Steeling a Dream:
Part 3: House of Steele (R)
Part 3: House of Steele (R)
Steeling a Dream:
Part 3: House of Steele
Part 3: House of Steele
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
Steele Holting On
Chapter Eight: Names
Tuesday, 21 September 1988 -- 26 weeks, 6 days
A month later and still in the throes of adapting to school life, the Steele family settled into a rhythm.
Remington and Laura took turns dropping Siobhán off and picking her up each day. Mildred exercised
her grandma rights and absconded with the teen often--taking her out for ice cream, to bowl with the
Dragon Ladies, or simply to give her parents time alone. The Dragon Ladies instantly adopted Siobhán
as one of their own, and Siobhán discovered, to her delight, she suddenly had several “aunts” peppering
her with questions and advice whenever they hung out together.
Laura had made up a list of chores for Siobhán--which, ironically, made it clear to the teen that this was
home and made her feel even more a part of the family. She’d had very little to do at Johnny’s other
than school work and occasionally reorganizing her room.
She liked helping Da with dinner. He’d been delighted to find that she really could sauté and make cream
sauce as well as she’d said. She didn’t like doing laundry though, viewing it as a necessary evil; but
Mom had painstakingly made out a list of instructions for her to follow, and now she was responsible for
her own clothes.
Homework was a whole new realm for the Steeles. Although Siobhán had little trouble with most of her
classes, some of the sciences proved troublesome as she’d had little opportunity to experiment with her
tutors. However, she loved her after-school activities, becoming an avid lover of horses in a very short
time. Her new parents enjoyed the music she learned in her piano lessons, and it wouldn’t be long until
she surpassed Laura’s abilities. The two occasionally played duets that Remington found impressive.
This afternoon, Remington retrieved Siobhan from school and dropped her off at the penthouse. He and
Laura had a witness to interview for a murder they were investigating. But the questioning took longer
than they'd expected, and by the time they came home, they found a sullen teenager doing homework at
the dining room table.
Laura walked over to lay a hand on Siobhán’s shoulder, noting the physics homework in front of her.
“Hi. How was your day?” But the teen shook her head and wouldn’t speak. Laura shot a look to
Remington before going to the bathroom to change clothes. They’d discovered in the past two months
that the teenager responded a little better to him when upset.
He crossed to her, dropping a kiss on her head. “Have you eaten yet, a stór?” Siobhán sulked and
shook her head. “I’ll make dinner then.” He dropped his coat on the barstool and began putting together
a cold salmon salad for the three of them. Silence reigned for nearly fifteen minutes.
Just as Laura crossed to the kitchen wearing a pair of maternity pants and a loose shirt stolen from
Remington’s half of the closet, Siobhán muttered a Gaelic curse under her breath.
To which Remington automatically replied in the same tongue, “Irish is a beautiful language, Siobhán.
Use it for something other than swearing, please.” He stopped in the middle of the kitchen and put his
hand on the dimple between his brows. “Oh, bloody hell, I sound like Daniel when he was teaching me
to speak French properly.”
Laura smiled at the comment but was puzzled, having missed its context. Siobhán’s head popped up,
and she asked in the Irish language, “You speak Irish?”
“I do,” he replied. “Tell me about your day,” he asked gently. Haltingly, Siobhán complied. Somehow
she found it easier to express her frustrations in her other native tongue.
Laura hadn’t heard the lovely rippling language except in an odd phrase here and there at the movies. It
was obviously Irish-sounding. She guessed they were speaking in Gaelic but had no idea what they were
saying to each other. Listening quietly, she moved about the kitchen as she helped with dinner
preparations. Remington’s ear for languages never failed to impress her.
She could see from Siobhán’s expressions that the girl was upset. When the teen finally buried her face
in her hands, letting tears leak out between her fingers, Remington hugged her shoulders. Switching back
to English, he said to Laura, “She doesn’t think she fits in. The other girls have been friends for a long
time, and she doesn’t have any way to get to know them because they’re always talking to one other.
She doesn’t always think of herself as ‘Siobhán Steele,’ and when one of the teachers calls on ‘Miss
Steele,’ she forgets to answer. And she doesn’t get physics. At all. It’s a subject that was created
strictly to piss her off and make her miserable.”
Siobhán’s snort of laughter interrupted her tears, and she raised her head to protest. “I didn’t say it that
way.”
“No … but that was the implication of the Gaelic curses I heard earlier. Come; let’s clear the table and
eat dinner. Then we’ll both hope that Laura is better at physics than I am.”
Laura set the plates and flatware on the table, amused at the parental tone coming from her husband. “Is
that what this was about?”
“For starters, I think,” he replied.
Over the meal, Siobhán told them, “I like my schoolmates. Everyone’s been awfully nice. But I don’t
really know anyone well.”
Laura nodded in understanding and thought for a moment. They’d carefully selected the school to make
certain it wasn’t full of affluent cliques that would ostracize a new kid. But teens were teens and often
had a hard time extending invitations to new people. “What if you invited one or two girls here? Is there
anyone you’d like to ask?”
Thoughtfully, Siobhán nodded. “There’s Jennifer. And Caitlin. They both say ‘hi’ to me all the time.
But they have a different lunch period, so I don’t really know them.”
“Ask them if they’d like to come over after school on Friday. We can order pizza if you’d like,” Laura
suggested. “Give them our phone number. Or, if you would rather, I can call their parents and invite
them for you. Don’t we have a directory around here somewhere?”
