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 8
James Bond sorted through eight weeks of mail, setting aside the real from the junk and making a pile of magazines and other lower priority reading material. He'd been undercover in Southeast Asia for five weeks and on leave in Tahiti for two in the company of a very inventive local artist. She'd found uses for watercolors that he had never imagined. The Sotheby's catalog caught his eye and he indulged in a fond memory of her. Taking it from the low priority pile he poured himself a scotch and sat down on the padded leather sofa to flip through it.
Steed checked into the Washington Hilton at midnight after keeping Lee and Amanda in their office accessing data and reviewing reports all afternoon and evening. He felt fairly certain that Peter Peel had arrived in Washington two days ago, entering the country under another of his aliases. Then he'd rented a car with different identification. He'd told the rental agency he wasn't leaving the Washington area, but none of his aliases had turned up in any area hotels.
"He could have just kept driving," Amanda had suggested. "We can widen our inquiry, but without a direction it will take a lot of time."
"Or he could be staying in a private home. Your files have known associates, right?" Lee had added. They'd spent the rest of the evening combing through Steed's files and plotting the American associates on a map. None were within five hundred miles of Washington. The possibility that Peel could be driving to one of them hung in the air of Lee and Amanda's office. Steed had rubbed his eyes and closed his files. It was time for a different approach. Emma might know of someone not mentioned in Peel's papers.
Dropping his bags on the floor he went directly to the telephone and dialed Emma's home phone number. It was five a.m. in London. Emma might be awake, and if not he knew she would not mind being awakened by him. Her tape recorder answered his call, her outgoing message a vestige of happier times, cheerfully offered to record his message. He asked her to call him at the hotel as soon as she could, and left Lee and Amanda's office number as well.
He showered, leaving the bathroom door open so that he could hear the telephone. Then he opened his carry-on bag and removed the bottle of Pernod he'd bought from the duty free shop during his layover at Orly.
At one a.m. he called again, thinking she might have been deeply asleep -- she certainly needed her rest. Her recorder answered again and he didn't leave a message. Thirty minutes and another glass of Pernod later he tried her office number. His call was picked up by the switchboard -- which meant that neither Emma, nor Mrs. Emerson, nor Sally were in. He asked to leave a message for Miss Knight with the operator who, he knew, was one of the security personnel located in the building lobby.
"Miss Knight has gone away, sir," the operator informed him curtly. Steed sunk down on the bed, his exhausted mind filling with dread.
"Away?" he muttered. "Away where?"
"I'm sorry sir, I am not privy to her travel arrangements. I will take your message, of course."
"No, never mind," he said, rudely pressing the buttons on the phone to end the call. He dialed Sally's home number from memory, oblivious to the fact that he was likely to wake her roommates at six thirty in the morning. It did not, apparently, matter. None of them answered. Defeated, he replaced the receiver and picked up the Pernod bottle.
She's gone away. Why didn't she let me know it was this bad? Why didn't Sally warn me? He drank a big gulp of the crisp, icy liquid and refilled his glass. Where are you Emma? You promised you wouldn't leave me again.
Lee called Steed's room twice from the hotel lobby, but got no answer. Impatient, he flashed his identification to the desk clerk and demanded to know Mr. Steed's room number.
His identification and a five-dollar bill got the maid to open Steed's room. She glanced in after unlocking it, then backed away shaking her head. Lee frowned at her, then looked in himself. Steed was sitting on the floor with his back to the bed, one hand wrapped around a glass on the floor, the other arm cradling an empty bottle in his lap. The bed was still made, although Steed was wearing charcoal grey silk pajamas.
Lee stepped in and closed the door.
"Steed?" he said, bending over the other agent. Up close the smell of licorice was sharp. Steed didn't respond. "Steed!" Lee shook his shoulder and he moaned. "Wake up."
But Steed wasn't so much asleep as comatose. His head rolled from side to side, his eyes shut tight.
"Promised you wouldn't …" he muttered. Then his eyes popped open and he stared glassily at Lee. "Where did she go?"
"Where did who go?" Lee asked, realizing as he said it that Steed wasn't even aware of him.
"Emma," Steed moaned.
Lee gently removed the empty bottle from Steed's hand then took the glass and set them both on the nightstand. The days when he could consume a whole bottle of liquor and be awake in the morning were long gone. He imagined it was much the same for Steed, who had a few years on him.
"Come on," he said, hooking his hands under Steed's arms and hauling him upward. The man was remarkably heavy, but fortunately he automatically helped by getting his feet under himself and standing unsteadily. Lee guided him to the bathroom. Stepping into the small room, Steed's eyes popped back open and dropped to his knees in front of the toilet, retching.
Lee stood back and waited until Steed had finished, then stepped in and flushed.
