Steeling a
Dream
Part 1: Diamonds of Steele
Part 1: Diamonds of Steele
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Steele
Holting On
Chapter 2 New
Beginnings
Summer 1978
"O’Leary, my boy, you did a superb job as usual. The insurance claim paid out beautifully. I’d like me stones back now."
Mick leaned from his chair and dropped the pretty baubles on the desk in front of him. He waited patiently. Rory Malone would have the stones reset and sold within the week, rendering them impossible to trace.
Malone handed Mick an envelope full of cash. He opened the flap and slid a quick thumb across the stack. Short. He closed the flap and slid the packet into his jacket before rising to shake the other man’s hand across the desk. This was the third time Mick had been stiffed on the deal and the last time he would take a job for Malone.
It was nearly two years before Malone discovered the stones in the little packet on his window frame were no longer a trio of matched red diamonds but pretty little rubies. Elegant and well-cut, but only rubies, nonetheless. The buyer was not happy, and Malone had no proof, only suspicions.
The next morning, Laura was a little disoriented. Someone’s toes stroked the inside of her calves. A very warm something nudged her bottom rather insistently and nimble fingers were slipping the last button of her camisole free. She smiled, stretching like a waking cat, as Remington trailed his fingers over her skin. He began laying kisses and little nips along her now-bare shoulder while his fingers entertained themselves by stroking her breasts and plucking at the peaks.
Remington felt like a kid with a box of popcorn and a new movie on the screen. He didn’t know where to look first, and he wanted to eat by the handfuls. The freckles would have to do for now. After his prolonged abstinence, followed by a veritable orgy lasting through the night and into the morning, his body was none too happy to have been deprived the prior evening--especially since there was a near-naked woman in the bed only inches away.
He had a stray thought that Daniel would find it funny to discover him having a tryst the morning after the burial. He’d better, because his son wasn’t stopping for niceties now.
Laura twitched now in time with his plucking. He slid a knee between her legs, and they parted instantly. Her hand drifted behind her to stroke his thigh, his bum and--his eyes nearly crossed at the sensation. He pulled her hand away, knowing he wouldn’t last long if he didn’t.
He realized that she was trembling at the edge already. Her skin was flushed, making the freckles stand out, and she clutched the sheets with both hands. Smiling to himself, he let his hand drift from her breast, across her flat belly and farther south where he circled once on that knot of nerves, causing her to inhale sharply and gently shake with pleasure. He continued to circle her nub, easing up only for a moment when she tensed and tried to pull his hand away. But he merely changed techniques and continued the onslaught of sensation.
*****
Laura had discovered something their first night together. Sure, she thought she knew what an orgasm was all about, but in her experience she hadn’t quite understood that the little ones were just pleasant stops on the way to the big one. It appeared that Remington not only knew the difference but had plotted out any number of ways to make the journey.
She sucked in her breath as he eased her to the edge again. She squirmed and tried to inch away from his hand but only managed to cradle him between her buttocks. Trapped between a rock hard shaft and his nimble fingers, she gave up and cried out as she came apart again.
*****
Remington grinned. It was too easy. He loved the fact that Laura was putty in his hands. He wedged his leg under hers and eased himself into her spasming cleft, making her gasp out his name as he filled her. He set up a rhythm that would take him through the rest of her orgasm, but the joke was on him as she bore down with her inner muscles, causing him to lose his concentration. Abruptly, his need for her took over, and he thrust hard. It was nearly pure instinct that had him brush his fingers over her knot one last time so that whole body convulsed in response. Unable to resist, Remington came apart with her, powerless to do anymore than say her name.
That day and the next saw the lovers enjoying their first real holiday together. They could be found in bed, eating, talking, watching the old movies of which he was so fond, taking long walks about the countryside, and generally avoiding anyone except for those brief contacts which helped to make their stay delightful. The servants of the castle were charmed into indulging their former master’s whims, even abandoning the kitchen one evening so the young lord could prepare a delectable dinner for his wife.
As Remington and Laura lingered over the sweet cream trifle, the butler appeared with a box. “My lord and lady, you’ve received a package from America. From the Remington Steele Agency, it seems.”
“From Mildred? What could it be?” wondered Laura as she rose from the table and crossed to the box the butler had left on the side table.
Remington grimaced. “Can it not wait, darling?” His voice was petulant. “The trifle will melt.”
She opened the envelope taped to the box. "Mildred writes that a London solicitor sent this box to the office and it’s addressed to you. She thought you might want to look inside in case there is any business that needs handling before we return next week." She held out the note to Remington and waited for him to round the table and take it from her.
He glanced at it before shifting his gaze back to her. “Indeed. You won’t be satisfied until we open the box, and I would rather have my way with you without your looking over your shoulder, so, mmm, have at it. Open it.”
Laura used a table knife to slit the box open, not seeing Remington’s wince. “Two-hundred-year-old silver and she uses it on cardboard. Daniel would be mortified.”
“Well, speak of the devil.” She glanced up at him. “A letter from Daniel’s solicitor. Here, you read it.” Laura reseated herself to finish her melting cream while Remington read quietly. After a moment, he handed the note back to her, jammed his hands into his pockets and paced while he waited for her reaction.
She glanced at him and dropped her eyes back to the letter. "It says Daniel executed a will two years ago naming you his son and heir. Apparently Daniel stashed quite a bit away over the years and leaves it all to you, including the villa in the South of France. I imagine you’ll like that."
“Yes, well, Daniel was always big on squirreling his nuts away for a rainy day. Harped on it a time or two.”
“Hmmm, maybe you should have listened,” she retorted, not taking her eyes off the letter.
Offended, Remington started to reply but closed his mouth firmly and settled for glaring at the back of her head. “Yes, well, perhaps.”
She kept reading. “He says that Daniel gave the box to him with the will and told him to ship it to you should anything happen to him.”
“That was nice of him. Drop it off after he’s left, and he doesn’t have to answer any questions. Typical con job. Bloody hell.” He paced angrily.
