Yes, now," said Emma firmly. She leaned forward and met him halfway into the kiss. God, she had forgotten what it was like, the proximity and the resultant animalistic heat they were capable of generating. She bit his neck while luxuriating in his warm and addictive scent, all citrusy and woodsy just as she remembered it. It made her weak in the knees. Eventually, she rose from the couch and took Steed firmly by the hand. It was Steed who hesitated.
"Emma, I might be a little light on the trigger. It's been a while.....Steed trailed off.
"You know, somehow I'm not worried about that at all..." Emma smiled reassuringly.
All the uncertainly fell away with their clothes.
They were awakened a few hours later by an insistent knocking on the front door. Emma curled against Steed's back, waked first. She had to shake Steed's shoulder twice before he came around.
"Steed. Steed," Emma whispered in his ear.
"Ummm." Steed murmured sleepily.
"The front door Steed."
Steed sat up brushing an errant lock of hair off his forehead.
'I'm not expecting anyone at this hour," Steed said flatly as he consulted his watch and then lay back down.
"It's probably the vicar. Come to call on the new neighbors."
The visitor began a new volley of knocks, louder this time. Steed rose abruptly, throwing the sheet back and grabbed up his dressing gown. He made short work of the stairs anxious to confront whatever unwelcome intrusion lay behind the door. Steed fumbled briefly with the lock and flung open the heavy door. He stood blinking in the soft afternoon light as his eyes lit on the familiar forms.
"Purdey. Gambit." It sounded more like an accusation than a greeting.
"Steed, I know it's bad timing," Gambit said barely containing his wry amusement as he glanced back at the Aston Martin parked in the drive. "But we have to talk to you now. Mother is not happy."
Purdey studiously tried to avoid looking at her boss. She had seen Steed in casual clothes, but it was a little over whelming to see so much of him. She had to admit, he was rather well preserved. Well defined chest muscles, and very broad shoulders. His hair was mussed and he looked very annoyed.
"Yes, of course. Let me dress. Do you want to wait inside? Steed stood in the door awkwardly. "I'll only be a moment."
Gambit entered quickly, expectantly looking about for signs of a female presence. His keen eye lingered on the empty wine bottles and the glasses tipped on their sides. His face lit with a wolfish grin.
"Purdey, to her credit, ignored Gambit. Frankly, the whole situation irritated her on some level she wasn't comfortable examining. She knew exactly in whose name that Aston Martin was registered.
"That's Mrs. Peel's car," Purdey hissed.
"Really. And how would you know that?"
"I've read the files. You can look it up on the computer."
"And why, Purdey girl, would I want to do that?"
"Because she broke Steed's heart."
"Maybe she just tenderized it a little. Or, maybe they broke each other's hearts. Anyway, it appears they patched it up. Besides, Steed is no saint. I couldn't tolerate him if he were."
"The trouble with you Mike Gambit is that you lack poetic imagination."
"I'll take that to mean that I'm not inordinately inquisitive. I'm sure Steed's earned the right to some privacy. Besides, I've always wanted to meet the legendary Mrs. Peel."
Steed avoided Emma's gaze as he dressed quickly. Emma lay back on the bed, observing every move Steed made. He could feel her watching him as he zipped up his trousers and pulled a polo shirt from the drawer.
"I suppose you heard that?" Steed turned to Emma inquiringly.
Emma raised one eyebrow by way of reply and shrugged her shoulders. She then very deliberately turned her back to Steed and pretended to go back to sleep. She was irritated by the intrusion and felt run to earth like some hunted animal. Let Steed deal with it. After all, they were his partners.
Steed busied himself in the kitchen preparing drinks and excused himself for a moment to carry a glass up to the bedroom. When he returned, he suggested that the three of them would be more comfortable on the terrace.
Purdey and Gambit sipped at their drinks while enjoying the break in the weather. It had gone all sunny and smelled fresh the way it does after a hard spring rain. Steed was off guard and preoccupied, and Gambit was enjoying himself immensely at the older agent's expense.
"So, when are we going to be introduced to the delectable Mrs. Peel?" Gambit asked hopefully.
"Dr. Knight," Steed corrected automatically. "Since the four of us will be working together I'm sure you'll meet her soon enough. She's analyzing some reports."
Gambit sputtered into his drink. Purdey satisfied herself with one perfectly timed cough.
"Well."
The two agents looked at Steed quizzically.
"Mother?"
"Yes. Well, he said he wasn't happy with your report. He said 'George Miller is a horse's ass, and that Purdey and I should hurry post haste down here as reinforcements because the military is making it a cluster."'
Steed didn't know whether to be offended, or grateful.
