This story copyright © 2003 Mia McCroskey
Characters from The Avengers and other sources are the property of their respective owners.
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Steed becomes a man hunter
Emma stays afloat
Chapter 3
"Did you know the Hill children were familiar with your occupation?" Emma finally asked as they entered the outskirts of London the next afternoon.
"No," he replied, "Caro and Harry know, of course. I had a word with Caro about it this morning. She doesn't know how Sara found out, but she promised to speak to her about it."
"You're not worried that Sara might say something to a friend at school?"
He shrugged in his most non-committal way. "She's a smart girl. She'll understand that it's family business, not to be discussed outside the house -- or in the house, for that matter."
"And there's a certain appeal to that sort of secret, when you're thirteen," Emma added thoughtfully. Steed glanced over to smile at her.
"What sort of thirteen-year-old secrets did you treasure?" he asked, too late remembering that her thirteenth year was just after her mother had died. But she settled into her seat and closed her eyes, looking thoughtful, not upset. When he glanced at her again a little smile curled the corners of her mouth. "Mrs. Peel?" he coaxed.
"You don't really want to hear it," she said firmly.
"Of course I do!" he was all the more intrigued by her reticence. She opened her eyes and looked at him. He got the impression she was judging him, determining whether he was worthy.
"My father was determined to raise me on his own, while running Knight. He didn't want to send me away to school. I have always been grateful for that. And I hadn't had a nanny in a few years. He agreed to my demand that none be brought in -- I was much too mature for that."
"I'm sure," Steed grinned, easily imagining the coltish, teenaged Emma asserting her youthful rights.
"But neither of us was prepared for the inevitable," she said, sounding as if some horrible disaster had struck the grieving pair. "I was growing up."
She fell silent and he glanced over. She was watching him expectantly, as if he should understand something unspoken. He gave her an encouraging little smile before looking back at the road ahead. She sighed, seeing that he hadn't understood.
"I started bleeding. It terrified me. I thought I was dying, like mum."
Steed wasn't squeamish, but he did not want to know any more than he had to about any woman's menstrual cycle. Emma, to his great delight, was as loathe to impart any details as he was to hear them. Now and then over the years she'd occasionally fended off his advances saying not a good time, darling and he'd understood. But this admittance of her fear at the onset of puberty was not about monthly bleeding. He wanted to pull over and reach for her, to comfort her long-ago grief at the loss of her mother. I shouldn't have pressed, not while we're in the car.
"There was nobody to explain," she said. "Nobody to show me what to do."
"Your mother hadn't?"
"I think she may have tried, but I was such a little hellion, I didn't listen. I think I was too embarrassed by it to let her get down to the practicalities." She was quiet for a moment. "My friend Nancy came to my rescue. I'd struggled through the first time, washing out linens and underthings and hiding it from father and the maid -- she was a horrible woman who I would never have confided in."
"And one doesn't fraternize with the staff," Steed offered.
"Indeed," she nodded. "I think I realized, once it stopped, what was going on. But I was still taken by surprise the next time. That's when Nancy saw it. She called me a silly twit and dragged me to her mum for a talking to. I think her mother felt terribly sorry for me. She rushed right out and bought me all sorts of paraphernalia that I didn't need."
Steed quickly stopped himself from imagining what paraphernalia that might be.
"All of a sudden I went from being father's little girl, to a young woman with a secret. It made me feel closer to mum somehow. I guess that's silly."
Steed reached over and found her hand in her lap. "It's not silly." He said.
"And then there was the other secret," she went on, giving him a sly look that he just caught as he glanced at her curiously and returned his eyes to the road.
"Yes?" he asked since she obviously wanted him to.
"My first kiss," she said, caressing his fingers in her lap.
"Precocious, weren't you?" he said, feeling ridiculously jealous of the unknown boy.
"It wasn't much, really," she added. "I didn't really learn about kissing for quite a number of years." She gave him a pointed, flirtatious look that made his eyebrows arch. "You are such a good kisser, darling," she added to make sure he understood. He didn't believe her, of course. After all, she'd been in love and married before meeting him. And she'd been perfectly capable of inciting intense desire with her kisses when he met her. Still, her compliment felt good.
"So I should not be jealous of this fellow who stole your first kiss? What was his name?" he asked.
"Certainly not," she said, watching him for a moment. "Freddy. Freddy Leighton."
Steed coughed to hide his surprised gasp. Her friendship with Lord Frederick Leighton had bothered him back when they had first become lovers. He'd had no idea that she'd known him for so long. Or so well. He glanced at her and saw that she was smiling delightedly.
"No wonder you didn't want to tell me," he said, deciding to play the jealous suitor. This was the first time she'd mentioned Leighton since returning to him months ago, and he was certain she had no interest in the man other than as a friend. But she deserved a little ribbing.