Remington didn’t try to hide his chagrin. Three teen girls in the house on a Friday night? He leaned over
to Laura and not-so-quietly asked, “What are we supposed to do while they are snickering at us and
eating pizza?” Siobhán ducked her head to hide her smile at his question.
Laura pretended to think about it. “I think we’re supposed to stay in whatever part of the house they
don’t want to be in. At least, that’s what we always wanted Mom to do when we were girls.” Siobhán
giggled at her wry comment. “And if they want to watch a movie, we’ll probably be banished to the
bedroom.”
The repost slipped out before he thought the better of it. “Well now, that can’t be all bad.”
“Aww, I did not hear that!” Siobhán gasped and covered her ears.
Laura’s mouth hung open. “Mr. Steele!”
“Would anyone like more bread? I think I’ll pour another glass of wine. Water, anyone?” Remington
fled to the kitchen and busied himself for a moment while Laura and Siobhán’s laughter echoed in the
dining room.
When they calmed, Siobhán started to ask a question, then changed her mind. Catching it, Laura asked,
“What is it?”
Siobhan worried a curl of hair, blurting out, “You’re pregnant and you guys still--” She raised her
eyebrows in question.
Turning slightly pink, Laura threw her a little sly smile, and the girl covered her face. “Oh, my God. I
don’t think I needed to know that.” Remington heard the question from the kitchen and decided he
could come out.
Seeing him over Laura’s head, Siobhán ventured another observation. “You two really love each other.
It’s not just for show.”
Remington came up behind Laura as she nodded, placing his hands on her shoulders. Very seriously, he
answered, “Yes, Siobhán. I love Laura ... very much.” Laura squeezed one of his hands, looking up
with liquid eyes that touched his core. The words still came so rarely for him that she was always
bowled over when they did.
Despite her innocence, Siobhán could still understand the truth of their emotions, if not, perhaps, the
depth. Time and maturity would do that for her. Abruptly deciding that she couldn’t possibly ask
anything more embarrassing than her previous question, she dug up the courage to ask others that she’d
wondered about for a while. “How did you meet?”
Flashing his famous grin, Remington sat at the table again. “Do you want the real story or the fiction we
pass around?” he asked. The Steeles had discussed this very thing weeks ago and decided that they
wouldn’t hide the truth from Siobhán when she asked. They needed her trust, and in return, she needed
to be able to trust them.
“How about … both?” The teen poked at her salad with a fork.
Laura started the story to give Remington the chance to eat. “The fiction is that Remington owns the
agency, and I work for him. When the agency first started, we explained that Mr. Steele spent his time
overseas while Murphy and I handled the cases. If you’ll remember, Murphy and I used to be partners.
That’s how he and Kate met. The story goes on that after the first few years, Remington decided to
become an active member of the agency. He became a very visible part of the firm, and we developed
an even better reputation. A year or so later, Murphy went to Denver to be with Kate, and Mildred
joined us. We’ve been working as a team since then.”
Siobhán dropped her hands in her lap as she finished eating. “So what’s the real story?”
“The real one is that I started the agency by myself and created a fictitious boss named ‘Remington
Steele.’ I’d opened my own office before then, but at that time, no one took a female private
investigator very seriously. So I started a new one with a man’s name on the door--a man who didn’t
exist except as a figment of my imagination. And it worked. The agency grew rapidly after that.
Murphy and I pulled off the scheme quite well--even renting an apartment, buying clothes and having the
license plate on the limo read ‘R Steele.’ Then he walked in.” She nodded toward Remington.
Remington tugged his ear. “I was only a thief, Siobhán. I was there to steal the very gems that Laura
was to protect. I figured out that her ‘Remington Steele’ was a mere front, and the man didn’t really
exist. So I stepped into his shoes and assumed his identity. I quit being a thief and became a detective
instead. The fact that I was quite taken with Laura had a great deal to do with it.”
As only a curious teen can, Siobhán fired questions at him. “You were a thief?”
“A rather good one,” he said with pride.
“You were never caught?”
“Detained occasionally, but never actually caught.”
“What kind of things did you steal?”
Remington shifted in discomfort at her pointed question. “Jewelry, paintings, the occasional car--among
other things.” He fell silent and continued to eat while Siobhán processed this new information.
She propped her face on her chin and gave Laura a puzzled look. “Then you just made up his name?”
Laura admitted, “Remington is from a typewriter I owned at the time, and I happen to be a fan of the
Pittsburgh Steelers. So, ‘Remington Steele.’ I thought it sounded strong and masculine. But it was
more than that, Siobhán. I created a whole persona for the media. I told them that my boss was
handsome, charming, daring, intelligent and a fantastic detective. He stepped in and made that persona
real. He couldn’t have pulled it off if he hadn’t had those qualities already.”
Remington put his hand on Laura’s out of gratitude.
Finally, Siobhan asked in confusion. “Why does everyone call you ‘Remington’ instead ‘Ciarán’ if it’s
not your real name?”
He leaned back in his chair, sipping from his glass of wine before answering. “Remington is my name.
We had it legally changed just before we married. Our less illustrious relatives that took me in as a child
had a tendency to call me by whatever name suited them. There came a day that I assumed Ciarán was
just another name they’d used. After I … got out on my own, I chose my own names. I suppose most
of my friends either called me ‘Harry,’ because Daniel did, or ‘Mick.’ I used ‘Michael O’Leary’ in
Ireland and London quite often, but ‘Mick’ is a common enough nickname for anyone Irish that’s
traveling about.” His remote expression and the regret in his voice reflected the pain it still caused him.
Siobhán still didn’t quite understand. “What was your name before you changed it then?”