"Hmmm. You're both staying for dinner. Hope you like red sauce with clams. And please tell me that you have a hotel?"
Gambit answered in the affirmative and Steed pondered the vagaries of the evening's company. It was going to be a rough night. He could feel it. Gambit was going to ride him unmercifully. He liked the younger man. He reminded Steed of his younger self. Brash, perhaps a little too rough around the edges. But a diamond nevertheless, and just as hard.
Purdey, was another matter entirely. A long-legged English rose. He caught her looking at him sometimes with that mixture of awe and curiosity that made him nervous. He was a little infatuated with her, but he had learned some hard lessons about mixing business with pleasure. Also, he wasn't about to get caught between Gambit and the object of his desire. Better to let the two younger agents figure out between the two of them. And then, there was Emma.
Steed pressed the two agents into kitchen duty and set about preparing salad and setting the table. Just when he thought he was going to have to coax Emma into putting in an appearance, she finally came down the stairs looking radiant.
Steed introduced Emma to Gambit and Purdey. She shook hands all around and then wiped an imaginary smudge from Steed's lower lip before giving him a quick kiss. Steed looked momentarily surprised then regained his neutral expression. He wasn't used to being demonstrative in public. PDA wasn't usually Emma's style, but he realized she was firing a preemptive strike."
"Set five places for dinner please, Purdey. I have a friend coming for dinner."
"I can't wait for the next surprise. How many more spirits will visit this night? The ghost of Christmas past, or Christmas future? If Tara shows up, I'm leaving," Purdey said in an aside to Gambit. As if on cue, the front door bell rang.
"That will be St. Crispin. Punctual as usual. You can set a watch by that man. I can't think why you didn't use the doorbell, Gambit. I'm shocked you didn't bruise your knuckles."
St. Crispin was thin with a shock of premature white hair and vivid blue eyes. He wore a black turtle neck and grey flannel trousers. He wasn't as tall as Steed, and was much more spare. He had a vitality that almost crackled thru the air.
"Michael, these are two friends of mine, Gambit and Purdey. We work together. This is Emma. I'm sure I've mentioned her."
"Ah, Mrs. Peel. In the flesh. I was beginning to think that Steed and made you up." His eyes crinkled merrily. He examined the ring on Emma's left hand. "Well done."
Emma wasn't sure if he was referring to the ring, or to Steed.
"Ah, we're under cover."
"You disappoint me, Steed." St. Crispian shook his head.
"If she agrees to marry me, you'll be the first to know."
Halfway through dinner, Steed began to relax, grateful that, so far, his worst fears weren't materializing. Any one of his engaging dinner partners had any number of embarrassing stories to relate. He was sorely out numbered and if all his secrets tumbled out, he would not be able to ride the rising tide. Gambit was flirting outrageously with Emma, apparently beguiled. Michael witty as ever, bantered between Emma and Gambit. Only Steed and Purdey looked a bit glum. Steed finally took his glass and went to sit on the edge of Purdey's chair.
"Well, apparently Emma is the belle of the ball. She has them both in thrall."
Steed looked up appraisingly. "Oh, I don't know. Gambit thinks he's winding me up. I shouldn't worry anyway, Gambit's much more Michael's type than Emma. He likes them rugged and just a little, well, rough." He smiled at Purdey and squeezed her hand. Purdey's eyebrows shot up into her hair line.
"And of course, Gambit's quite mad for you. I have very avuncular feeling for Mike. However, I had the feeling once, or twice that he wanted to take me on. He seems quite the jealous type."
"Gambit has no reason to be jealous." Purdey colored a little.
"Oh, I don't know. If things were different...Had I been a younger man. I would have definitely given a Gambit more than a bit of competition where you were concerned. Your attraction was never unrequited." Steed trailed off.
"You might have let me know. And, as for the age difference, Tara is my contemporary."
"Yes, and look how well that ended. I adore you Purdey, but I don't think that it was meant to be. Isn't it lovely that we can be still be good, good friends? No regrets, no guilt," Steed looked at her fondly and released her hand. "Anyway, you're equally attracted to Mike. You could smooth him out a bit."
"Yes, I suppose you're right. Do you always have to be so sensible?"
"I think it comes with the job title." His ears perked as he picked up Emma's conversation.
"Steed told me you saved his life in Berlin? So, you were in the service as well?" Emma looked at St. Crispin.
"Yes. For a short time after the war. Cloak and dagger is much more Steed's style than mine. I'm far more suited to the mundane life of academia. The knife wounds are far more superficial, and rarely require actual stitches."
"Yes. I understand completely. University politics are usually large fights over small bones."