"Yes," she agreed breezily, "It wasn't much of a kiss, but I've always remembered it fondly."
"So fondly that you spurned poor Freddy repeatedly over the ensuring years," he pointed out. When she didn't answer he look at her. She was laughing silently. She lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it.
"I remember it fondly because of what I realized when it happened," she said. "I realized that one has friends, and one, eventually, hopefully, has lovers -- remember I was thirteen -- and that it is possible to tell which someone was destined to be by how they kiss."
"You still hold with that theory? Don't give a fellow a second chance? What if he's nervous the first time?"
"Are you suggesting I go about giving my male friends second chances?" she asked
"I was thinking selfishly, actually," he said. "Where would we be now if you'd put me in the other category after our first kiss?"
"Steed, do you remember our first kiss?"
"In every delicious detail," he grinned.
"Then how can you possibly think I didn't know exactly what sort of relationship I wanted with you? You never needed a second chance."
He looked over at her for longer than he should, snapping his eyes back to the road just in time to touch the breaks as they bore down on a slower vehicle ahead. Maybe not in that regard, he thought.
Her ministry-trained driver stopped the black limousine beside the kerb in front of the Knight Industries building and Emma peered out the tinted window. One of a group of reporters who were waiting outside of the building spotted her car and trotted toward it. Her driver, Stanley, quickly got out and opened her door, interposing himself between her and the reporter. The rest of the reporters were following their compatriot making a beeline for the car. Emma got out clutching her briefcase to her chest.
"Walk me in please Stanley," she instructed. He nodded and gave the reporters a threatening glare as they started walking toward the building.
"Miss Knight, how does it feel to be returning to the office where you were attacked?" a reporter shouted.
"Will you be meeting with the remaining members of the board?"
"How has your absence affected the firm?"
"Is it true you're going to step down?"
Emma climbed the three steps in front of the building and put her hand on Stanley's arm, turning to face the reporters.
"Gentlemen, and lady," she acknowledged at the lone female in the group, "As you have apparently ascertained, today is my first day back at Knight headquarters. I am hardly in a position to answer many of your questions. However, it is not my intention to avoid you. I will be happy to come back and speak to you in about an hour."
She turned and strode into the building before they could fire off any more questions. Stanley maintained his position at the top of the steps, arms folded over his expansive chest. He was sufficiently imposing to keep the reporters at the bottom of the steps.
"Welcome back, Miss Knight," Mrs. Emerson greeted her at the lift -- Emma suspected that security had called from the lobby.
"Thank you Mrs. Emerson," she replied, falling in along side the woman to walk to her office. "There are reporters out front. I told them I'd come back and speak to them in an hour. Please have Mr. Hart come to my office. Is Sally in yet?"
"She's in your office, Miss Knight. I'll call Mr. Hart immediately."
Emma smiled her gratitude for her staff's efficiency and entered her office.
Sally jumped to her feet when Emma entered. "Oh ma'am, you look so well!" she said.
"Thank you Sally. I feel well, too. There's a group of reporters out front. Please arrange for a lectern to be placed out at the top of the steps within the hour. You can call from here, I'm sure I have other things for you to do after that."
Sally nodded and crossed to the seating area near the fireplace to use the telephone extension there. Emma found herself watching the girl, her eyes lingering on the spot on the floor where she'd fallen after being shot by Evan Birch. She realized with a start that the carpet was new. She wondered what other small changes had been made without her knowing.
Mrs. Emerson had placed several files and documents in the center of her desk, her calendar open to the day's agenda on top. She half listened to Sally speaking to whoever took care of moving furniture about the building as she quickly jotted down the questions she'd been asked downstairs. She had just finished when Stephen Hart, head of Knight's public relations department, knocked and entered.
They spent the next forty minutes crafting a statement for her to make and discussing the answers to the questions they expected she'd be asked. She and Hart discussed whether to bring the reporters inside to the conference room, but decided against it in favor of keeping it brief and seemingly impromptu.
The hour was over in no time. Emma, Hart, Sally, and Mrs. Emerson rode down the lift to the lobby and walked outside. The group of reporters had nearly doubled with the addition of several photographers. Emma stood at the lectern and smiled coolly, giving the photographers a moment to snap her picture with the Knight logo etched on the window behind her. She took the moment to scan the group, but saw nothing untoward. Stanley was still there standing beside the car on the sidewalk. Steed, she noticed with surprise, was lurking by a column at the top of the steps, out of view of the reporters, but well positioned to act if necessary.
She recited her statement as closely to how they'd prepared it as she could -- they'd also agreed that she wouldn't read it. The reporters would be less likely to question what sounded like off-the-cuff remarks. The tactic worked -- Emma was not bombarded when she finished. She thanked the reporters and offered Mr. Hart's services to answer any further inquiries they might have. When she finished speaking Mrs. Emerson distributed copies of Knight's most recent public reports -- material the reporters probably already had.