“I didn’t have one, Siobhán. Until shortly before Laura and I married, I had no idea who my parents
were. Daniel only told me he was my father a couple of hours before he passed on. It was days later
that I saw my birth certificate--and no, it still didn’t have a name on it.” He rubbed his forehead as if to
wipe away the memory and added, “The ironic part is that none of us at this table started out as a
‘Steele.’ But we’ve all become one. The little tyke bouncing around in Laura’s belly will be the first to
carry the name from the moment he or she takes breath. I think we’ve all had our fair share of looking
around and wondering who was this ‘Steele’ fellow and then thinking ‘oh, that’s me.’ ”
Siobhán lowered her head again to hide her smile because that’s exactly how she had been feeling when
her teachers called on her at school. She turned to Laura. “So, if you made up the name, why were you
willing to change yours to something that didn’t really exist?”
Remington shot a hard look at his wife, waiting for an answer to a question he’d asked any number of
times and had yet to receive a decent answer.
Laura looked at their joined hands and then into Rei’s intent blue eyes. “Because if the name I had
created meant so much to him that he was willing to take it on permanently, then it only seemed right that
I take it too. I’d thought about using Holt-Steele, but by the time we married in Ireland, it felt as if I was
cheating somehow. After all, he was changing his name for me; so why shouldn’t I change mine for
him?”
Remington squeezed her hand and looked away before rising from the table and kissing her temple.
“Excuse me, ladies.” He took his glass of wine and headed for the terrace.
“Is he okay?” Siobhán asked, worried. “I didn’t mean to make him mad.”
Laura reached over and patted her hand. “You didn’t. But sometimes all of this--what you and I might
call a normal life--is still hard for him. Your cousin had no home, no name and no family for most of his
life. He lived from day to day, keeping his sanity by focusing only on the present and not looking to the
future or the past--which explains why he tends to make the most of each day. He never works any
harder than absolutely necessary and loves to ditch work at the drop of a hat to see a movie or to go
somewhere exotic to take in the scenery.
“But don’t buy his casual demeanor and think he’s lazy. You’ve seen how incredibly well he cooks. He
solves cases the same way. He complains about my being a workaholic--which undoubtedly I am--but
he focuses his entire attentions on whatever he is doing at the moment and misses very little. He’ll never
admit it to you, I’m certain, but he was a brilliant thief and confounded Interpol for years. The skills he
acquired there are much of the reason why our agency does so well. And it’s only one of the many
reasons I signed over half the agency to him. We own it jointly now.”
She reached for her water glass and drank before setting it down to trace patterns on the china. “When
we met, I didn’t realize I was giving him a name, a home and a whole life, really. He was terribly lonely,
Siobhán. When he first became a part of the agency, you wouldn’t believe some of the things he would
do to include himself in my weekend or evening plans. I remember his inviting himself along on case
after case and driving Murphy crazy. Eventually though, we spent most of our time together even when
we weren’t working.” Laura smiled a little sadly at Siobhán. “Mostly, I pretend that I don’t know how
much it meant to him because he’s embarrassed to admit he needed all those things. He had survived for
a very long time without them.”
“Does he have any friends?” Siobhán asked while nibbling a thumbnail. She hadn’t realized that she’d
had so much in common with her cousin.
“A few. And they are good ones. Remington has a knack for sizing up someone’s personality in
moments, so the friends he’s made tend to stick. My family adores him. No one can charm my mother
as he can, and all of us get along much better when he’s around.” Laura placed her napkin on the table.
“If you’re finished, we can make a run at your homework.”
Siobhán stood and began clearing the table while Laura tackled the kitchen. The teen looked a little
downcast, and Laura caught her in a hug, making both of them laugh as the baby bump got in the way.
“You needed to know, Siobhán. And we need to know when we can help you. We’re all learning here.”
For a moment the teen leaned into her embrace. When she let go, another thought came to mind. “If
Remington Steele didn’t exist, then what you did was a lie.”
“A lie, a scam, a con. A cheap trick. It was all of those, Siobhán.” Laura waited, wondering what the
girl’s reaction was going to be. “And the joke was on me in the end. I thought I created someone who
couldn’t exist. Not only did I find him, he was a better man than I could ever dream up.”
While Siobhán thought about that, Laura added, “Half of detective work is being able to lie to get the
information you need. You saw me do that this summer as I worked on different cases. The other half
is being able to see through someone else’s lies and put together the pieces of clues that people leave
behind. I can’t lie to Remington any more than he can to me; it’s one of the things that we
simultaneously love and despise about each other. And, believe it or not, we’ve already talked about it
and decided that we won’t lie to you. If we can’t or won’t tell you the truth about a matter, we’ll tell you
that.”
“But you could lie to me,” breathed Siobhán.
“Well enough that you would never know that I wasn’t telling the truth,” Laura admitted. She turned her
daughter to the foyer. “Do you see that door?”
“Yes.”
“When I walk through that door, I don’t have to be anyone but Laura. No games, no pretenses, no lies.
I have to have that, Siobhán. I have to know that the people I love know the real me, faults and all. It
took me years to trust Remington--not because he wasn’t willing-- but because I was afraid he would
discover the real me and decide he didn’t like who I was.”
“How did you start trusting him?” Siobhán wondered.
Laura leaned against the kitchen counter and reflected, “It wasn’t easy. While we were … dating, I
suppose you could call it, … Remington ran into problems with U.S. Immigration. Confronted by the
very real possibility that he would be deported, I realized that I already loved him and trusted him and
would do anything necessary to keep him in my life--if that’s what he wanted. Ultimately, the person I
didn’t trust was me.”