Laura rose. “Let’s take this upstairs and we can sort through it. You might find some answers.”
Remington snorted but carried the box upstairs to their suite where he dumped it on the table in front of the fire. He was more than annoyed that his evening of dinner, trifle and seduction was interrupted by a damned box that he knew Laura could no more ignore than she could forget to brush her teeth in the morning. Heading for the wardrobe, he stripped off his dinner clothes, changing into jeans and the hand-knitted ivory sweater that she had found for him the day before as they wandered through the local market.
He retrieved a bottle of cabernet from the wine safe discreetly tucked into a small bar and poured them each a glass. He handed one to Laura, then flopped on the sofa and flicked on the television, searching for something interesting before settling on The Thomas Crown Affair (Steve McQueen, Faye Dunaway, United Artists, 1968).
Laura was busy digging through the box and setting aside papers in various piles. Mostly, Remington tried to ignore her, but his curiosity spiked each time she paused a moment.
“What was Bainbridge?” she wondered.
He smiled in remembrance. “A lovely horse that had a nasty habit of winning when he was slated in last place.”
“Well, Bainbridge has a very nice account in Nice.” She shifted, changing the subject abruptly as she dropped her hand deep into the box where it would be out of sight. “Do you know what I would like to do before we leave?”
Remington eyed her and quirked a brow.
“I’d like to get married again, here. Just for us and for real. Not because of INS or any other silly reason on the planet. Just for the two of us. I want at least one place that will not question our right to be together.”
He picked his jaw up off the floor. “You ... want to be married? To me? For real? As in ‘til death do us part?’ ”
“I do. I’ve spent too long trying to keep my heart from you. It’s yours. And it’s been yours.”
After a moment of shocked silence, he reached over to stroke a lock of her hair. “Laura, as much as I would like that, I can’t do it.” He stared out the window into the deep twilight sky.
“Why?” She held her breath, hoping she knew the answer.
“I was born in this country, but I don’t belong here. I’ve used many names and had dozens of IDs, but none of them was real. To get a marriage license and to be married to you legally in all respects, here in Ireland, I’ll need something I’ve never had before, Laura, love. I need a birth certificate.” He reached over to take her hand, thinking to kiss it and comfort her.
Instead, she handed him a document with a folded letter clipped to it. “Like this one?”
Remington faltered for a moment and then took the papers from her. He stared at them for a long time before raking fingers through his coal black hair.
“Baby Boy McAfee? That’s all I get? At least Daniel’s name is on the bloody certificate. But not
mine.” Smoldering with anger, he yanked the letter out of the paperclip and shook it open. He dropped the birth record on the table near Laura.
*****
Remington stared morosely at the letter while Laura watched him in quiet concern. She saw a myriad of emotions flicker across his face as he took in Daniel’s final words. At last, he passed the letter to her and took up his glass of wine, not to drink, but as a prop to hold while he reflected in sorrow.
She read the letter, fitting Daniel’s words into the little she knew of Remington’s past. Her heart ached for the lonely little boy and again for the man who found answers he wasn’t sure he wanted. She dropped the letter on top of the birth certificate and rounded the table to sit with Remington.
For more than an hour, there were no words. Eventually, he drained his glass and tipped the wine bottle to refill it. Twice. Three times. When he reached to pour another, Laura corked the bottle and stuck it back in the wine safe. She kissed his forehead and left him staring into the fire while she dressed for bed. Upon her return, she discovered a bottle of scotch on the table. A shot glass was damp and the bottle was clearly broached.
“Well, that’s a good idea. At least in the morning, you’ll have something else to think about.” She
brought a blanket from the wardrobe and curled up next to him. She slept as he continued to drink.
The sound of something abruptly shattering woke her; she bolted straight up, looking about to locate the source of the noise. Remington stalked about the room, having thrown his shot glass into the dying flames of the fire. He was muttering to himself.
“Who in t’ bloody ‘ell does he t’ink ‘e is, writin’ a letter like t’at? Am I supposed t’ jes take it? ‘A’s all right, mate--just wee tiff ‘atween us an’ ‘tis right as rain.” The Irish accent of his youth mixed in with the street language of London blossomed in his ire, “Weel bugger me arse and the liedy next door. Fuckin’ bloody bastard. No tha’s no’ Daniel, tha’s me.”
Astonished at the cant language, Laura realized just how much he had put aside in his transformation to an elegant English gentleman.
Still pacing, he muttered on, “A ’bit o’ the tiddle and leave t’ liedy high an’ dry an’ bear t’ wee lad no’ne weel claim.” Remington snatched up the bottle and drank a healthy gulp.
She eyed it, trying to judge what was left and how long she had been sleeping. “That’s enough, love. Any more and you’ll be poisoned.” Gently, she pried the bottle out of his clutches and set it aside, then pushed him down on the sofa and took his lovely face in her hands. Damp velvet blue eyes startled her, but she kissed him lightly. “I want you. I want you and I’ve already given you a name. Will you keep it? Will you keep it and me?”
“Aye, me love. I weel.” Remington ran a free hand through her hair, then closed his eyes and slept. Laura watched over him while the fire burned low.
*****
Remington rolled over in bed only to discover it was a short hard distance to the floor. Cursing at it and the blanket he was tangled in, he kicked until he finally came free. He squinted to find the source of the snickering coming from somewhere up on the sofa, but slammed his eyes shut when the tiniest ray of morning sun smacked him upside the head and set it to throbbing. Scrunching his eyes closed, he sat up to discover that the room spun in a slow counter-clockwise motion, sluggishly enough that he wasn’t sure which way to tilt.
His head split wide open when Laura handed him a glass of water and aspirin, murmuring, “Drink up, love.” Each word stabbed into his brain as if she had shouted from a mountain top. He drank, forcing the water down his cottony, parched throat and gulped the aspirin.
“Just two?” he croaked. She tipped two more into his hand, and he carefully washed them down. His demented wife refilled his water glass and insisted he drink. Again. And again. Who is this bloody shrew that I’ve wed? Twenty minutes later he had to pee and staggered to his feet, listing decidedly to starboard. Once in the bathroom, a shower seemed a good idea. He lurched into the warm spray and stayed there a while.
