This story copyright © 2003 Mia McCroskey
The characters from The Avengers and other sources are the property of their respective owners.
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Steed plans a surprise
Emma flirts with danger
Chapter 1
"Phillip, darling, I knew we could resolve this," Emma purred into the telephone. "All right, I'd like that." As she turned the page on her desk calendar and ran her finger down a column a movement at her office door caught her eye. Steed was standing there, one eyebrow arched over his pale eyes. She reached for a note pad and tore off a sheet of paper. "Thursday evening would be perfect for a drink," she said into the receiver, crumpling the paper into a ball. "Oh, I'm afraid not next week. I'm in the middle of so many things just now," she tossed the paper at Steed, who had advanced a few steps into her office, his face quite stormy. "Yes! I'll look forward to it. Good bye," she nearly laughed her farewell as Steed batted away the paper. But it had served its purpose -- he was distracted enough that his expression had lightened.
"What was that about?" he grumbled as he leaned on the back of one of her guest chairs.
"Phillip Ellis, Ellis Electronics Supply. He wanted to raise our cost on transistors by a penny a dozen. His people wouldn't discuss it with our people."
"So you had to resort to accepting a date?"
Emma reached for her pad and started to tear off another sheet. Steed straightened and held both hands up in front of himself.
"Honestly, Steed. Do you have any concept of how much flattering you do in front of me -- of other women, I mean? It is not a date. It is drinks with a business associate." Steed forced a smile and dropped his hands to the back of the chair again. "Why are you here interrupting my day?" she went on, genuinely annoyed with his attitude. For the month since their engagement party she had spent most of her time at the house overseeing the renovations. She had set aside today to take care of Knight business and her time was precious.
"I wanted to invite you to lunch at my club. To discuss a business matter," he said, sounding chastised.
"Your business?"
"Yes. Something I'd like your opinion on, that's all. No breaking and entering, or running off on missions. I promise."
"Just lunch?"
"Well, not just lunch. I've pre-ordered something rather special, actually."
"I have an eleven o'clock meeting. Would half twelve be all right? I'll meet you there?"
"That would be perfect," he stepped toward the door. "I'll see you then."
"Steed?" he stopped at the doorway. "What would you have done if I'd refused -- if I had another lunch date?" she asked, intentionally using the word date.
"Why, I'd have invited Mrs. Emerson," Steed replied flippantly before disappearing through the door.
Emma stared after him for a moment. In some ways their open relationship was a bother. In the old days he never would have expressed jealousy over her conversation with Phillip Ellis. He would have concealed it behind a witty comment and moved on. She sighed, checked her watch, and picked up her telephone. She had just enough time to speak to Harry Hill before her meeting.
"No. No dessert," Emma declared firmly when the waiter offered her a card listing the day's offerings. The waiter glanced at Steed, who shook his head, and melted away.
"Mrs. Peel, you are as physically perfect as you can possibly be. I ought to know," Steed said quietly as Emma pushed the sugar bowl away from her and sipped her black coffee.
"Nonetheless, the dress has cutaway arm holes and I want my shoulders and upper arms to be as attractive as possible," she said firmly.
"You'll wither away."
"I just ate a lobster!"
"You hardly touched the drawn butter."
"I won't evaporate from a bit of slimming, Steed. Now, your pretense to get me here was something you wanted my opinion on, wasn't it? I have a two-thirty meeting."
"Yes," Steed reached into his breast pocket and removed several folded sheets of paper. He passed them to her and waited while she examined them.
"Forgeries?" she asked at last.
"What do you think?"
She pursed her lips and compared two of the documents. They were both deeds -- very old deeds -- to property in the West Country. The third document was a letter asserting a claim on the property based on the deeds in the name of one Friedrich Gott, descendent of the deed holder.
"What's on this land today?"
"One is right in the middle of Bath. Extremely valuable property. The other is immediately adjacent to a military installation in the same area. It's a hush, hush research facility."
"You think these are the product of the same forger who created the documents we destroyed years ago in Venice?"
"We never caught him -- or her."
"Well, they have the same look, don't they? Too bad we couldn't save any of the earlier specimens."
"That's why I wanted your opinion. You and I were the only ones who saw them. I'm sure that these are forgeries, but if we can't prove it this Friedrich Gott will have a solid case. The current owners of the property in Bath are fighting him in court. But he's already practically claimed the country land -- the only reason I'm looking into this is because of its proximity to the facility. Funny thing is, if this had gone to anyone else they would have rubber stamped it. But if this is the work of that same forger, then I want to get him, or her, this time."
