Author's Note: For Annie London, for being my first reviewer for Paul Temple. I love the character of Steve and wanted to do a more focused piece on her and her relationship with her husband. Set in the middle of the Margo Mystery, using the book as reference for the first section.

STRENGTH

Paul Temple checked his watch before he put his key into the lock of the front door. It was ten to one and the apartment building was eerily silent.

"I expect Charlie's in bed," Steve whispered from behind him as the door swung open, revealing the hall light.

"No I'm not, Mrs Temple," said their manservant, emerging from the kitchen with a self-righteous air. The 40-year-old was loyal and a good friend, and Temple enjoyed the way Charlie and his wife were constantly teasing each other. "The phone's bee ringing off the hook for the last hour but every time I answer it they ring off. I was just making myself a nice cup of tea. Would you like a cup, sir?"

"No, thank you, Charlie. I'm more in the mood for a whisky and soda. What about you, Steve?"

But Steve was more interested in the patterned box tied up with ribbon which was standing on the hall table. "What's this box, Charlie?" Then her face lit up with anticipation. "Oh, it's my dress – the one from Daphne Drake's!" She ran her fingers over the ribbon. "I'm going to try it on."

"At this hour of the morning?" Temple raised his eyebrows. Steve sent him a mischievous look.

"I'm not at all tired. You might want to pour yourself a stiff one, darling. You'll need it when I tell you how much I paid for the dress." And clutching the box, she disappeared down the passage that led to the master bedroom and two dressing rooms.

Amused and mildly worried, Temple glanced at Charlie in time to catch him as he cast his eyes to heaven at the unpredictability of women. Chuckling, Temple sauntered into the sitting room to pour his whisky and soda, then changed his mind and picked up the brandy. He'd probably need something stronger when Steve told him the price.

He was in the middle of pouring it when the phone rang, startling him. He jerked slightly, spilling some of the liquid over the side of the glass. Cursing softly (Steve would scold him if she heard), he set the bottle down.

"You want me to get that, Mr Temple?" Charlie's voice floated through from the kitchen.

"No, it's all right, I have it." Frowning as he checked his watch – nearly one in the morning! – Temple picked up the receiver. His first thought was that they had the wrong number, as the bleeps and clinks told him they were calling from a payphone.

"Hello?"

"Hello – is that Mr Temple?" asked a woman's voice – one he knew he had heard before.

"Speaking. Who is this?"

"It's...it's Margo."

"Margo?" Temple repeated. He had identified the voice now; he was sure it was Mrs Fletcher, the owner of the garage at Westerton.

"Mr Temple," she said urgently, but still trying to disguise her voice. "Don't let your wife open that box–"

"Which box? Do you mean the one from the dress shop?"

"Yes! Don't let her touch it, Mr Temple – whatever you do, don't let her open it!"

Temple did not wait to hear any more. He banged the receiver down and dashed for the door. As he reached the hall he was already shouting at the top of his voice.

"Steve! Don't open the box–"

He was almost at the end of the passage and was close to the door of the bedroom when he felt a blast and heard ahead of him a loud explosion. Steve's scream reached him against a background of crashing china and breaking glass.

The blast had slammed the door shut but Temple shoved it open again, desperate to get into the bedroom. Charlie was hot on his heels, and took a moment to survey the room – which was in chaos – before he spotted what his master was looking for.

"Over there!"

Temple turned his head and caught sight of pale flesh against the carpet. Rounding the bed in two strides he found his unconscious wife, half clothed, sprawled on the floor by the doorway to her dressing room. "Steve? Steve!"

Panic and anger warred inside him, and he gently moved her to check her over. There were bruises and scratches marring her creamy skin where raining debris had caught her, and there was a thin cut on her forehead. A quick glance told him it was just a light scratch and wouldn't need stitches.

"Charlie, call Sir Graham. Tell him we need an officer here, now. And get a doctor sent over too!" he ordered. Charlie was out the door before he had even finished his first sentence but he knew the manservant would do exactly what was needed. He was almost as protective of Steve Temple as her husband.

Temple turned his attention back to his wife. Running his hands over her to ensure there were no broken bones or other injuries he may have missed, he stood and fetched a robe from his dressing room, knowing hers would most likely be in pieces. Gathering her gently in his arms, he slipped in on her and covered her up, then picked her limp form up and carried her over to the bed.

"Steve? Wake up, darling, I need to know you're all right."

She didn't respond and he frowned, hoping she hadn't taken a serious hit to the head.

"Sir Graham's on his way. He's bringing two officers and a doctor with him, sir." Charlie's voice came from the doorway. Temple looked up to meet his concerned gaze. "Is she all right?"

Before he could reply, Steve stirred, and all his attention was focused on her. "Steve?"

"Paul?" her voice was weak, and her eyes fluttered open, taking a moment to focus properly. She tried to sit up, and found herself suddenly enveloped in a pair of strong, familiar arms.

"Easy, darling, you've had a shock." His voice was steadier now, and to Steve the comforting tone was calming.

"Paul, what happened?" She rested her head against his chest, closing her eyes against the pounding in her head.

"What do you remember?" he asked softly, taking the cloth Charlie offered and using it to gently clean the cut on her forehead. She winced at the cold touch.