"Any better?" he asked quietly.
"No."
Glad to at least have received an answer, Lee leaned in to the shower and turned on the water. He heard Steed retch again as he adjusted the water temperature.
"Okay, get in," he said, turning back to Steed. Steed didn't move. Lee reached down and flushed the toilet again, then pulled up on Steed's shoulders. He straightened, still on his knees. "I'm not undressing you, Steed. Get up and get in the shower."
Steed put his hands on the toilet seat and pushed upward, standing unsteadily and lurching toward the stream of water in the shower.
"Oh, don't do that --," Lee groaned as Steed stepped under the water still in his pajamas.
"Okay, well, I'll just be out here," he said, stepping out into the bedroom. He opened the closet to see the suit Steed had worn yesterday hung on the hotel hangars. He took it out and laid the three pieces on the bed. Then he opened Steed's still packed suitcase and studied the carefully folded suits and shirts. He took out the top shirt and laid it with the suit. He was sure there were neckties and underwear in the case, but he hoped Steed would recover enough to select them. Of course, if he were in this condition, he'd drag on some jeans and a sweatshirt. But he knew Steed well enough to know that his dress was always important to him, even when he felt like he was dying.
He leaned into the bathroom. Steed was standing under the running water with his face upturned into the spray. As Lee watched, Steed slowly reached up and unbuttoned his pajama top, shrugging out of it so that it landed wetly on the shower floor. Then he reached for the drawstring on the bottoms. Lee retreated.
Lee was stretched out on the bed watching the morning news on the television when the water went off. He swung his feet to the floor, but paused, hoping Steed would take a moment to dry himself off without assistance.
"Stetson?" Steed appeared in the bathroom doorway wrapped in a towel. He leaned against the doorframe and squinted at Lee.
"Yup. Any better?" he asked again.
"A little. You don't happen to have any tomato juice, do you? And some raw eggs?"
"Ah, no. Here, I got out a fresh shirt for you. I'll leave the underwear to you," he pointed at the clothes he'd laid out on the bed. Steed swayed as he walked across the room, but he made it to the dresser where his suitcase lay open and braced himself with one hand while he found underwear with the other. Lee focused on the television while Steed put on the white briefs, dropping the towel, then picked up the trousers Lee had unfolded.
They had shared a small cabin on a submarine for several weeks the previous winter, but that didn't make Lee any more comfortable just laying there watching Steed dress. So he stood up and walked over to the television, peering down at the screen.
"I need to shave," Steed muttered, rubbing his chin.
"Be careful," Lee said, knowing Steed favored a straight razor. He was glad to see Steed take a battery-powered electric razor from his bag.
Twenty minutes later Steed slowly lowered himself into the passenger seat of Lee's Porsche. Relieved to have gotten the other man this far, Lee slipped behind the wheel and put the car in gear.
"So," he said, still keeping his voice low in respect for Steed's condition, "will you tell me about it?"
"She's gone away," Steed said, staring blankly ahead.
"Emma?" Lee glanced at him as he pulled into Washington's morning rush hour traffic.
"I'm afraid that she's given up. She's left London. She's left me."
"How do you know?"
"I called. They told me, at her office. She's gone away."
"That's all Sally would tell you?"
"I couldn't reach Sally."
"Her secretary, then?"
"No, the switchboard operator."
"Let me get this straight, Steed. You drank a bottle of liquor based on information from a night switchboard operator?"
Steed slowly turned his head to direct dull grey eyes at Lee. "You think I jumped to conclusions?"
Lee couldn't help grinning. "Come on, I know who will have tomato juice and eggs."
Steed squinted out at the suburban Virginia neighborhood curiously. The tidy yards and well-kept houses on moderately large lots indicated prosperous, proud owners. It was Friday morning and most of the husbands had already streamed out of the houses to their sedans to drive to the train station or the office. Now children carrying book bags were trooping along the sidewalks toward school. It was idyllic in a way that held no appeal for Steed. He understood that some people craved this life. He knew that he did not. A city apartment with neighbors close by was acceptable because of the benefits of being in the city. But a home required space. Land for horses. A garden. A buffer zone between Steed and the rest of the world. Were Emma to propose this sort of lifestyle he was not sure what he would do.
Emma. He felt his heart sink, despite Stetson's point about his jumping to conclusions. I'll live here, God help me, if it's what you want, if you'll just come back.
Lee parked the car in front of a house with a white picket fence. He got out and came around, holding the door while Steed climbed out of the low-slung car. Aware that Steed was accustomed to his and Emma's convertibles Lee put out a hand to prevent the other man from hitting his head on the doorframe. But Steed unfolded gracefully from the Porche. They walked carefully up the front walk and Lee rang the doorbell. Married more than a year and I have to ring the doorbell at my wife's house. Steed's got nothing on me for a screwed up relationship, he thought.