*****
Laura, in the meantime, chuckled as she cleaned up the remnants of the evening. In their years of partnership, she had only seen Remington drunk once and it paled in comparison to the depths he reached last night. Since he couldn’t say the same of her, it was nice the scales were more evenly balanced, though she wished the occasion hadn’t been so heartbreaking for him.
She sobered when she spied the offending sheets of paper on the table. Gathering them up, she pinned them back together, placing them in the box along with the file Daniel had mentioned. While Remington slept, she had poured over the documents in the box, hunting for clues to his past. Unfortunately, the file stood as a sad testament to a broken system that allowed a bright young boy to be abandoned by the people who were to save him. Not sure if Remington really needed to see it, she buried it in the box underneath the legal records of Daniel’s holdings.
Suddenly a thought popped into her head. Digging back through the box, she retrieved the file, letter and certificate before picking up the telephone to make a call.
*****
Turning the shower off, Remington discovered that his head had begun to shrink to more normal proportions. His hair quit hurting, and the morning light ceased to be a curse to all mankind. After he dressed, it was his turn to be pleasantly greeted with a light breakfast set upon the same table where all manner of ill things had come about the night before.
It occurred to him that the events of last night served to deprive him of his lovely Laura’s lithe form, and the planned seduction of the evening had gone awry. “Good morning, Laura.”
She smiled sweetly. “Feeling better, Mr. Steele?”
Remington did not like the slightly smug look she wore. “Indeed. My apologies, Miss Holt.” He reverted to his most formal manner with her, feeling quite embarrassed. He sat on one of the chairs near the table, avoiding the sofa of the damned. Looking around, he noticed something missing. “Where’s the box?”
“I put it away for now.” She stroked his cheek. “We’ll talk of it later. For now, let’s eat.” She kissed him on the forehead and sat in the chair beside him. Her stifled smile of sober women everywhere on bright mornings, irritated him--though she did her best to keep the conversation soft and friendly.
He suspected she was needling him with her cheerful questions and comments, smirking when he only grunted quiet responses that wouldn't set his head to throbbing again.
"All right, Lord Surly." She frowned at him. "I'm going to shower and change."
By the time she rejoined him, his disposition had improved significantly.
“You look lovely today.” Remington smiled appreciatively at the soft heather sweater and navy slacks Laura wore.
“You’re looking better.”
“Hmm, I’m thinking I feel that way too.” He crossed the room to her and wrapped his arms around her. “Thank you for last night, love.” He captured her mouth and plundered for a moment before burying his face in her hair.
Leaning back in his arms, Laura asked, “Want to make it up to me?”
“Absolutely.” Remington’s hands shifted under her sweater.
With practiced grace, Laura ducked out of his hold and gathered her purse. “Great. Let’s go.” She waited at the door while Remington reluctantly selected a sport coat and shrugged it on.
“Where are we going?
“You’ll see. Bring your passport.”
“My passport? Are we going somewhere? Should I pack? Wait, Laura!” He hurried to catch her.
*****
Despite his not-so-suble interrogation, Laura refused to enlighten Remington as to their destination. Instead, she commented on the lovely Irish countryside and peppered him with dozens of questions about local customs and history. Before long, he feigned sleep hoping she would shut up, but the joke was on him as he fell into a light doze in the passenger seat of the rented Audi. Forty-five minutes later, she parked the car in front of a nondescript building in Castlebar with a little sign out front, Civil Registration Office.
“Remington,” she shook him awake. “We’re here.” Sleepy blue eyes opened. Laura had the idle
thought that he looked like a fallen angel just waking in the new world.
“Hmm? Ah, yes, so we are. Where are we?” He straightened and unhooked his seat belt.
“About to have a very interesting conversation.” She leaned over to pull the file folder out from under her seat.
Remington spied the little sign in the window. “Ah, no, Laura. Is this necessary? No need to get the authorities involved here.”
“Yes. I think it is.” She slid out of the car and shut the door.
“Darling, why don’t we have tea across the way, or better yet, we’ll lift a pint in the pub there,” he
cajoled her.
“What are you afraid of?” Laura scoffed.
Remington cleared his throat. “Oh, well, you know.” He shrugged a shoulder. “A dozen identities, bit of trouble with the authorities, ah, no need to tip them off, eh?”
“I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised,” Laura assured him.
“Ahem, well, it was nice knowing you,” he retorted, scratching his nose and then shutting his door as well.
“Come on, we have an appointment with a Margaret Walsh in ten minutes.” She linked her arm through his and they walked inside.
*****
Battle-hardened County Registrar Margaret Walsh eyed the couple with suspicion. In the twenty years of her work, she had seen the bribes, the threats, the begging and the charming. But the brief phone call Miss Holt had made earlier that day intrigued her, not that she would let that fact show in her expression. In her mundane line of work, it was rare to see the unusual case. Mostly, she saw those trying to get around the very law she was to enforce. As the couple sat at the conference table across from her, she patted her shiny, curled hair and straightened the lapel of her no-nonsense suit jacket before settling down to work. She returned Mr. Steele’s charming grin with a glare of her own.
*****
Laura considered herself a fairly decent interrogator. As a detective, the ability to ask the right questions often made the difference between solving a case and going home empty-handed. She also considered Remington an expert at avoiding even the most direct question. Case in point was the ridiculously small amount of his past that she really understood.
Ms. Walsh made her look like an amateur and him a songbird.
Under her scrutiny, Remington slowly spilled out the story of his childhood years, some of which Laura knew, but there was much more that enlightened and saddened her. He spoke of living with this family and that, each one changing his name as it suited them. He talked of neglect and abuse, culminating in running away and hiding out on a cargo ship headed for London. The three years he survived on the streets of the old city horrified Laura. Thank God Daniel found him. He heavily edited the years between fourteen and thirty but revealed some of Daniel’s lighter exploits and presented himself as a willing accomplice. Finally, with much trepidation, he laid out the past four years with Laura and how he had become Remington Steele.