"Yes. Enough lives were lost over that first batch of forged documents," Emma nodded, looking closely at the ancient looking wax seal on the bottoms of the deeds. Watching her, Steed smiled. She glanced up and caught him. "Oh no. I'm not getting involved," she said, shoving the papers back across the table. He gathered them up and put them away.
"But you're curious."
"As I said to Phillip Ellis earlier, I have enough going on right now. You go track down your forger and tell me how it goes. Just be sure that you're at the church on December 24th."
"Are you saying that you don't care whether I'm about or not for the next three months?" he asked, sounding hurt.
Emma sighed, realizing how she must have sounded. She leaned forward and reached across the table, taking his hand.
"I'm sorry darling. Of course I want you around. I need you around. But I simply can't throw myself into helping you with a case, not if we're going to have a house to host the reception in. Please don't tempt me."
"But you are tempted," he said. It was really a question.
"Of course I'm tempted," she almost laughed. "I wouldn't be putting up such a fight if I weren't."
Steed smiled and she realized that this was probably not the end of it. He'd be back for more "opinions." She realized as she picked up her bag and started to rise that she hoped he would. Because next week, or the week after, if he was still working on this case, she might feel differently about her schedule.
"I really must get back," she said apologetically as he got to his feet too.
"I'll have Marcus get you a taxi," he said, waving at the host in the ladies dining room. Steed's club was rather progressive in admitting female guests for dining, albeit only in the one room and never, ever upstairs into the gentlemen's precincts. And apparently creating a segregated toilet for female guests had been a huge controversy. As a female executive Emma didn't particularly appreciate the old boy men's clubs, but she was not interested in trying to effect change. She had managed throughout her career at Knight to make the connections and negotiate the deals she needed to without forcing her way past the closed doors of these facilities. She realized that her association with Steed and her frequent presence at his club was an advantage. She didn't approve, but she was not intimidated. And when the need had occasionally arisen, she had always managed to make the men come to her.
As if by magic a taxi materialized outside as she and Steed descended the steps to the sidewalk. He handed her in and waved farewell before turning to walk the short distance to the ministry's Whitehall headquarters. The taxi carried her back to Knight Headquarters. Her building, given that she was the majority shareholder.
The background check Steed had requested on Friedrich Gott was on his desk when he got back to his office. He tucked it under his arm and headed for his apartment where he preferred to work.
If Emma had pressed, he would have admitted that getting her opinion on the documents was just a pretense. He had wanted to entice her to help him. As he read through the background check he struggled to dismiss his disappointment that she had not readily agreed. In the old days she would have come back with him to read this report and brainstorm, or rushed off to Bath to look at the property, or thought of some other useful way to begin investigating. Dropping the file on his desk he silently chastised himself for being selfish. In those days she was not the CEO of Knight, and she was not planning their wedding and overseeing work on their house.
Suddenly feeling terribly guilty for adding to the pressures she was already under, he reached for the telephone. He would apologize and beg her to stay in town tonight with him. The telephone rang as he touched it, and he jerked his hand back in surprise. It rang again and he smiled at himself and picked up the receiver.
"John Steed," he answered.
"This is Major Susanna Dunn at Section Seventy Stroke Zed. I have a message to contact you regarding a security matter," a smooth, educated woman's voice said. Steed's smile broadened as he recalled the photograph of the major in the file that was somewhere on his desk. Although the military photograph made her look severe, he could tell she was a willowy blond a few years older than him but still tall, and slender. And her voice matched her credentials -- she had gone to the best schools, received the highest marks in chemical engineering, and doubtlessly devastated her parents by pursuing a military career. She was a role breaker. Just his type.
She was also, he knew, in charge of the research facility adjacent to the land that Friedrich Gott was trying to get control of.
"Yes Major. Thank you for calling. I am investigating a claim to the land next to your facility. We think it's spurious, but it might be related to some attempt at breaching your security."
"I am not aware of any security breaches here Mr. Steed," the Major replied coolly.
"That's very good, Major. But our concern is with breaches that you might not be aware of. I would like to come meet with your security staff tomorrow morning."
"Mr. Steed, we are prepared to cooperate with you in whatever way we must. I am confident that you will find our procedures in order. They are, I believe, better than most, in fact."
"I sincerely hope so, Major. And I appreciate your cooperation. I'll see you in the morning."