"Steed tells me you have a visiting Professorship at Oxford. What field? Which do you enjoy more, the research, or the actual teaching, Emma?"
"Microbiology. I think the actual teaching. The molding of young, impressionable minds."
"I'm sure your class is the hit of the male undergraduate population," Gambit interjected. Purdey rolled her eyes.
"Steed, did you ever tell Emma about how we made it back through Charlie Checkpoint dressed as two Grossmutters?
Steed grimaced. "As I remember, we didn't have the opportunity to be choosy in our choice of disguise."
"Like a Some Like it Hot scenario?" Gambit asked suddenly all ears and interest.
"Definitely not! Steed may have the ankles for it, but his shoulders were a disaster! And that butch walk."
"Well, we made it across. As for the walk, I had several aunties with the same affliction. It took me years to live that one down. Thanks, Michael," Steed said mildly.
"But while we're talking shop. Let me show you these tarot cards. They're from the twenties. I know you have an interest in old books and documents. Any ideas?"
"Aleister Crowley comes to mind. Actually, it's the Toth edition 1938 designed by Crowley himself. Hmm, the Hanged Man. It's a paradox. To be caught betwixt and between. There's water involved, the falling away of illusions. This, the Downed Tower-chaos, sudden change, impact. The power of a purifying fire that destroys the old and sweeps it away. Crowley, founded the Thelema Religion, or Philosophy, you know. Derivative of the Ordo Templi Orientis, and the Hellfire Club. Some have suggested that it's still prevalent at Cambridge. There was even a rumour Crowley worked for MI5 during the wars. Agent 666," Michael laughed mirthlessly. Steed and Emma exchanged looks.
"Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law."
"Well, that's a simplistic interpretation. It's from the Greek-to will, to wish, with purpose. Man as in control of his own destiny outside the confines of traditional morality and convention. Not necessarily hedonistic."
"I've always found religious zealots to be exceptionally unpleasant sorts. Even if they are of the black arts variety. You went to Cambridge. What do you know of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse?"
"They were ahead of me. Just the rumours, one hears as an undergraduate. They were a very tight, not terribly well liked clique. Expelled. I don't know why. I heard they had ties to the Ordo Templi Oreintis. I haven't thought of them in 28 years."
"They jointly comprise the ASTA Corp. I think they're planning a scorched earth policy of biblical proportions."
Everyone around the table reached for their drink at the same moment.
"Well, you certainly know how to put a damper on dinner. Once more into the breech... Do you need my help, Steed?"
"I appreciate the offer, Michael. I've got three of the best agents with me and troops on reserve. I hope to God it doesn't take more than that."
At that, the dinner party wound down a bit and Steed found him wishing that no matter how pleasant the company, that they would just go home. He got Emma alone in the kitchen for a moment just longing to reconnect. He kissed her gently over the pots, and rubbed her back for reassurance.
St. Crispin left first, looking at his watch.
Steed then cornered Gambit, "Meet me back here tomorrow at 10am."
"I was hoping to have a further talk with Mrs. Peel."
"Some other time, Gambit. I think we all need our rest." Steed gave Gambit a warning look.
Gambit was no one's fool and had no intention of butting heads with the older agent. Steed had a keen sense of humor, but he also had a flash point. At any rate, as far as Purdey was concerned, Steed was well out of the race and that gave Gambit a rare feeling of being one up.
"Alright. Purdey, I think it's time we make our way down the hill to the hotel."
"Are you fit to drive? Or do I need to take the keys? Thank, God we're leaving. First, you're drooling all over Steed's date..."
"Well, I think she's more than a date...."
"You're right about that. She's the Unholy Trinity. Even Steed can't keep her titles and names straight.."
"She seemed perfectly charming. I think you're jealous."
For a split second, Purdey thought he was talking about Steed and stopped short.
"According to Steed you're more St. Crispin's idea of a dream date than Emma."
"Now, you're just being mean, Purdey."
Steed waved off his guests from the doorstep. "Did you flirt enough with Gambit dear?
"Just reeling him in a bit. Purdey was looking a bit crushed though. I think she's rather fond of Mike Gambit. He's tall, good looking, well built. Very charming."
Steed who had sucked in his breath a bit, now breathed out slowly.
"I don't think Purdey will waste any time pining after you. She seems like such a well adjusted, nice girl."
"Now Emma, you know I've always found nice girls to be over-rated. Purdey and I are just good friends."
"Sometimes those are the best flirtations. They just spin on to infinity. And I'm not sure I appreciate your comment about nice girls. Anyway, we were going to test the limits of your virility before we were so rudely interrupted."
"I don't suppose you kept the whip," Steed said turning to Emma with a trace of a smile.
End Part II