"I – I don't know. I took the box into the dressing room, and started to change. I had just lifted the lid when I heard you shouting, and – oh, god –" she stopped suddenly, sitting up properly with a start to take in the scene before flinching and pressing her hand to her head.

"Careful, Steve, you've been hit by something." Temple reached for her to pull her back against him again, and she went willingly. From her vantage-point she could see her devastated dressing room. The box had disappeared completely, and a circle of destruction radiated outwards from the dressing table where it had sat. Charlie offered her a glass of water and she took it gratefully. "I remember it felt like someone was pushing me from behind – I started to fall...and then I don't remember anything else." She started to shiver and Temple held her tighter in concern – a sure sign she was going into shock.

It didn't take Sir Graham Forbes long to arrive; at that time in the morning there was hardly any traffic on the roads, but he had taken the extra precaution of turning the lights and sirens on. Charlie hadn't mentioned much in his phone call – just that there had been an accident and Mrs Temple was hurt – but it was enough to warrant breaking the speed limits.

Charlie answered the door and ushered them inside, but one of the officers remained outside to field questions from curious neighbours woken up by the explosion, and to reassure them everything was under control.

The first thing Sir Graham saw was the destruction in the master bedroom. The window was shattered, letting a chilly draught in, and there were chunks of wood from the doors of cupboards scattered everywhere. Steve's clothes were in tatters and strewn across the floor amidst shards of glass and remnants of china figurines.

Charlie was now hovering by the bedside table, watching his master and mistress with concerned eyes, and Temple himself was sitting on the bed with his arms protectively around his wife, his face tense. Steve was bundled in a dressing gown that looked far too large for her – most likely Temple's, he deduced – and was shivering.

The doctor immediately stepped past him and went to Steve's side, and Temple reluctantly moved away to let him tend to her. He stood by Sir Graham as the second officer took out his notebook and started recording the scene.

"Is Steve all right, Temple?" Sir Graham spoke first, studying the novelist.

"I think so. She gave me a fright when I found her lying on the floor but I think she was far enough away when the explosion occurred to gave got away with minor cuts and bruises."

Sir Graham nodded, waiting for the doctor to finish his check-up and report. He was fond of Steve Temple; having known her from the day she and Paul had met, and knew they were good team.

When the doctor stood and declared Steve was just suffering from mild shock and that her abrasions would heal quickly, Sir Graham saw Temple relax ever so slightly, and nodded. "Thank you, Doctor. Temple, why don't we take this into the sitting room? It'll be more comfortable and get away from this awful draught." He inclined his head at Temple's grateful glance; neither of them wanted Steve to stay in the bedroom any longer than necessary, as it would just distress her more. "Are you up to answering some questions, Steve?"

She nodded and gave him a small smile, accepting her husband's help to stand. "Let's get this over with, and then we can all go back to our beds."

The sky was just beginning to lighten outside when Steve and Temple finally got to bed. After reassuring Charlie they were fine and the manservant had conducted a quick sweep of the spare bedroom and declared it safe, they had dismissed him and then slid between the cool sheets.

Temple pulled Steve into his embrace, feeling the need to keep her close after her narrow escape, and she snuggled thankfully into his warm body.

"Why do you think Mrs Fletcher tried to disguise her voice when she warned you?" she asked after a moment of contemplative silence. She had heard his side of the story when he detailed everything to Sir Graham and the officer earlier, and was running it through in her mind in an effort to distract herself from the events in the bedroom.

"I don't know. Perhaps she wanted to warn me but not let on she herself was involved in this."

Steve closed her eyes and let out a breath, letting Temple's steady heartbeat lull her into sleep as the shock and adrenaline wore off.

Temple allowed himself to study his wife's face as her breathing slowed, her expression marred by a slight frown. He let his hand trail over her cheek, soothing her and reminding himself that she was safe and well. He'd had a moment of utter terror earlier when he'd seen her unmoving form on the floor, and it had reminded him of the episode a few days previous when she had been kidnapped. He couldn't imagine his life without her now – hadn't been able to after solving their first mystery together and the cheeky, intelligent blonde had wormed her way into his heart and life.

He knew that recently she'd been tiring of the mysteries sent his way by Sir Graham, especially as they seemed to be more and more dangerous each time, but hadn't said anything as she knew how much it was a part of him. This particular one had him worried, however, as this was the second time these people had targeted Steve, and if he didn't solve it soon there was no knowing what they'd do next. And next time she may not be so lucky.

She shifted against him and he stroked a hand down her silky blonde hair, breathing in her scent. She was stronger than most people he knew, not complaining about the two attempts on her life; merely moving on quietly and supporting him in his investigations. He dropped a feather-light kiss on her forehead and closed his eyes. "I'll get them, Steve, I promise. And make them pay."

"I know," she mumbled sleepily, not moving. "Now go to sleep, I can hear you thinking." His lips turned up in a small smile, and he resisted the urge to chuckle. He'd let her get some sleep otherwise she'd make him pay in the morning.

And Paul Temple fell asleep as the dawn broke, his wife in his arms and his resolve to solve the mystery strengthened.