"Who is this?" Emma held up the photograph of Major Dunn that had been sitting on top of her open file on Steed's desk. He looked up from his examination of the wine he'd selected and smiled. It wasn't like him to leave top secret files open. Emma knew it and knew he must have done it on purpose, so she'd made a point of looking at it. Just as he'd expected. It was so convenient when she behaved predictably.
"Major Susanna Dunn of Section Seventy Stroke Zed. I'm going to visit her tomorrow morning. Want to come?"
Emma put down the photograph and strolled across the room toward him, her wry smile assuring him that she'd seen right through his ploy. He worked the cork out of the bottle and sniffed it, eyes on her the whole while.
"Will you buy me lunch in Bath?" she asked, taking the cork from him to sniff it herself. His smile widened. She would come.
"Of course," he agreed readily, pouring a little wine into a glass and offering it to her to taste. She stuck her nose in the glass and inhaled deeply, then took the wine into her mouth and swished it around, eyes closed as she made an elaborate show of the ritual. He waited patiently. Finally she swallowed and opened her eyes. "Well?" he asked, although if it hadn't been good she would probably have spit it out.
"Delicious. Dry, but with fresh, fruity highlights. And the slightest hint of oak. American, I think -- the wood, not the wine. The wine is definitely French."
"Care to be more specific?" Steed asked, half teasing. Emma grinned and held up her glass for more.
"Not really. I'm exhausted. I'd rather just enjoy it."
"As you wish, my lady," Steed filled his own glass and gestured toward the sofa.
"Now, about supper," she said, settling in at her end.
"It's in the kitchen," Steed replied.
"We're staying in?"
"Unless you want to go out."
"No! You've read my mind. I want nothing more than to enjoy your company and curl up with my book for a little while, or a game of chess?"
"I'd be delighted to curl up with you. And a chessboard," he added as if it was an afterthought. She smiled and sipped her wine.
"I suppose you had better fill me in about the Major, Major," she said, chuckling at her cleverness. "Does she know you're a Major, by the way?"
"I should think not. And it hardly matters," he said, hoping she'd take his point and not make an effort to bring it up tomorrow. She nodded slowly and listened as he went on to describe what he knew of the research going at Section Seventy Stroke Zed.
After their lunch Emma had taken a close look at her calendar and decided that she could free up time for Steed's forged deeds. By the time she got to his apartment she was hoping he'd ask again for her help. If he hadn't, she might very well have offered.
She insisted on driving across Southern England to the military facility known only as Section 70/z. It encompassed a lot of land, but had few buildings: just a large laboratory facility, an administrative building, and a garage. It seemed that the personnel were housed off site, and the facility offered only a rudimentary canteen for lunches and snacks. Emma pulled up to the guard post at the main gate and Steed opened the passenger door.
"I'll meet you here in two hours, right Mrs. Peel?" he asked, one leg extended out of the car.
"Two hours," she agreed with a curt nod. He was all business so she would be too. But then he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. She laughed and turned to look into his twinkling eyes. "Two hours," she repeated firmly. He grinned and got out.
"Good morning Major. Thank you for seeing me," Steed extended his hand to Major Susanna Dunn, who shook it, studying him as she did so. She was much like what Steed expected: slender and as tall as him, with shiny blond hair tucked into a chignon at the back of her head and round blue eyes that belied a great deal of intelligence.
"Welcome to Stroke Zed, Mr. Steed. I'm happy to assist you with your investigation. You mentioned something about land ownership?"
She gestured for him to have a seat in her office. It was utilitarian, but with touches that told him that she took pride in her environment. There were fresh flowers in a vase on a table between the two windows, and one wall held several framed photographs of her with dignitaries. She had had a successful career so far, and showed no sign of stopping any time soon. In a way, he supposed, she represented the future: a female officer in a role with great responsibility and a certain amount of visibility. Not as publicly visible as Emma, perhaps, but well known within the research community.
Steed took the deed for the adjacent land out of a folder he had brought and handed it across her desk.
"A Mr. Friedrich Gott has filed a claim for the land described in this deed. It would ordinarily be a civil matter, but the proximity to this facility means that our approval is required before the court will rule on the claim."
He took a map out of the folder and opened it on her desk. "This is the area in question," he said, pointing to a roughly square area outlined in red. Major Dunn studied it, then rose and went to a similar map on her office wall that included the facility's buildings. Steed followed her.
"That's marshland," she said, locating the area on her map. It was at the far side of the facility from the laboratory and administrative buildings.