Steed slipped silently through the door into the building behind Emma and Sally and escorted them across the lobby to the lifts.
"I'm sorry you were ambushed, Mrs. Peel," Steed said, studying her face for signs of distress. She'd looked and sounded cool and businesslike, but he was well acquainted with her acting ability, "Stanley called me from the car. It should have occurred to someone that they'd catch on and be here."
"It should have occurred to me," Emma agreed with a sigh. "But all's well, I think. Sally, why are you standing with your back turned?"
Sally, who was studiously facing the doors, said, "Because I think Mr. Steed is concerned about you and would like to take your hand, ma'am." The lift stopped at Sally's floor and the doors opened. Sally stepped out, glancing back over her shoulder at them with a smile as she hurried away. Emma and Steed looked at one another, both of them containing their amusement as the lift continued upward.
"Perceptive girl," Steed finally said, holding his hat and umbrella and making no move to touch Emma. She cocked one eyebrow and he glanced up at the security camera mounted near the ceiling. That made her chuckle outright, as it was a reminder of the day of the shareholders' meeting when he'd avoided any contact with her because of the cameras.
The lift reached the top floor and they walked together to her office. She had barely shut the door when Steed's arms were around her.
"Sally's perceptive, but not a mind reader, fortunately. I really wanted to do this," he said, kissing her quite passionately. She returned it eagerly, even knowing that the little sparks they were igniting would have to go untended. "Now try to stay out of any more trouble today, will you? I've got a security job -- another important person needing guarding -- to plan for."
"Anyone I know?" she asked. He moved his hands to her upper arms and pressed his lips to her forehead.
"It's someone everyone knows." He winked as he released her and went to the door.
"Bye Steed," she called out as he waggled his bowler over his shoulder then put it on his head. She stood in her office door smiling after him for a moment, then returned to her desk to face the real work of the day.
Her first day back was supposed to have been just a half day, but when Mrs. Emerson told her she had scheduled an appointment with a Mr. Charles Barnwell for just after lunch she resolved to keep it. Barnwell, Mrs. Emerson explained, was coming to discuss Knight's investment portfolio. So although Emma was feeling mentally drained from a morning of meetings with Knight's executives, she had Sally bring her a light lunch and rested in her office, waiting for the banker.
Her morning meetings after the impromptu press conference had gone well enough. Many familiar faces were gone, including the head of the Knight Weaponry, who she'd suspected of being part of Peter Peel's criminal network. Somehow Steed had convinced Emma's ex-husband to identify Knight industry staff members who had been helping him steal information and equipment on behalf of the South American regime that he had allied himself with. A ministry team had arrested all of those identified, but Peter himself had escaped when Evan Birch had attacked Emma. She had had her suspicions about who the traitors were, but for each of the expected absences, there were surprises. Griffith, the head of personnel whom she'd thought was nearly incompetent, had been implicated. And several high-ranking members of the accounting and bookkeeping division. She was relieved to learn that the ministry had arrested none of the staff in the cryptology section of Weaponry, and the software staff had also been cleared. Those were both departments she intended to count upon for Knight's future growth.
Edmond Stanton had clearly been working tirelessly during her absence making management decisions to see that the duties of those who'd been arrested were taken care of. He'd contacted her about many of them, explaining the need in as concise a manner each time so that she would not fret about details that were out of her control. He'd been so skilled at it she hadn't noticed his manipulation until today. She couldn't think of an adequate way to express her gratitude toward Edmond -- but she had in mind a long, paid holiday, sometime in the future when things were under control.
Sally too had been damnably close mouthed about affairs at Knight during her convalescence. As Emma's personal assistant she had visited every few days until Emma went away with Steed. Although she'd offered updates on the state of affairs at Knight, Emma now realized she'd managed to skip all the bad news. Of course, as a very junior person in the organization she could simply claim lack of knowledge. Emma knew better, of course, Sally was a magnet for information -- largely because she was remarkably discrete.
Emma ate her lunch and thought through all that she'd learned that morning. The most surprising, and possibly disturbing thing was the continued presence of Alex Harper within the organization. Harper was a ministry agent placed within Knight before Emma regained control and Peter Peel identified the members of his organization. Emma had recognized him within days of taking over and gained his confidence. She had not let Steed know that she knew about Harper, but she'd expected that he would be removed after the arrests. His continued presence could mean that the ministry wasn't satisfied that the security risks at Knight were eliminated. She had asked Mrs. Emerson to schedule a meeting with him for tomorrow morning. He would, she was certain, explain why he was still undercover in her company.