Laura could see that Ms. Walsh was well aware there was much he wasn’t telling her, but she only noted it with the occasional snort.
*****
Ms. Walsh watched the man’s body language throughout the interview. He walked in holding Miss
Holt’s arm, told his story with his hands clasped in front of him and then confessed the part about Laura while holding her hand. It was obvious he was in love with her and, more than that, she was a lifeline to him. It was clear that the love was not one-sided. The registrar had noted Miss Holt was taking in every aspect of the interview, but remaining absolutely focused on every word and nuance of his story. Subtle changes in her eyes reflected his distress and triumphs throughout the retelling. Love shone in her face to anyone paying attention.
When the man finished speaking, the pair was quiet and discrete as they held hands under the table. Ms. Walsh took her time examining the orphanage file, Daniel’s letter and the passport. The latter was the hardest to explain.
Laura haltingly confessed to finding a creative way of obtaining a passport for Remington in order to rescue him from London and bring him home. Silently, the couple reflected on the trip that became the turning point that opened the door to their current relationship. He had thought he needed proof of his past and his name to demonstrate his love to her. She, in turn, flew six thousand miles to bring him home despite his having neither one.
Ms. Walsh looked the identification over carefully and decided it was not in her authority to determine if it had been issued by legal means. It appeared in all manners to be perfectly valid and that suited her--although she did advise them to see that the birth date be corrected. As it was apparent that the man before her had been using the name Remington Steele for quite some time, she found it within her authority to accept the passport as proof of identity and to issue a modified birth certificate.
“How do you want your name listed?” Ms. Walsh asked. The couple held a short, whispered conversation. Laura made a suggestion. Remington decided he could live nicely with it and told the registrar.
*****
Laura smiled triumphantly as they exited the building. A dazed Remington raked his hand through his hair repeatedly. Each time he started to speak, words failed him and he lapsed into silence.
In the end, it seemed quite simple. Ms. Walsh examined the file. She studied the birth certificate. The woman scrutinized the letter from Daniel and Remington’s passport. In the end, with a “Hmmph” and much muttering under her breath about others' shirking their sworn duties, she issued a new, modified birth certificate with the name Remington Daniel Harrison Steele. As a crowning touch, she allowed the couple to post a marriage notification, and they left the office with a Marriage Registration Form.
“Five days, Laura. In five days, we’ll be legally married in the country of my birth.” Remington leaned against the car and took her hands. “I have a name. I have a name they can’t take away from me. My God, Laura,” he pressed his forehead to hers, “in a thousand years, I can never repay you or thank you enough.”
*****
Five days later, Registrar Margaret Walsh married Laura Holt and Remington Steele in a quiet civil ceremony witnessed by two dry-eyed clerks. Wearing a simple ivory dress embellished with Irish lace at the hem and wrist, Laura gazed into Remington’s handsome face. He, too, had turned himself out for the occasion, dressing in a superfine waistcoat of black with an ivory cravat. He spent quite some time attempting to perfect it before the castle valet brushed him aside and finished the elaborate tie.
Ms. Walsh admonished them to respect one another, love one another and try to remember that the strong natures that each of them exhibited would be either the delight or the downfall of their marriage. She hoped it would be the delight.
After Laura promised to be loving, loyal, and faithful, Remington did the same. He brought her hands to his lips and brushed a kiss along the knuckles, adding these words in a soft Irish lilt:
He finished by whispering, “I love you, Laura.”
Laura’s face radiated joy and she whispered back, “I love you, Remington Daniel Harrison Steele. And I’ll be proud to wear your name forever.”
Ms. Walsh grew just a bit teary-eyed at that last exchange but blinked several times and asked the couple to exchange rings.
Remington pulled a ring box out of his jacket pocket and removed a platinum wedding band of alternating red and white stones set in a single channel. This he slipped onto Laura’s finger as the registrar reminded them of the ring’s eternal circle representing continued fidelity and love. He handed a second box to her where she fished out a man’s gold and platinum band with a trio of the same red and white stones. She slid the ring onto Remington’s third finger with a question in her eyes, but he ignored it as the registrar pronounced them husband and wife. He deliciously kissed his bride. She returned that kiss with much enthusiasm.
*****
And in the most silent pocket of Remington’s mind, a tiny seed was planted that, perhaps someday, he could have the family he wanted.
Chapter 3 -- Old Business
Summer 1978
"O’Leary, my boy, you did a superb job as usual. The insurance claim paid out beautifully. I’d like me stones back now."
Mick leaned from his chair and dropped the pretty baubles on the desk in front of him. He waited patiently. Rory Malone would have the stones reset and sold within the week, rendering them impossible to trace.
Malone handed Mick an envelope full of cash. He opened the flap and slid a quick thumb across the stack. Short. He closed the flap and slid the packet into his jacket before rising to shake the other man’s hand across the desk. This was the third time Mick had been stiffed on the deal and the last time he would take a job for Malone.
It was nearly two years before Malone discovered the stones in the little packet on his window frame were no longer a trio of matched red diamonds but pretty little rubies. Elegant and well-cut, but only rubies, nonetheless. The buyer was not happy, and Malone had no proof, only suspicions.
The next morning, Laura was a little disoriented. Someone’s toes stroked the inside of her calves. A very warm something nudged her bottom rather insistently and nimble fingers were slipping the last button of her camisole free. She smiled, stretching like a waking cat, as Remington trailed his fingers over her skin. He began laying kisses and little nips along her now-bare shoulder while his fingers entertained themselves by stroking her breasts and plucking at the peaks.
Remington felt like a kid with a box of popcorn and a new movie on the screen. He didn’t know where to look first, and he wanted to eat by the handfuls. The freckles would have to do for now. After his prolonged abstinence, followed by a veritable orgy lasting through the night and into the morning, his body was none too happy to have been deprived the prior evening--especially since there was a near-naked woman in the bed only inches away.