"Is there anything related to your work there?" Steed asked.
She studied the map for a moment, tracing lines with her finger.
"The recycling center is over here," she said, pointing to a square inside the facility's boundary but not far from the land in question. "It's tanks and filters, mostly. The filtered water goes into the stream."
"Which flows into the marshland," Steed observed, tracing the small blue line that represented moving water.
"Yes, I suppose it does. But what does some used water matter?"
"Indeed," Steed said thoughtfully. "What more can you tell me about your research here, Major?"
"Why, Mr. Steed, it's top secret."
"Yes," Steed replied expectantly.
"I hardly think that your inquiry into our security requires discussion of the content of our work."
"You never know, Major," Steed said, pitching his voice to a flirtatious purr. "I have found criminals within some very reputable organizations."
"This is the army, Mr. Steed," she said, raising one eyebrow in inquiry. "Its reputation is beyond repute."
But something in her tone encouraged him. He smiled, his eyes crinkling warmly. "Of course, Major. Does this facility employ civilians?"
She returned his smile, perhaps just because it was so infectious. But no matter the reason, it forced her to sound pleasant as she replied, "yes. In support roles mainly."
"Maintenance?"
She nodded. "Grounds keeping, general repairs. They are not involved in our research."
"But they are exposed to it, Major. That is, they are in and around the facility. You would be surprised at how clever an evil mind can be."
"But our work --."
"Is extremely valuable," he leaned closer to her and adopted a conspiratorial tone. "An overview, Major, will provide me with enough information to develop some theories. I believe that Mr. Gott has a reason to want that land, and it must have something to do with your facility."
Her big, blue eyes widened ever so slightly as she peered at him from a few inches away. He noticed that she smelled of roses. And he noticed a sparkle in her eyes, behind their stern outward appearance. Years in the military had conditioned her expectations, and he was violating them by standing close to her and speaking softly -- by using sex to get what he wanted. It was a calculated risk -- she could shut him out. But she didn't. Seeming to reach a conclusion, she smiled and nodded, then turned back to her desk. He followed, staying close to reinforce the connection. She opened a drawer and withdrew a folder, glancing at the label on it, then turning back to him. She did not flinch at his proximity and for a moment he thought he might have gone too far. But she raised the folder up between them, tipping it toward him.
"An overview," she said softly, and he realized that he really had gone too far. Only her military professionalism had kept her from responding to his subtle advance. He took the folder and moved half a step back to relieve the tension. But he dared not completely disengage for fear of offending her. He glanced down at the folder in his hands and then back at her, allowing a wistful smile to cross his face. Then he turned on his professionalism.
"I would still like to meet with your head of security," he said formally. "Standard procedure," he added, and then he winked.
"Yes. Of course. I told Captain Sands to expect you," she was flustered. Steed watched her fumble for the telephone, her eyes locked with his. Finally she looked down at the desk and put her hand on the receiver. She called for Captain sands and escorted Steed to the door with an awkward gesture.
"Thank you so much, Major," he said placidly, "I will return this in a few days at the latest."
"I'll look forward to it. That is, that will be fine, Mr. Steed," she said, taking a deep breath and stepping away from him. He tipped his hat to her as he put it on his head and stepped out of her office.
Emma pulled onto the shoulder of the road and stopped her Lotus. She picked up the map again and compared her surroundings to the features it included. It was a geologic survey map, showing detailed elevations and types of vegetation. The plot of land that Mr. Gott was after was, she had realized when she'd studied this map, a marsh. The road where she had stopped was at the edge of the property. Looking out across it she could see that it was, indeed, a wet, overgrown swamp.
She had stopped in the nearest town and gone into a little cafe for a coffee and some information. For the price of the coffee, which was not very good, she'd learned that all of the land in this area was owned by a local farmer. A scone, which was good, bought her directions to his house where he lived alone since his wife had died and his children had grow up and moved away.
Deciding that the marsh was not going to tell her much, she got back in the car and headed for the farmer's house.
"So do you use that particular plot of land for anything, Mr. Wilson? Woops!" she grabbed the side of the tractor seat as it bounced over a rut.
"Nah, it's darn near useless," he said.
"So it wouldn't matter to you if the court ruled in Mr. Gott's favor?" she asked.