The door opened and Jamie, Amanda's younger son grinned out. He had a jacket half on and apparently had just dropped his book bag on the floor.
"Hey Lee!" he said cheerfully, then half turned and shouted, "MOM! Lee's here with someone."
Steed shuddered at the loud shout.
"Come on in," Jamie added, kicking his book bag under the hall table so the two men could get by.
"Jamie, this is John Steed. Steed, Jamie is Amanda's younger son."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Jamie," Steed shook the teenager's hand, his voice quite pleasant and even despite his condition, Lee noted.
"Phillip? School!" Amanda's distinctive drawl called out from somewhere upstairs.
"Come on Steed," Lee urged the other man in to the living room. There were thumping steps on the stairs and a babble of voices that concluded with several warm farewells. Then the front door opened and closed.
"Lee?" Amanda appeared in the living room doorway. "What are you --? Oh, good morning Steed."
Lee stepped over to Amanda and placed both hands on her upper arms and a kiss on her forehead. "Steed's had a bad night, Amanda. He's looking for some tomato juice and raw eggs," he said, then turned back to Steed, "anything else?"
Steed, who'd lowered himself gingerly to the sofa, rattled off a long list of ingredients that made Amanda grimace. "Trust me," he added, seeing her expression, "it's the best thing for me."
"Yeah, because it'll make you sick," she muttered too quietly for the Brit to hear. Lee shook his head, following her into the kitchen.
"He's already done that," he said. Amanda grimaced again.
"What happened?" she asked as she started assembling the items Steed had requested.
"Last night he tried to reach Emma and was told that she's ‘gone away.' He decided that meant permanently. But he wasn't able to reach anyone who'd really know what's going on."
"He tried again this morning?"
"No. I'd better help him with that," Lee realized. It was early afternoon in London now. He got Steed to recite the Knight Industries phone number and dialed, asking to be connected to Sally Howard. The young woman answered on the second ring. Lee handed the phone to Steed rather than introduce himself.
"She decided late on Wednesday to accept an invitation to a management conference in Frankfort, Steed," Sally explained. "Mr. Stanton urged her to go -- he wants her to make some contacts. He also told me he thought it would do her good to get away. They took away the Renoir yesterday. She was very sad."
"The Renoir? Oh -- from her office. They're selling it? She must be devastated."
"I'm afraid so. It's to be auctioned with the rest of the fine art from upstairs next week -- there are two Picassos and some small sculptures -- Rodin studies, I think. The preview is this weekend. I think Mr. Stanton didn't want her to be able to go linger at the auction house."
"He's a wise man, Mr. Stanton," Steed said.
"Even if you don't much like him?" Sally added. She was sometimes amazed at herself for the things she let herself say to Steed. She heard him chuckle weakly. He didn't sound well. "Are you all right Steed?"
"Yes -- well, no. But I'll recover. Do you have a number for her in Frankfort?"
"Yes of course," Sally gave him the number and bid him farewell. She wondered as she replaced the receiver on her telephone just what he'd thought when he'd been told by the Knight operator that Emma had "gone away." Poor man.
Steed concocted his auntie's guaranteed hangover remedy in Amanda's blender and consumed the stuff with growing enthusiasm. Lee and Amanda were amazed at the effect it had on him, although Amanda was certain that the drink had very little to do with his recovery.
After a grueling morning telephoning other agencies and contacts Steed met a Swiss diplomatic attaché outside the Swiss consulate to collect another account statement. The last withdrawal it showed was in Paris. Steed was more certain now than before that Peel would start using the funds in one of the other accounts. He telephoned Weems at the ministry and learned that their man in the Cayman Islands was working on that end. So he called there and followed a telephone trail all over the island for a good part of the afternoon. After a strange dinner of take-away Chinese food with Lee he took over Amanda's desk to telephone Emma in Frankfurt.
He'd felt sheepish about his assumption that she'd fled from the stress, but when he heard her voice his fear was washed away by pure joy.
"Tracked you down," he said brightly, knowing she'd recognize his voice.
"Darling! I'm so glad you did. Did Sal -- Mrs. Emerson tell you where to find me?"
"Um, yes. Mrs. Emerson," Steed paused. She had started to say Sally. Why would she think I talked to Sally?
"This conference was rather last minute, but they needed a fill-in for two of the panel discussions and Edmond pressured me endlessly. At least there's no cost to Knight. And I did have drinks this evening with two men that he wanted me to meet."
"Stanton's setting you up now?" Steed asked, only half joking.
"Of course not, Steed," she laughed at him, "They're financiers. Edmond has nothing but Knight's money on his mind. And I think there may be an opportunity for us with one of them."