He had a stray thought that Daniel would find it funny to discover him having a tryst the morning after the burial. He’d better, because his son wasn’t stopping for niceties now.
Laura twitched now in time with his plucking. He slid a knee between her legs, and they parted instantly. Her hand drifted behind her to stroke his thigh, his bum and--his eyes nearly crossed at the sensation. He pulled her hand away, knowing he wouldn’t last long if he didn’t.
He realized that she was trembling at the edge already. Her skin was flushed, making the freckles stand out, and she clutched the sheets with both hands. Smiling to himself, he let his hand drift from her breast, across her flat belly and farther south where he circled once on that knot of nerves, causing her to inhale sharply and gently shake with pleasure. He continued to circle her nub, easing up only for a moment when she tensed and tried to pull his hand away. But he merely changed techniques and continued the onslaught of sensation.
*****
Laura had discovered something their first night together. Sure, she thought she knew what an orgasm was all about, but in her experience she hadn’t quite understood that the little ones were just pleasant stops on the way to the big one. It appeared that Remington not only knew the difference but had plotted out any number of ways to make the journey.
She sucked in her breath as he eased her to the edge again. She squirmed and tried to inch away from his hand but only managed to cradle him between her buttocks. Trapped between a rock hard shaft and his nimble fingers, she gave up and cried out as she came apart again.
*****
Remington grinned. It was too easy. He loved the fact that Laura was putty in his hands. He wedged his leg under hers and eased himself into her spasming cleft, making her gasp out his name as he filled her. He set up a rhythm that would take him through the rest of her orgasm, but the joke was on him as she bore down with her inner muscles, causing him to lose his concentration. Abruptly, his need for her took over, and he thrust hard. It was nearly pure instinct that had him brush his fingers over her knot one last time so that whole body convulsed in response. Unable to resist, Remington came apart with her, powerless to do anymore than say her name.
That day and the next saw the lovers enjoying their first real holiday together. They could be found in bed, eating, talking, watching the old movies of which he was so fond, taking long walks about the countryside, and generally avoiding anyone except for those brief contacts which helped to make their stay delightful. The servants of the castle were charmed into indulging their former master’s whims, even abandoning the kitchen one evening so the young lord could prepare a delectable dinner for his wife.
As Remington and Laura lingered over the sweet cream trifle, the butler appeared with a box. “My lord and lady, you’ve received a package from America. From the Remington Steele Agency, it seems.”
“From Mildred? What could it be?” wondered Laura as she rose from the table and crossed to the box the butler had left on the side table.
Remington grimaced. “Can it not wait, darling?” His voice was petulant. “The trifle will melt.”
She opened the envelope taped to the box. "Mildred writes that a London solicitor sent this box to the office and it’s addressed to you. She thought you might want to look inside in case there is any business that needs handling before we return next week." She held out the note to Remington and waited for him to round the table and take it from her.
He glanced at it before shifting his gaze back to her. “Indeed. You won’t be satisfied until we open the box, and I would rather have my way with you without your looking over your shoulder, so, mmm, have at it. Open it.”
Laura used a table knife to slit the box open, not seeing Remington’s wince. “Two-hundred-year-old silver and she uses it on cardboard. Daniel would be mortified.”
“Well, speak of the devil.” She glanced up at him. “A letter from Daniel’s solicitor. Here, you read it.” Laura reseated herself to finish her melting cream while Remington read quietly. After a moment, he handed the note back to her, jammed his hands into his pockets and paced while he waited for her reaction.
She glanced at him and dropped her eyes back to the letter. "It says Daniel executed a will two years ago naming you his son and heir. Apparently Daniel stashed quite a bit away over the years and leaves it all to you, including the villa in the South of France. I imagine you’ll like that."
“Yes, well, Daniel was always big on squirreling his nuts away for a rainy day. Harped on it a time or two.”
“Hmmm, maybe you should have listened,” she retorted, not taking her eyes off the letter.
Offended, Remington started to reply but closed his mouth firmly and settled for glaring at the back of her head. “Yes, well, perhaps.”
She kept reading. “He says that Daniel gave the box to him with the will and told him to ship it to you should anything happen to him.”
“That was nice of him. Drop it off after he’s left, and he doesn’t have to answer any questions. Typical con job. Bloody hell.” He paced angrily.
Laura rose. “Let’s take this upstairs and we can sort through it. You might find some answers.”
Remington snorted but carried the box upstairs to their suite where he dumped it on the table in front of the fire. He was more than annoyed that his evening of dinner, trifle and seduction was interrupted by a damned box that he knew Laura could no more ignore than she could forget to brush her teeth in the morning. Heading for the wardrobe, he stripped off his dinner clothes, changing into jeans and the hand-knitted ivory sweater that she had found for him the day before as they wandered through the local market.
He retrieved a bottle of cabernet from the wine safe discreetly tucked into a small bar and poured them each a glass. He handed one to Laura, then flopped on the sofa and flicked on the television, searching for something interesting before settling on The Thomas Crown Affair (Steve McQueen, Faye Dunaway, United Artists, 1968).
Laura was busy digging through the box and setting aside papers in various piles. Mostly, Remington tried to ignore her, but his curiosity spiked each time she paused a moment.
“What was Bainbridge?” she wondered.
He smiled in remembrance. “A lovely horse that had a nasty habit of winning when he was slated in last place.”
“Well, Bainbridge has a very nice account in Nice.” She shifted, changing the subject abruptly as she dropped her hand deep into the box where it would be out of sight. “Do you know what I would like to do before we leave?”
Remington eyed her and quirked a brow.
“I’d like to get married again, here. Just for us and for real. Not because of INS or any other silly reason on the planet. Just for the two of us. I want at least one place that will not question our right to be together.”
He picked his jaw up off the floor. “You ... want to be married? To me? For real? As in ‘til death do us part?’ ”
“I do. I’ve spent too long trying to keep my heart from you. It’s yours. And it’s been yours.”