"Hell yes it would matter!" he cried, slamming his fist on the rim of the tractor's steering wheel. Emma had caught him plowing a field not far from his house, turning the remains of the harvest under the soil to let it lie fallow until the spring, he'd explained. And he'd refused to stop and speak to her. So she'd climbed up on the tractor with him, standing on the running board because there was only the one seat. She'd thought he might stop then, but he hadn't. She resisted the urge to grab the wheel during his angry outburst. Scowling, he put both hands back on it and sent the tractor into a hairpin turn to start on the next row. Emma flexed her knees and held on. It was actually rather fun.
"You don't want to give up your property?" she asked sympathetically when they were back on track.
"He's up to something, that's what I say," Wilson replied. "Sneaky Germans. The war's not over for them, you know. He's got designs on good English land -- better ‘en what they've got down there in Germany. Leading an invasion, probably."
"Have you ever met Mr. Gott?" she asked, not at all surprised at his prejudice.
"Saw ‘im. In court the one time. All dressed up he was in his fancy suit and gold what ‘cha call it. Tie tack thing. He was a dandy all right. What's he want with my bit of swamp anyway?"
"That's an excellent question, Mr. Gott."
"This is the other property, Mrs. Peel," Steed said gesturing out the window at one of Bath's beautiful crescent-shaped rows of townhouses.
"The deed pre-dates the houses, doesn't it?" she asked.
"My about fifty years," Steed acknowledged. "But no court will grant Mr. Gott back rent for that long -- certainly not for this sort of property. If it were a single dwelling still in the same family, that might be different."
"I'll bet some of those houses have been in the same family since then," Emma said.
"But they all have excellent representation. Mr. Gott is unlikely to win his case here."
"So why bother? It's an expensive case to pursue."
"Distraction?" Steed suggested.
"We look over here while he gets the land over there?" Emma gestured with her head in the general direction of Section Seventy Stroke Zed.
Steed nodded thoughtfully. "And farmer Wilson hasn't the cash to defend his property."
"But, to quote farmer Wilson, ‘what's he want with my bit of swamp, anyway?'" Emma adopted the farmer's rural accent. Steed smiled at her and shrugged, then patted the file in his lap.
"I'm hoping this will give us some insight, Mrs. Peel," he said.
But lunch together was so pleasant neither of them wanted to open the file and continue working. Afterwards Emma put the Lotus on the road toward home and reached over to take Steed's hand. He asked her about the house and she launched into a lengthy description of all the work that was under way. Since she'd moved there a few weeks after the engagement party he'd spent only weekends. She spent most of her time there, finding that being present was the best way to quickly resolve minor issues and keep the work moving along. She went to her office at Knight Industries once or twice a week, and when she did she stayed with him in town. It was a transitional time and they both knew it. He was slowly preparing to move to the house, although that did not mean giving up the apartment so it was not all that obvious. Emma was feathering their nest, and he found her devotion to it intensely attractive.
"Will you stay?" he asked when she braked to a stop in front of his apartment. "I have a dinner to go to -- stodgy politicians I'm afraid -- but I suspect they'd appreciate your company if I phoned and said you were coming."
She appeared to consider for a moment, then shook her head. "I shouldn't. The plasterer is coming back tomorrow morning and I want to be there."
"Have I told you today how much I appreciate what you're doing in the house?" he asked.
"No, not today. Thank you," she said frankly. It was a great deal of work, and although she enjoyed it she also enjoyed knowing that he realized it.
"Shall I come out tomorrow afternoon? I could bring this," he held up the file.
"Actually, we have that meeting with the minister the day after," she reminded him. "In Oxford?"
"Ah, right."
"So I thought I'd come back here tomorrow evening. All right?"
"Of course!" He leaned over and kissed her. "I'll call you later."
"See that you do," she replied with a smile as he got out of her car.
Emma smoothed her very short, very bright green skirt and crossed her legs tightly. She looked up and caught Steed, who was standing by the receptionist's desk, watching her with an altogether inappropriate expression on his face. She cleared her throat, startling him, and looked toward the doorway where Miss Landon had just reappeared. She was petite and pixyish, the sort of girl Emma always felt as if she were towering over.
"Mr. Steed, Miss Knight -- he can see you now," she said, her voice remarkably lacking in inflection. They followed her along a short corridor and into an office filled with books, candles, crucifixes, and a singularly tall man dressed in black slacks and shirt.
As they entered he set a book on a desk already heaving under the weight of stacks of them and extended his hand at the end of an exceptionally long arm. Emma noticed, however, that his sleeve was long enough -- he must have his shirts made.