Siobhán shook her head. “I don’t really understand.”
Laura smiled and hugged her again. “That’s okay. I didn’t either for a very long time. Why don’t you
get your homework, and we’ll see how much high school physics I remember?”
Remington shook off his mood and found Laura and Siobhán painstakingly working their way through a
physics problem. Out of curiosity, he peeked at the book and saw the answer immediately. No, things
hadn’t changed. He used to drive his tutor insane by writing down the solution without working out all
the annoying steps between. It was probably best to have Laura neatly explaining the logical way of
finding the answer.
He dribbled the last of the wine from the bottle into his glass and picked up a file he’d brought home.
Something about it bothered him, and he hadn’t put his finger on why yet. Perhaps Laura would see it.
The irony of his actually worrying over a case in the evening wasn’t lost on him.
It should have been a fairly simple skip-trace to run for their client: a daughter, Penny Key, looking for
her missing father. The young blonde had asked for Sandra by name and had given a recent client as a
referral. Sandra had spent hours combing records for a Percy Key and had been unable to find any trace
at all of the man. Apparently, he’d disappeared five years ago or so. For two weeks now, the young
woman had stopped by their agency nearly every third day. This afternoon, Sandra had broken the news
to the distraught client that they’d been unable to locate any information on her father.
But something about the situation had her instincts hopping.
“There’s something that doesn’t click here, Mr. Steele. I mean, she’s all prim and proper and seems nice
but a little off. She can’t seem to give me any information at all about her dad--just his name and the
fact that the last time she saw him was five years ago in Los Angeles.”
“What’s the current status of the case?” He knew it would be the first question Laura would ask.
“I’ve closed it. But it’s bothering me. Maybe I missed something. Would one of you take a look?”
“Of course,” he’d agreed. He’d poured over the file while in Siobhán’s carpool line and, in the end,
acknowledged that something wasn’t right. He’d yet to put a finger on it though.
Siobhán’s homework took longer than anticipated that evening, and when she said her “goodnights” and
wandered off to bed, Laura yawned, rubbing at her lower back.
“Aching?” he asked as he locked up the house and turned off most of the lights. He'd dropped the case
file on their desk in the home office, intending to have Laura look it over the next day.
“Sitting too long. The baby has been moving all over the place--probably trying to tell me to get up.”
She yawned again, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. “Speaking of which, we have a
sonogram scheduled for Friday. The nurse asked if we want to know if we are having a boy or girl. It's
a new technique, and it's not a hundred percent accurate, but she said the sonographer is getting pretty
good at it. Or do you want it to be a surprise?”
“What do you think?” he asked as he closed their bedroom door.
Laura stretched out on the bed, rolling to her side so she could breathe. “I’d rather it be a surprise.”
Remington sat next to her and placed his hand on her belly. “You? The one who has to control every
minuscule detail of her life? One would think you wouldn’t be able to stand the suspense.”
She shrugged. “Maybe it’s because I can feel the baby moving all the time. I know he or she is here
already.”
Thoughtfully, Remington brought his hand to Laura’s face. With a finger, he drew a lock of her hair to
the side and tucked it behind her ear. “What if I wanted to know?”
“Then we’ll find out.”
“That simple, eh? Hmm. If you want to wait, I can wait.” He wouldn’t admit that if she could stand to
be patient, he’d have to pick up the gauntlet and remain patient too. He pulled a pillow down to stuff
behind his head. “But I do think it’s time we picked a name or two. Don’t tell me you haven’t been
thinking about it.”
“Oh, some,” she said lightly. “I’m not backing down from ‘Humphrey’ though.”
“Well then, I guess we’ll have to start from scratch. Any thoughts?”
True to Laura’s logical nature, she began listing out points on her hand. “I suppose the first consideration
is if we want the baby to carry a family name of any kind--either from your side or mine. The second,
does the name have any significant meaning for either of us? Thirdly, do we like the way it sounds?
Fourth--”
Remington stopped her with a kiss. “How about ‘Laura’ if it’s a girl and ‘Remington’ if it’s a boy?”
Laura chuckled softly and shook her head. “Be serious. Anyway, I think Frances gave up on my having
kids when she named Laurie Beth. So that’s out for a girl. What about your middle names--Daniel or
Harrison?”
He rolled to his back again and stared at the ceiling in thought. “No. I’m named for my father and
grandfather, but I don’t have much desire to carry on either name. Daniel never really claimed me. I
claimed him instead. If we have a son, I think I’d like to start fresh, as you say.”
“Nothing Irish?”
“Maureen O’Sullivan? Just Imagine, 1930, Fox Film. Wonderful show about the future. Or perhaps
Colin Kenny. He played bit parts in nearly everything for forty years. Or maybe William Desmond. He
was the Riddle Rider in a great series of silent films. Fantastic.” He kept his face straight as he recited
movies from the top of his head.
Laura rolled her eyes. “I think I nixed anything from the cinema.”
“But you’re eliminating a wonderful source of names, rife with meaning.”
“Rei?”
“Yes?”
“No.”
He used his thumb to stroke her chin and cheek. “Perhaps then, I should persuade you.”
“Perhaps we should talk about it some more. Where is that book you picked up with all the names in
it?” She rolled over to look for it on the nightstand.
He rolled her back to him. “We’ll look for it in the morning. Right now, I have some convincing to do.”
“I thought you wanted to pick baby names. Exactly how do you plan on doing that if you keep getting
distracted?”
“Hmm. That’s an interesting question. But you see, there’s a Jacuzzi in the bathroom--”
She put a hand to his lips. “Say no more, Mr. Steele. I’ll meet you there.”