After a moment of shocked silence, he reached over to stroke a lock of her hair. “Laura, as much as I would like that, I can’t do it.” He stared out the window into the deep twilight sky.
“Why?” She held her breath, hoping she knew the answer.
“I was born in this country, but I don’t belong here. I’ve used many names and had dozens of IDs, but none of them was real. To get a marriage license and to be married to you legally in all respects, here in Ireland, I’ll need something I’ve never had before, Laura, love. I need a birth certificate.” He reached over to take her hand, thinking to kiss it and comfort her.
Instead, she handed him a document with a folded letter clipped to it. “Like this one?”
Remington faltered for a moment and then took the papers from her. He stared at them for a long time before raking fingers through his coal black hair.
“Baby Boy McAfee? That’s all I get? At least Daniel’s name is on the bloody certificate. But not
mine.” Smoldering with anger, he yanked the letter out of the paperclip and shook it open. He dropped the birth record on the table near Laura.
-
Harry,
Call me a coward, and you will, but I’ve answers for you you’ll have been wanting. I’ve meant to tell you for some time about your parents. For these many years, I’ve known you were looking for family. I’ve had the answers and found more, but I’ve not had the courage to pass them to you while I was alive. Your anger at your situation was well-justified, and I feared losing what relationship we had. But that time is passed, and there are things you should know.
When I was younger, I fell for a pretty, black-haired Irish barmaid at Gallagher’s Pub in Dublin. Her name was Mary Claire McAfee. Her blue eyes twinkled at me and I fell like a rock for her charms. For many months, we courted and loved, and she enchanted me. With her charming smile she was a fine barmaid and cheery about the world, never worrying about the morrow.
In that and in your looks, you are much like her. I can tell you she was an only child, and her parents had died but a year or two before I met her. She lived with a girlfriend in a little flat on the outskirts of the city. We laughed much and loved frequently, and if any lady were to hold my fancy, it was she. But I was a con man at heart and thought to run a big one. I was caught and spent a number of years in the clink. I never heard from her again.
A pair of months before I left the lockup, I ran into an old fellow I had known in Mary’s days, and he made light of the fact that Miss McAfee expected a wee one about the time I was detained. Once I was out, it took me quite a bit of time to trace down her old roommate and discover that Mary had become ill in the final days of her confinement. She bore you and passed from this world in the same day. I don’t know where she is buried despite my best efforts to locate her. The roommate told me that you were given to an orphanage.
It took me another pair of years to discover the orphanage that took you in. I took your file from where the records were stored and discovered that you had been an ill child, perhaps stemming from Mary, perhaps not. In the early days, it was not known if you would survive. But you’ve always been a scrapper at heart.
The orphanage found that Mary Claire had a great aunt, and she was quite willing to keep you. But before you were four, she too, became ill and passed on. From there you were passed from cousin to cousin. Unfortunately, you may remember, some were less than charitable, and after any number of incidents as you grew older, the orphanage took you back to find a new family for you. As time goes, you’ll know the story better than I. The orphanage had its own troubles and closed down shortly after the Darveys took you in. I tracked you to them but discovered you had run away the previous summer and you were lost to me. Given the kind of people they were, I can only imagine the injustices you bore then and before. Your file is in the box to do with what you will.
I spent quite some time in Dublin looking for you on the streets, but never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that you would find me in London by picking my own pocket. When I looked into your eyes, I saw Mary and knew that I had found you at last. Thank God you took to me. The years we’ve had together have been the finest of my life, and I haven’t regretted a moment. I’m quite proud of you. Enjoy the legacy I’m leaving you. You’ve earned it.
One last thing: I did not have the honor of giving you a name. If I had, you would have been named for my father and for me, Daniel Harrison Chalmers. “Harry” was not by accident, and you never seemed to mind the appellation. But I understand that someone you love has given you a name that you’ve chosen to wear. As long as you hold it, honor it and the one who gave it to you.
Daniel
*****
Remington stared morosely at the letter while Laura watched him in quiet concern. She saw a myriad of emotions flicker across his face as he took in Daniel’s final words. At last, he passed the letter to her and took up his glass of wine, not to drink, but as a prop to hold while he reflected in sorrow.
She read the letter, fitting Daniel’s words into the little she knew of Remington’s past. Her heart ached for the lonely little boy and again for the man who found answers he wasn’t sure he wanted. She dropped the letter on top of the birth certificate and rounded the table to sit with Remington.
For more than an hour, there were no words. Eventually, he drained his glass and tipped the wine bottle to refill it. Twice. Three times. When he reached to pour another, Laura corked the bottle and stuck it back in the wine safe. She kissed his forehead and left him staring into the fire while she dressed for bed. Upon her return, she discovered a bottle of scotch on the table. A shot glass was damp and the bottle was clearly broached.
“Well, that’s a good idea. At least in the morning, you’ll have something else to think about.” She
brought a blanket from the wardrobe and curled up next to him. She slept as he continued to drink.
The sound of something abruptly shattering woke her; she bolted straight up, looking about to locate the source of the noise. Remington stalked about the room, having thrown his shot glass into the dying flames of the fire. He was muttering to himself.
“Who in t’ bloody ‘ell does he t’ink ‘e is, writin’ a letter like t’at? Am I supposed t’ jes take it? ‘A’s all right, mate--just wee tiff ‘atween us an’ ‘tis right as rain.” The Irish accent of his youth mixed in with the street language of London blossomed in his ire, “Weel bugger me arse and the liedy next door. Fuckin’ bloody bastard. No tha’s no’ Daniel, tha’s me.”
Astonished at the cant language, Laura realized just how much he had put aside in his transformation to an elegant English gentleman.
Still pacing, he muttered on, “A ’bit o’ the tiddle and leave t’ liedy high an’ dry an’ bear t’ wee lad no’ne weel claim.” Remington snatched up the bottle and drank a healthy gulp.