Meanwhile, she was anxious to find out the condition of Knight's cash and investment accounts. A friend of Steed's had proposed a very exciting research and development project that she wanted Knight to get involved in. Edmond had been negotiating the terms, but until she knew exactly how much Knight could afford to invest he could not finalize the deal.
Charles Barnwell appeared in her office at the appointed time bearing a thin file and multiple expressions of regret.
"Please accept my apologies for the manner in which this information has been brought to you, Miss Knight. In reviewing Knight's file, I have learned that you made several requests to see an account summary which Mr. Stein disregarded," he began almost immediately after introducing himself.
Emma gestured him to a seat across the desk from her and regained her own chair. He sat down on the edge of the seat, clearly uncomfortable. Emma wanted very much to know why.
"Mr. Stein?" she asked. She remembered asking Mrs. Emerson to find out who managed Knight's account with the investment firm, but she'd never found out -- she'd been shot that afternoon.
"Matthew Stein. He has been dismissed," Barnwell looked rather grim.
"For not returning our calls?" Emma's brows rose. "That seems rather severe, even thought I was inconvenienced, Mr. Barnwell," she said.
"Poor customer service was not the reason for his dismissal, Miss Knight. His management of your -- that is, Knight's -- accounts is the reason." He opened the file he'd brought and took out the top sheet, turning it and placing it on the desk in front of her. "You see, Mr. Stein's skill was apparently tested far more than we realized by your company's assets. We had no idea he was so incapable."
Barnwell had elected to defend Stein's actions as error rather than outright fraud. Once Knight's lawyers and accountants looked at the investment account ledgers they'd know that Stein had committed multiple acts of fraud, but he, Barnwell, didn't have to deliver that news directly to Knight's CEO.
"Incapable?" Emma picked up the account summary, scanned it, and set it back down. She was sufficiently familiar with such documents to quickly apprehend their meaning. Knight's investment accounts were nearly empty. She felt faint. "Mr. Barnwell," she said, making eye contact with him to keep herself focused. She could not believe what she'd just read. "Knight's last financial report included a substantial sum in liquid investments. These numbers are in gross contradiction with that. Are you saying that Mr. Stein misrepresented the portion of Knight's finances under his jurisdiction to our accountants? Surely this sort of loss cannot occur over the period of a few months."
"We are investigating Mr. Stein's actions, Miss Knight. I am not prepared to say whether he miss-reported financial data to Knight in the past, or whether his recent management of these accounts has caused this situation."
"But either way, Knight has no cash-on-hand," Emma said. Her voice was so cold it made Barnwell shiver.
"Knight has the sum mentioned in the grand total line at the bottom of the sheet, Miss Knight. It is a handsome sum," Barnwell tried, almost hating himself for his performance. He reminded himself of his personal debts, the servicing of which required his continued employment, and carried on.
"Mr. Barnwell," Emma stood up, leaning both hands on her expansive desk, "Knight Industries is one of the largest corporations in Britain. This," she stabbed a finger at the total on the report, "is a paltry sum -- my aunt Elise has a larger investment portfolio than this." She knew that was true because her aunt's investments were largely Knight stock. Of course, it looked as if its value was about to drop. Emma herself held a diverse portfolio, but a fair portion of it was invested in Knight. Steed, too held a substantial block of Knight shares. This Matthew Stein had single-handedly decreased the fortunes of numerous of Emma's friends and family. Many of them had invested in Knight to support her bid to take over. She glared down at Barnwell, an increasing light-headedness forcing her to lean heavily on her hands. Fortunately, Barnwell took her posture as aggression. He stood up, stepping away from the desk.
"This file contains the account details," he said, reaching out to place it between Emma's hands on the desk. "I'll just leave it with you, and when your people wish to discuss it I'll make myself available."
He hurried from her office before she could react.
Emma shifted her weight to one hand and used the other to punch the intercom button on her telephone.
"Mrs. Emerson, could you bring me some water please," she said. Then she let herself sit carefully back down. She was shaking. She reached up to smooth her hair, but her hands impulsively covered her face instead. A few minutes later Mrs. Emerson found her sitting with her head in her hands.
"Miss Knight?" the older woman rushed to her side, placing one hand carefully on her shoulder. Emma lowered her hands. Mrs. Emerson nearly gasped at her pale complexion.
"Mrs. Emerson, please set up a meeting with our accountants and lawyers. Include Edmond Stanton," she said weakly.
"Yes Miss Knight. Here's your water. Are you feeling well?"
"No. No I'm not Mrs. Emerson. It seems that my ex-husband has left us one final calling card -- in Knight's accounts. We shall have to salvage what we can. Please set up a meeting immediately -- this afternoon if possible."
"Miss Knight," Mrs. Emerson started to object. But Emma's quick, hard look silenced her. "Yes, Miss Knight."