3 November 2009
Chapter Nine: Peace
Tuesday, 21 September 1988 -- 26 weeks, 6 days
A month later and still in the throes of adapting to school life, the Steele family settled into a rhythm.
Remington and Laura took turns dropping Siobhán off and picking her up each day. Mildred exercised
her grandma rights and absconded with the teen often--taking her out for ice cream, to bowl with the
Dragon Ladies, or simply to give her parents time alone. The Dragon Ladies instantly adopted Siobhán
as one of their own, and Siobhán discovered, to her delight, she suddenly had several “aunts” peppering
her with questions and advice whenever they hung out together.
Laura had made up a list of chores for Siobhán--which, ironically, made it clear to the teen that this was
home and made her feel even more a part of the family. She’d had very little to do at Johnny’s other
than school work and occasionally reorganizing her room.
She liked helping Da with dinner. He’d been delighted to find that she really could sauté and make cream
sauce as well as she’d said. She didn’t like doing laundry though, viewing it as a necessary evil; but
Mom had painstakingly made out a list of instructions for her to follow, and now she was responsible for
her own clothes.
Homework was a whole new realm for the Steeles. Although Siobhán had little trouble with most of her
classes, some of the sciences proved troublesome as she’d had little opportunity to experiment with her
tutors. However, she loved her after-school activities, becoming an avid lover of horses in a very short
time. Her new parents enjoyed the music she learned in her piano lessons, and it wouldn’t be long until
she surpassed Laura’s abilities. The two occasionally played duets that Remington found impressive.
This afternoon, Remington retrieved Siobhan from school and dropped her off at the penthouse. He and
Laura had a witness to interview for a murder they were investigating. But the questioning took longer
than they'd expected, and by the time they came home, they found a sullen teenager doing homework at
the dining room table.
Laura walked over to lay a hand on Siobhán’s shoulder, noting the physics homework in front of her.
“Hi. How was your day?” But the teen shook her head and wouldn’t speak. Laura shot a look to
Remington before going to the bathroom to change clothes. They’d discovered in the past two months
that the teenager responded a little better to him when upset.
He crossed to her, dropping a kiss on her head. “Have you eaten yet, a stór?” Siobhán sulked and
shook her head. “I’ll make dinner then.” He dropped his coat on the barstool and began putting together
a cold salmon salad for the three of them. Silence reigned for nearly fifteen minutes.
Just as Laura crossed to the kitchen wearing a pair of maternity pants and a loose shirt stolen from
Remington’s half of the closet, Siobhán muttered a Gaelic curse under her breath.
To which Remington automatically replied in the same tongue, “Irish is a beautiful language, Siobhán.
Use it for something other than swearing, please.” He stopped in the middle of the kitchen and put his
hand on the dimple between his brows. “Oh, bloody hell, I sound like Daniel when he was teaching me
to speak French properly.”
Laura smiled at the comment but was puzzled, having missed its context. Siobhán’s head popped up,
and she asked in the Irish language, “You speak Irish?”
“I do,” he replied. “Tell me about your day,” he asked gently. Haltingly, Siobhán complied. Somehow
she found it easier to express her frustrations in her other native tongue.
Laura hadn’t heard the lovely rippling language except in an odd phrase here and there at the movies. It
was obviously Irish-sounding. She guessed they were speaking in Gaelic but had no idea what they were
saying to each other. Listening quietly, she moved about the kitchen as she helped with dinner
preparations. Remington’s ear for languages never failed to impress her.
She could see from Siobhán’s expressions that the girl was upset. When the teen finally buried her face
in her hands, letting tears leak out between her fingers, Remington hugged her shoulders. Switching back
to English, he said to Laura, “She doesn’t think she fits in. The other girls have been friends for a long
time, and she doesn’t have any way to get to know them because they’re always talking to one other.
She doesn’t always think of herself as ‘Siobhán Steele,’ and when one of the teachers calls on ‘Miss
Steele,’ she forgets to answer. And she doesn’t get physics. At all. It’s a subject that was created
strictly to piss her off and make her miserable.”
Siobhán’s snort of laughter interrupted her tears, and she raised her head to protest. “I didn’t say it that
way.”
“No … but that was the implication of the Gaelic curses I heard earlier. Come; let’s clear the table and
eat dinner. Then we’ll both hope that Laura is better at physics than I am.”
Laura set the plates and flatware on the table, amused at the parental tone coming from her husband. “Is
that what this was about?”
“For starters, I think,” he replied.
Over the meal, Siobhán told them, “I like my schoolmates. Everyone’s been awfully nice. But I don’t
really know anyone well.”
Laura nodded in understanding and thought for a moment. They’d carefully selected the school to make
certain it wasn’t full of affluent cliques that would ostracize a new kid. But teens were teens and often
had a hard time extending invitations to new people. “What if you invited one or two girls here? Is there
anyone you’d like to ask?”
Thoughtfully, Siobhán nodded. “There’s Jennifer. And Caitlin. They both say ‘hi’ to me all the time.
But they have a different lunch period, so I don’t really know them.”
“Ask them if they’d like to come over after school on Friday. We can order pizza if you’d like,” Laura
suggested. “Give them our phone number. Or, if you would rather, I can call their parents and invite
them for you. Don’t we have a directory around here somewhere?”
Remington didn’t try to hide his chagrin. Three teen girls in the house on a Friday night? He leaned over
to Laura and not-so-quietly asked, “What are we supposed to do while they are snickering at us and
eating pizza?” Siobhán ducked her head to hide her smile at his question.