She eyed it, trying to judge what was left and how long she had been sleeping. “That’s enough, love. Any more and you’ll be poisoned.” Gently, she pried the bottle out of his clutches and set it aside, then pushed him down on the sofa and took his lovely face in her hands. Damp velvet blue eyes startled her, but she kissed him lightly. “I want you. I want you and I’ve already given you a name. Will you keep it? Will you keep it and me?”
“Aye, me love. I weel.” Remington ran a free hand through her hair, then closed his eyes and slept. Laura watched over him while the fire burned low.
*****
Remington rolled over in bed only to discover it was a short hard distance to the floor. Cursing at it and the blanket he was tangled in, he kicked until he finally came free. He squinted to find the source of the snickering coming from somewhere up on the sofa, but slammed his eyes shut when the tiniest ray of morning sun smacked him upside the head and set it to throbbing. Scrunching his eyes closed, he sat up to discover that the room spun in a slow counter-clockwise motion, sluggishly enough that he wasn’t sure which way to tilt.
His head split wide open when Laura handed him a glass of water and aspirin, murmuring, “Drink up, love.” Each word stabbed into his brain as if she had shouted from a mountain top. He drank, forcing the water down his cottony, parched throat and gulped the aspirin.
“Just two?” he croaked. She tipped two more into his hand, and he carefully washed them down. His demented wife refilled his water glass and insisted he drink. Again. And again. Who is this bloody shrew that I’ve wed? Twenty minutes later he had to pee and staggered to his feet, listing decidedly to starboard. Once in the bathroom, a shower seemed a good idea. He lurched into the warm spray and stayed there a while.
*****
Laura, in the meantime, chuckled as she cleaned up the remnants of the evening. In their years of partnership, she had only seen Remington drunk once and it paled in comparison to the depths he reached last night. Since he couldn’t say the same of her, it was nice the scales were more evenly balanced, though she wished the occasion hadn’t been so heartbreaking for him.
She sobered when she spied the offending sheets of paper on the table. Gathering them up, she pinned them back together, placing them in the box along with the file Daniel had mentioned. While Remington slept, she had poured over the documents in the box, hunting for clues to his past. Unfortunately, the file stood as a sad testament to a broken system that allowed a bright young boy to be abandoned by the people who were to save him. Not sure if Remington really needed to see it, she buried it in the box underneath the legal records of Daniel’s holdings.
Suddenly a thought popped into her head. Digging back through the box, she retrieved the file, letter and certificate before picking up the telephone to make a call.
*****
Turning the shower off, Remington discovered that his head had begun to shrink to more normal proportions. His hair quit hurting, and the morning light ceased to be a curse to all mankind. After he dressed, it was his turn to be pleasantly greeted with a light breakfast set upon the same table where all manner of ill things had come about the night before.
It occurred to him that the events of last night served to deprive him of his lovely Laura’s lithe form, and the planned seduction of the evening had gone awry. “Good morning, Laura.”
She smiled sweetly. “Feeling better, Mr. Steele?”
Remington did not like the slightly smug look she wore. “Indeed. My apologies, Miss Holt.” He reverted to his most formal manner with her, feeling quite embarrassed. He sat on one of the chairs near the table, avoiding the sofa of the damned. Looking around, he noticed something missing. “Where’s the box?”
“I put it away for now.” She stroked his cheek. “We’ll talk of it later. For now, let’s eat.” She kissed him on the forehead and sat in the chair beside him. Her stifled smile of sober women everywhere on bright mornings, irritated him--though she did her best to keep the conversation soft and friendly.
He suspected she was needling him with her cheerful questions and comments, smirking when he only grunted quiet responses that wouldn't set his head to throbbing again.
"All right, Lord Surly." She frowned at him. "I'm going to shower and change."
By the time she rejoined him, his disposition had improved significantly.
“You look lovely today.” Remington smiled appreciatively at the soft heather sweater and navy slacks Laura wore.
“You’re looking better.”
“Hmm, I’m thinking I feel that way too.” He crossed the room to her and wrapped his arms around her. “Thank you for last night, love.” He captured her mouth and plundered for a moment before burying his face in her hair.
Leaning back in his arms, Laura asked, “Want to make it up to me?”
“Absolutely.” Remington’s hands shifted under her sweater.
With practiced grace, Laura ducked out of his hold and gathered her purse. “Great. Let’s go.” She waited at the door while Remington reluctantly selected a sport coat and shrugged it on.
“Where are we going?
“You’ll see. Bring your passport.”
“My passport? Are we going somewhere? Should I pack? Wait, Laura!” He hurried to catch her.
*****
Despite his not-so-suble interrogation, Laura refused to enlighten Remington as to their destination. Instead, she commented on the lovely Irish countryside and peppered him with dozens of questions about local customs and history. Before long, he feigned sleep hoping she would shut up, but the joke was on him as he fell into a light doze in the passenger seat of the rented Audi. Forty-five minutes later, she parked the car in front of a nondescript building in Castlebar with a little sign out front, Civil Registration Office.
“Remington,” she shook him awake. “We’re here.” Sleepy blue eyes opened. Laura had the idle
thought that he looked like a fallen angel just waking in the new world.
“Hmm? Ah, yes, so we are. Where are we?” He straightened and unhooked his seat belt.
“About to have a very interesting conversation.” She leaned over to pull the file folder out from under her seat.
Remington spied the little sign in the window. “Ah, no, Laura. Is this necessary? No need to get the authorities involved here.”
“Yes. I think it is.” She slid out of the car and shut the door.
“Darling, why don’t we have tea across the way, or better yet, we’ll lift a pint in the pub there,” he
cajoled her.
“What are you afraid of?” Laura scoffed.
Remington cleared his throat. “Oh, well, you know.” He shrugged a shoulder. “A dozen identities, bit of trouble with the authorities, ah, no need to tip them off, eh?”
“I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised,” Laura assured him.
“Ahem, well, it was nice knowing you,” he retorted, scratching his nose and then shutting his door as well.
“Come on, we have an appointment with a Margaret Walsh in ten minutes.” She linked her arm through his and they walked inside.