"Miss Knight. Mr. Steed, welcome. I am father Michaels, dean of the divinity school, as I suspect you know. Please, have a seat."
He gestured toward two chairs -- the only clear horizontal surfaces in the room. Emma and Steed followed instructions and sat down. Father Michaels remained standing, leaning against the edge of his desk, arms folded over his narrow chest.
"I have to admit that you've come with a rather unorthodox request," he said, peering along his beak-like nose at them. Steed leaned back as if the stiff chair were the most comfortable he'd ever occupied and smiled charmingly. But it was Emma who responded.
"We know that it's a busy date, father. But it's very important to us. We've contacted several churches in the area where we're buying our home and received the same answer from each one."
Father Michaels nodded with apparent understanding. "You are unlikely to find a minister assigned to a parish church that can be available to officiate on Christmas Eve," he said.
"Which is why we're here," Steed put in. "We realized that we would be imposing on any parish we went to. But you, Father, or someone on your staff, might have fewer commitments that day."
"We have found a church that does not have an afternoon service. The minister will be helping with a service on the other side of the county," Emma explained. She decided not to mention the generous contribution she had made for use of the sanctuary.
Abruptly Father Michaels straightened and walked around his desk, dragging the chair out from behind it so he could join them.
"Tell me about yourselves. Why are you getting married?"
Emma frowned. She was about to ask the minister if that meant he would do it when Steed leaned forward, reaching out to take her hand. She looked at him, as did Father Michaels.
"Emma and I have known one another for a number of years," he said. "Our relationship has been complicated by circumstances beyond our control. We have finally eliminated the obstacles, and we both want nothing more than to be together."
"What do you do, Mr. Steed? What is your profession?"
Emma watched Steed closely but he didn't miss a beat, "I'm a civil servant -- a government functionary, really. It's not exciting, but it's a solid career. Emma has all of the excitement."
"Oh?" Father Michaels looked enquiringly at her.
"I run my family business," she replied simply.
"I would imagine that keeps you quite busy. Marriage is as much a career as what you do for a living. Do you both feel that you have the necessary time to spend with one another?"
"I have curtailed my role at Knight," Emma replied, feeling Steed squeeze her hand. "I work half time, at most. I fully intend to devote the rest of my time to my husband."
"And you Mr. Steed?"
"My schedule is rather flexible, Father. I am very much looking forward to long rides across my property with my wife," Steed replied, looking pointedly at Emma. She read his thoughts like a trashy novel, knowing he was thinking of a sort of riding experiment she had suggested a few months ago. She hoped he could read her as well. Not in front of a priest, for God's sakes, Steed!
Father Michaels smiled pleasantly, clearly oblivious to the subtext. "Well, I can see that you share a deep commitment. Have you discussed your plans for the future?"
"You mean children?" Steed asked.
"Perhaps -- is that what you've discussed?"
"Yes," Emma put in. "We seem to be stalled on the question of how many."
"Well, that sort of thing tends to sort itself out," the priest said.
"Father, I'm sorry if this sounds blunt, but I am rather known for my directness," Emma said. "Why are you asking these questions? Is there any hope of your performing the ceremony for us?"
"I had a telephone call this morning. It was the sort of call we don't often receive around here -- in fact I was called out of a lecture to take it."
Emma frowned, anxious to hear how this answered her question. Steed leaned back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other, still holding her hand.
"The Archbishop," Father Michaels went on, "he was calling to tell me that I will not be needed as a celebrant at the cathedral for Christmas Eve. That should some other need arise, I was free to step in. I thought it was a very odd message. Until now."
Emma looked at Steed. His expression remained impassive, but his eyes were sparkling with amusement.
"I will want to see you several more times before the wedding. Miss Landon can make the appointments," Father Michaels said, rising. Steed and Emma rose as well, shaking the priest's hand once more.
"Thank you, Father," Emma said sincerely.
"Yes, thank you," Steed added, putting on his hat.
"Yes, well, I'm accustomed to receiving directions from on high, but rarely so specifically."
"You," Emma said as she put her Lotus in gear and backed out of the parking space, "pulled strings."
"Strictly speaking I expressed our mutual frustration in the presence of someone else who may possibly have pulled strings," Steed replied. Emma braked the car and put it into first gear, easing it forward more gently than usual as she tried to remember who Steed had said he was having dinner with the other night. Suddenly it hit her.
"You didn't!" she cried, glancing at him. He looked extremely pleased with himself. "We won't have to invite him to the wedding now, will we?"