Laura pretended to think about it. “I think we’re supposed to stay in whatever part of the house they
don’t want to be in. At least, that’s what we always wanted Mom to do when we were girls.” Siobhán
giggled at her wry comment. “And if they want to watch a movie, we’ll probably be banished to the
bedroom.”
The repost slipped out before he thought the better of it. “Well now, that can’t be all bad.”
“Aww, I did not hear that!” Siobhán gasped and covered her ears.
Laura’s mouth hung open. “Mr. Steele!”
“Would anyone like more bread? I think I’ll pour another glass of wine. Water, anyone?” Remington
fled to the kitchen and busied himself for a moment while Laura and Siobhán’s laughter echoed in the
dining room.
When they calmed, Siobhán started to ask a question, then changed her mind. Catching it, Laura asked,
“What is it?”
Siobhan worried a curl of hair, blurting out, “You’re pregnant and you guys still--” She raised her
eyebrows in question.
Turning slightly pink, Laura threw her a little sly smile, and the girl covered her face. “Oh, my God. I
don’t think I needed to know that.” Remington heard the question from the kitchen and decided he
could come out.
Seeing him over Laura’s head, Siobhán ventured another observation. “You two really love each other.
It’s not just for show.”
Remington came up behind Laura as she nodded, placing his hands on her shoulders. Very seriously, he
answered, “Yes, Siobhán. I love Laura ... very much.” Laura squeezed one of his hands, looking up
with liquid eyes that touched his core. The words still came so rarely for him that she was always
bowled over when they did.
Despite her innocence, Siobhán could still understand the truth of their emotions, if not, perhaps, the
depth. Time and maturity would do that for her. Abruptly deciding that she couldn’t possibly ask
anything more embarrassing than her previous question, she dug up the courage to ask others that she’d
wondered about for a while. “How did you meet?”
Flashing his famous grin, Remington sat at the table again. “Do you want the real story or the fiction we
pass around?” he asked. The Steeles had discussed this very thing weeks ago and decided that they
wouldn’t hide the truth from Siobhán when she asked. They needed her trust, and in return, she needed
to be able to trust them.
“How about … both?” The teen poked at her salad with a fork.
Laura started the story to give Remington the chance to eat. “The fiction is that Remington owns the
agency, and I work for him. When the agency first started, we explained that Mr. Steele spent his time
overseas while Murphy and I handled the cases. If you’ll remember, Murphy and I used to be partners.
That’s how he and Kate met. The story goes on that after the first few years, Remington decided to
become an active member of the agency. He became a very visible part of the firm, and we developed
an even better reputation. A year or so later, Murphy went to Denver to be with Kate, and Mildred
joined us. We’ve been working as a team since then.”
Siobhán dropped her hands in her lap as she finished eating. “So what’s the real story?”
“The real one is that I started the agency by myself and created a fictitious boss named ‘Remington
Steele.’ I’d opened my own office before then, but at that time, no one took a female private
investigator very seriously. So I started a new one with a man’s name on the door--a man who didn’t
exist except as a figment of my imagination. And it worked. The agency grew rapidly after that.
Murphy and I pulled off the scheme quite well--even renting an apartment, buying clothes and having the
license plate on the limo read ‘R Steele.’ Then he walked in.” She nodded toward Remington.
Remington tugged his ear. “I was only a thief, Siobhán. I was there to steal the very gems that Laura
was to protect. I figured out that her ‘Remington Steele’ was a mere front, and the man didn’t really
exist. So I stepped into his shoes and assumed his identity. I quit being a thief and became a detective
instead. The fact that I was quite taken with Laura had a great deal to do with it.”
As only a curious teen can, Siobhán fired questions at him. “You were a thief?”
“A rather good one,” he said with pride.
“You were never caught?”
“Detained occasionally, but never actually caught.”
“What kind of things did you steal?”
Remington shifted in discomfort at her pointed question. “Jewelry, paintings, the occasional car--among
other things.” He fell silent and continued to eat while Siobhán processed this new information.
She propped her face on her chin and gave Laura a puzzled look. “Then you just made up his name?”
Laura admitted, “Remington is from a typewriter I owned at the time, and I happen to be a fan of the
Pittsburgh Steelers. So, ‘Remington Steele.’ I thought it sounded strong and masculine. But it was
more than that, Siobhán. I created a whole persona for the media. I told them that my boss was
handsome, charming, daring, intelligent and a fantastic detective. He stepped in and made that persona
real. He couldn’t have pulled it off if he hadn’t had those qualities already.”
Remington put his hand on Laura’s out of gratitude.
Finally, Siobhan asked in confusion. “Why does everyone call you ‘Remington’ instead ‘Ciarán’ if it’s
not your real name?”
He leaned back in his chair, sipping from his glass of wine before answering. “Remington is my name.
We had it legally changed just before we married. Our less illustrious relatives that took me in as a child
had a tendency to call me by whatever name suited them. There came a day that I assumed Ciarán was
just another name they’d used. After I … got out on my own, I chose my own names. I suppose most
of my friends either called me ‘Harry,’ because Daniel did, or ‘Mick.’ I used ‘Michael O’Leary’ in
Ireland and London quite often, but ‘Mick’ is a common enough nickname for anyone Irish that’s
traveling about.” His remote expression and the regret in his voice reflected the pain it still caused him.
Siobhán still didn’t quite understand. “What was your name before you changed it then?”