"Well that's good news."
"Yes. How about you? You've arrived safely, I gather?"
"Yes. I'm with Lee now. Amanda's gone home. We're certain Sir Peter arrived here, but I'm afraid the trail's gone cold. I'm hoping you can help. Can you think of any people he knows in this part of the States?"
"Yes, a few," Emma proceeded to list half a dozen friends and acquaintances, some of which Steed was sure were in his files.
"Thank you, darling," he said as he wrote down the last name and hometown. "What time is it there now? Oh dear, nearly two a.m. I'm so sorry to have called so late."
"Better to have called late than never to have called at all, Steed," she yawned.
"I miss you terribly, you know," Steed glanced up at Stetson seated at his desk, but the other agent seemed to be engrossed in catching up with his own work.
"Me too, darling."
"Can I toast your bun, Steed?" Amanda stood in front of the British agent with a platter of raw hamburgers in one hand and one of hamburger buns in the other. She laughed at Steed's puzzled look. "We put the buns on the grill for a few seconds to toast them -- but some people don't like that," she explained.
"Oh! Certainly Amanda," Steed replied. "Not being a hamburger connoisseur, I will follow your lead." Amanda grinned and headed toward the barbeque grill where Lee was spreading the glowing charcoal.
"Mr. Steed, don't you eat hamburgers in England?" Phillip, Amanda's older son, asked. Steed turned toward the young man, who was seated across from him at the King's picnic table.
"They're not unheard of, but they're not a regular menu item, Phillip," he said. "and where I live, the backyard barbeque is not possible."
"Why not?"
"Because I live in an apartment -- I don't have a backyard."
"Like Lee," Phillip nodded with understanding. "But you must have friends who have barbeques."
"No, not really. My friends who have gardens -- we call them gardens -- don't tend to host barbeque parties."
"That's too bad," Phillip looked sincerely regretful. Steed smiled, but refrained from observing that he didn't feel particularly deprived. He did have to admit that Lee and Amanda and Amanda's sons made it a pleasant way to spend the afternoon. Particularly after a fruitless morning of long distance pursuit. Steed was itching to be on the move, but he had nowhere to go until Peter Peel showed himself somewhere, somehow.
"Freddy says you're feeling low and I should try to cheer you up," Emma's friend Nancy said as they were seated in a small Italian restaurant near Emma's apartment. Nancy had left a message for Emma on her tape while she was in Germany, and Emma had forced herself to return the call and accept her the dinner invitation. She knew Freddy must be behind it, she hadn't heard from Nancy in several months -- since her friend had filed for divorce and gone off to stay with her brother in Wales for a while.
"I've been better," Emma admitted, knowing that Freddy would have filled Nancy in on the public details. She trusted him to have kept the rest to himself -- that was what she paid him for, after all.
"Is it your friend Steed?" she asked. "I know Freddy has always thought he'd hurt you."
"That's wishful thinking on Freddy's part," Emma said, shaking her head ruefully, "The trouble is my company. Our finances are very weak. We're struggling to stay afloat."
"Oh Em, I'm so sorry. After all you went through to regain control! Yes, I know about it. Freddy explained that, too. I'm sorry I wasn't around to help you."
"I suppose it's still for the best. If I weren't the CEO now then I think those in charge would have closed the doors already."
Nancy grinned, "But you're not overly self assured about it," she said. Emma smirked at her and picked up the menu.
Germany had been lonely, if successful. She'd made contact with several sources of funding that would not require the same rigid terms as the English banks she'd first talked with. Still, a loan was a loan, and it represented an admission of defeat to Emma. And she'd come back to her office Monday morning with the empty wall over the fireplace. Only her full calendar had kept her from staring at it and bursting into tears.
She hadn't even had time today to quiz Sally about her most recent date with the cub reporter. Before she'd left for Germany Sally had confessed that she was nervous about his work. Emma had shrugged it off and urged Sally not to do anything she wouldn't do. Thinking back on the conversation over the weekend she'd realized that had probably not been the best advice. She was fairly certain Sally was still a virgin, and she didn't want to be accused of advising her to change that. So now she wanted to know how far Sally had taken it -- assuming the girl would tell her. She knew that at some point her friendly advice would verge on the voyeuristic. It was no way to substitute for Steed.
As she stretched out in her bed that night Emma had to admit that dinner had done her good. Nancy had effectively distracted her from her own misery with outrageous stories of her divorce from Howard. Apparently Nancy had seen her husband's character flaws -- starting with the lack of personality that Emma had spotted the first time she met him -- only after several years of marriage. Howard had cheated on her rather publicly, and Nancy had received a generous settlement because of it. Drifting off to sleep, Emma wished her divorce from Peter could have been that uncomplicated.