*****
Battle-hardened County Registrar Margaret Walsh eyed the couple with suspicion. In the twenty years of her work, she had seen the bribes, the threats, the begging and the charming. But the brief phone call Miss Holt had made earlier that day intrigued her, not that she would let that fact show in her expression. In her mundane line of work, it was rare to see the unusual case. Mostly, she saw those trying to get around the very law she was to enforce. As the couple sat at the conference table across from her, she patted her shiny, curled hair and straightened the lapel of her no-nonsense suit jacket before settling down to work. She returned Mr. Steele’s charming grin with a glare of her own.
*****
Laura considered herself a fairly decent interrogator. As a detective, the ability to ask the right questions often made the difference between solving a case and going home empty-handed. She also considered Remington an expert at avoiding even the most direct question. Case in point was the ridiculously small amount of his past that she really understood.
Ms. Walsh made her look like an amateur and him a songbird.
Under her scrutiny, Remington slowly spilled out the story of his childhood years, some of which Laura knew, but there was much more that enlightened and saddened her. He spoke of living with this family and that, each one changing his name as it suited them. He talked of neglect and abuse, culminating in running away and hiding out on a cargo ship headed for London. The three years he survived on the streets of the old city horrified Laura. Thank God Daniel found him. He heavily edited the years between fourteen and thirty but revealed some of Daniel’s lighter exploits and presented himself as a willing accomplice. Finally, with much trepidation, he laid out the past four years with Laura and how he had become Remington Steele.
Laura could see that Ms. Walsh was well aware there was much he wasn’t telling her, but she only noted it with the occasional snort.
*****
Ms. Walsh watched the man’s body language throughout the interview. He walked in holding Miss
Holt’s arm, told his story with his hands clasped in front of him and then confessed the part about Laura while holding her hand. It was obvious he was in love with her and, more than that, she was a lifeline to him. It was clear that the love was not one-sided. The registrar had noted Miss Holt was taking in every aspect of the interview, but remaining absolutely focused on every word and nuance of his story. Subtle changes in her eyes reflected his distress and triumphs throughout the retelling. Love shone in her face to anyone paying attention.
When the man finished speaking, the pair was quiet and discrete as they held hands under the table. Ms. Walsh took her time examining the orphanage file, Daniel’s letter and the passport. The latter was the hardest to explain.
Laura haltingly confessed to finding a creative way of obtaining a passport for Remington in order to rescue him from London and bring him home. Silently, the couple reflected on the trip that became the turning point that opened the door to their current relationship. He had thought he needed proof of his past and his name to demonstrate his love to her. She, in turn, flew six thousand miles to bring him home despite his having neither one.
Ms. Walsh looked the identification over carefully and decided it was not in her authority to determine if it had been issued by legal means. It appeared in all manners to be perfectly valid and that suited her--although she did advise them to see that the birth date be corrected. As it was apparent that the man before her had been using the name Remington Steele for quite some time, she found it within her authority to accept the passport as proof of identity and to issue a modified birth certificate.
“How do you want your name listed?” Ms. Walsh asked. The couple held a short, whispered conversation. Laura made a suggestion. Remington decided he could live nicely with it and told the registrar.
*****
Laura smiled triumphantly as they exited the building. A dazed Remington raked his hand through his hair repeatedly. Each time he started to speak, words failed him and he lapsed into silence.
In the end, it seemed quite simple. Ms. Walsh examined the file. She studied the birth certificate. The woman scrutinized the letter from Daniel and Remington’s passport. In the end, with a “Hmmph” and much muttering under her breath about others' shirking their sworn duties, she issued a new, modified birth certificate with the name Remington Daniel Harrison Steele. As a crowning touch, she allowed the couple to post a marriage notification, and they left the office with a Marriage Registration Form.
“Five days, Laura. In five days, we’ll be legally married in the country of my birth.” Remington leaned against the car and took her hands. “I have a name. I have a name they can’t take away from me. My God, Laura,” he pressed his forehead to hers, “in a thousand years, I can never repay you or thank you enough.”
*****
Five days later, Registrar Margaret Walsh married Laura Holt and Remington Steele in a quiet civil ceremony witnessed by two dry-eyed clerks. Wearing a simple ivory dress embellished with Irish lace at the hem and wrist, Laura gazed into Remington’s handsome face. He, too, had turned himself out for the occasion, dressing in a superfine waistcoat of black with an ivory cravat. He spent quite some time attempting to perfect it before the castle valet brushed him aside and finished the elaborate tie.
Ms. Walsh admonished them to respect one another, love one another and try to remember that the strong natures that each of them exhibited would be either the delight or the downfall of their marriage. She hoped it would be the delight.
After Laura promised to be loving, loyal, and faithful, Remington did the same. He brought her hands to his lips and brushed a kiss along the knuckles, adding these words in a soft Irish lilt:
-
By the power that Christ
brought from heaven, mayst thou love me.
As the sun follows its course, mayst thou follow me.
As light to the eye, as bread to the hungry, as joy to the heart,
May thy presence be with me, Oh, one that I love, 'til death comes to part us asunder."
He finished by whispering, “I love you, Laura.”
Laura’s face radiated joy and she whispered back, “I love you, Remington Daniel Harrison Steele. And I’ll be proud to wear your name forever.”
Ms. Walsh grew just a bit teary-eyed at that last exchange but blinked several times and asked the couple to exchange rings.
Remington pulled a ring box out of his jacket pocket and removed a platinum wedding band of alternating red and white stones set in a single channel. This he slipped onto Laura’s finger as the registrar reminded them of the ring’s eternal circle representing continued fidelity and love. He handed a second box to her where she fished out a man’s gold and platinum band with a trio of the same red and white stones. She slid the ring onto Remington’s third finger with a question in her eyes, but he ignored it as the registrar pronounced them husband and wife. He deliciously kissed his bride. She returned that kiss with much enthusiasm.
*****
And in the most silent pocket of Remington’s mind, a tiny seed was planted that, perhaps someday, he could have the family he wanted.
Chapter 3 -- Old Business