“I didn’t have one, Siobhán. Until shortly before Laura and I married, I had no idea who my parents
were. Daniel only told me he was my father a couple of hours before he passed on. It was days later
that I saw my birth certificate--and no, it still didn’t have a name on it.” He rubbed his forehead as if to
wipe away the memory and added, “The ironic part is that none of us at this table started out as a
‘Steele.’ But we’ve all become one. The little tyke bouncing around in Laura’s belly will be the first to
carry the name from the moment he or she takes breath. I think we’ve all had our fair share of looking
around and wondering who was this ‘Steele’ fellow and then thinking ‘oh, that’s me.’ ”
Siobhán lowered her head again to hide her smile because that’s exactly how she had been feeling when
her teachers called on her at school. She turned to Laura. “So, if you made up the name, why were you
willing to change yours to something that didn’t really exist?”
Remington shot a hard look at his wife, waiting for an answer to a question he’d asked any number of
times and had yet to receive a decent answer.
Laura looked at their joined hands and then into Rei’s intent blue eyes. “Because if the name I had
created meant so much to him that he was willing to take it on permanently, then it only seemed right that
I take it too. I’d thought about using Holt-Steele, but by the time we married in Ireland, it felt as if I was
cheating somehow. After all, he was changing his name for me; so why shouldn’t I change mine for
him?”
Remington squeezed her hand and looked away before rising from the table and kissing her temple.
“Excuse me, ladies.” He took his glass of wine and headed for the terrace.
“Is he okay?” Siobhán asked, worried. “I didn’t mean to make him mad.”
Laura reached over and patted her hand. “You didn’t. But sometimes all of this--what you and I might
call a normal life--is still hard for him. Your cousin had no home, no name and no family for most of his
life. He lived from day to day, keeping his sanity by focusing only on the present and not looking to the
future or the past--which explains why he tends to make the most of each day. He never works any
harder than absolutely necessary and loves to ditch work at the drop of a hat to see a movie or to go
somewhere exotic to take in the scenery.
“But don’t buy his casual demeanor and think he’s lazy. You’ve seen how incredibly well he cooks. He
solves cases the same way. He complains about my being a workaholic--which undoubtedly I am--but
he focuses his entire attentions on whatever he is doing at the moment and misses very little. He’ll never
admit it to you, I’m certain, but he was a brilliant thief and confounded Interpol for years. The skills he
acquired there are much of the reason why our agency does so well. And it’s only one of the many
reasons I signed over half the agency to him. We own it jointly now.”
She reached for her water glass and drank before setting it down to trace patterns on the china. “When
we met, I didn’t realize I was giving him a name, a home and a whole life, really. He was terribly lonely,
Siobhán. When he first became a part of the agency, you wouldn’t believe some of the things he would
do to include himself in my weekend or evening plans. I remember his inviting himself along on case
after case and driving Murphy crazy. Eventually though, we spent most of our time together even when
we weren’t working.” Laura smiled a little sadly at Siobhán. “Mostly, I pretend that I don’t know how
much it meant to him because he’s embarrassed to admit he needed all those things. He had survived for
a very long time without them.”
“Does he have any friends?” Siobhán asked while nibbling a thumbnail. She hadn’t realized that she’d
had so much in common with her cousin.
“A few. And they are good ones. Remington has a knack for sizing up someone’s personality in
moments, so the friends he’s made tend to stick. My family adores him. No one can charm my mother
as he can, and all of us get along much better when he’s around.” Laura placed her napkin on the table.
“If you’re finished, we can make a run at your homework.”
Siobhán stood and began clearing the table while Laura tackled the kitchen. The teen looked a little
downcast, and Laura caught her in a hug, making both of them laugh as the baby bump got in the way.
“You needed to know, Siobhán. And we need to know when we can help you. We’re all learning here.”
For a moment the teen leaned into her embrace. When she let go, another thought came to mind. “If
Remington Steele didn’t exist, then what you did was a lie.”
“A lie, a scam, a con. A cheap trick. It was all of those, Siobhán.” Laura waited, wondering what the
girl’s reaction was going to be. “And the joke was on me in the end. I thought I created someone who
couldn’t exist. Not only did I find him, he was a better man than I could ever dream up.”
While Siobhán thought about that, Laura added, “Half of detective work is being able to lie to get the
information you need. You saw me do that this summer as I worked on different cases. The other half
is being able to see through someone else’s lies and put together the pieces of clues that people leave
behind. I can’t lie to Remington any more than he can to me; it’s one of the things that we
simultaneously love and despise about each other. And, believe it or not, we’ve already talked about it
and decided that we won’t lie to you. If we can’t or won’t tell you the truth about a matter, we’ll tell you
that.”
“But you could lie to me,” breathed Siobhán.
“Well enough that you would never know that I wasn’t telling the truth,” Laura admitted. She turned her
daughter to the foyer. “Do you see that door?”
“Yes.”
“When I walk through that door, I don’t have to be anyone but Laura. No games, no pretenses, no lies.
I have to have that, Siobhán. I have to know that the people I love know the real me, faults and all. It
took me years to trust Remington--not because he wasn’t willing-- but because I was afraid he would
discover the real me and decide he didn’t like who I was.”
“How did you start trusting him?” Siobhán wondered.
Laura leaned against the kitchen counter and reflected, “It wasn’t easy. While we were … dating, I
suppose you could call it, … Remington ran into problems with U.S. Immigration. Confronted by the
very real possibility that he would be deported, I realized that I already loved him and trusted him and
would do anything necessary to keep him in my life--if that’s what he wanted. Ultimately, the person I
didn’t trust was me.”
Siobhán shook her head. “I don’t really understand.”
Laura smiled and hugged her again. “That’s okay. I didn’t either for a very long time. Why don’t you
get your homework, and we’ll see how much high school physics I remember?”
Remington shook off his mood and found Laura and Siobhán painstakingly working their way through a
physics problem. Out of curiosity, he peeked at the book and saw the answer immediately. No, things
hadn’t changed. He used to drive his tutor insane by writing down the solution without working out all
the annoying steps between. It was probably best to have Laura neatly explaining the logical way of
finding the answer.
He dribbled the last of the wine from the bottle into his glass and picked up a file he’d brought home.
Something about it bothered him, and he hadn’t put his finger on why yet. Perhaps Laura would see it.
The irony of his actually worrying over a case in the evening wasn’t lost on him.
It should have been a fairly simple skip-trace to run for their client: a daughter, Penny Key, looking for
her missing father. The young blonde had asked for Sandra by name and had given a recent client as a
referral. Sandra had spent hours combing records for a Percy Key and had been unable to find any trace
at all of the man. Apparently, he’d disappeared five years ago or so. For two weeks now, the young
woman had stopped by their agency nearly every third day. This afternoon, Sandra had broken the news
to the distraught client that they’d been unable to locate any information on her father.
But something about the situation had her instincts hopping.
“There’s something that doesn’t click here, Mr. Steele. I mean, she’s all prim and proper and seems nice
but a little off. She can’t seem to give me any information at all about her dad--just his name and the
fact that the last time she saw him was five years ago in Los Angeles.”
“What’s the current status of the case?” He knew it would be the first question Laura would ask.
“I’ve closed it. But it’s bothering me. Maybe I missed something. Would one of you take a look?”
“Of course,” he’d agreed. He’d poured over the file while in Siobhán’s carpool line and, in the end,
acknowledged that something wasn’t right. He’d yet to put a finger on it though.
Siobhán’s homework took longer than anticipated that evening, and when she said her “goodnights” and
wandered off to bed, Laura yawned, rubbing at her lower back.
“Aching?” he asked as he locked up the house and turned off most of the lights. He'd dropped the case
file on their desk in the home office, intending to have Laura look it over the next day.
“Sitting too long. The baby has been moving all over the place--probably trying to tell me to get up.”
She yawned again, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. “Speaking of which, we have a
sonogram scheduled for Friday. The nurse asked if we want to know if we are having a boy or girl. It's
a new technique, and it's not a hundred percent accurate, but she said the sonographer is getting pretty
good at it. Or do you want it to be a surprise?”
“What do you think?” he asked as he closed their bedroom door.
Laura stretched out on the bed, rolling to her side so she could breathe. “I’d rather it be a surprise.”
Remington sat next to her and placed his hand on her belly. “You? The one who has to control every
minuscule detail of her life? One would think you wouldn’t be able to stand the suspense.”
She shrugged. “Maybe it’s because I can feel the baby moving all the time. I know he or she is here
already.”
Thoughtfully, Remington brought his hand to Laura’s face. With a finger, he drew a lock of her hair to
the side and tucked it behind her ear. “What if I wanted to know?”
“Then we’ll find out.”
“That simple, eh? Hmm. If you want to wait, I can wait.” He wouldn’t admit that if she could stand to
be patient, he’d have to pick up the gauntlet and remain patient too. He pulled a pillow down to stuff
behind his head. “But I do think it’s time we picked a name or two. Don’t tell me you haven’t been
thinking about it.”
“Oh, some,” she said lightly. “I’m not backing down from ‘Humphrey’ though.”
“Well then, I guess we’ll have to start from scratch. Any thoughts?”
True to Laura’s logical nature, she began listing out points on her hand. “I suppose the first consideration
is if we want the baby to carry a family name of any kind--either from your side or mine. The second,
does the name have any significant meaning for either of us? Thirdly, do we like the way it sounds?
Fourth--”
Remington stopped her with a kiss. “How about ‘Laura’ if it’s a girl and ‘Remington’ if it’s a boy?”
Laura chuckled softly and shook her head. “Be serious. Anyway, I think Frances gave up on my having
kids when she named Laurie Beth. So that’s out for a girl. What about your middle names--Daniel or
Harrison?”
He rolled to his back again and stared at the ceiling in thought. “No. I’m named for my father and
grandfather, but I don’t have much desire to carry on either name. Daniel never really claimed me. I
claimed him instead. If we have a son, I think I’d like to start fresh, as you say.”
“Nothing Irish?”
“Maureen O’Sullivan? Just Imagine, 1930, Fox Film. Wonderful show about the future. Or perhaps
Colin Kenny. He played bit parts in nearly everything for forty years. Or maybe William Desmond. He
was the Riddle Rider in a great series of silent films. Fantastic.” He kept his face straight as he recited
movies from the top of his head.
Laura rolled her eyes. “I think I nixed anything from the cinema.”
“But you’re eliminating a wonderful source of names, rife with meaning.”
“Rei?”
“Yes?”
“No.”
He used his thumb to stroke her chin and cheek. “Perhaps then, I should persuade you.”
“Perhaps we should talk about it some more. Where is that book you picked up with all the names in
it?” She rolled over to look for it on the nightstand.
He rolled her back to him. “We’ll look for it in the morning. Right now, I have some convincing to do.”
“I thought you wanted to pick baby names. Exactly how do you plan on doing that if you keep getting
distracted?”
“Hmm. That’s an interesting question. But you see, there’s a Jacuzzi in the bathroom--”
She put a hand to his lips. “Say no more, Mr. Steele. I’ll meet you there.”
3 November 2009
Chapter Nine: Peace