Characters from The Avengers and other sources are the property of their respective owners.
[an error occurred while processing this directive] people have read this chapter since March 2006
Emma wrapped herself in her extra large robe and picked up her towel and bath kit. She paused on her way to the shower as another woman crossed her path and opened the door leading to the steam sauna. She eyed the cloudy glass enclosed room down the hall for a moment before the door closed. Just for a few minutes. It can’t do any harm. She pushed the door open and followed the other woman, primly holding her robe shut over her belly – the sauna was co-educational, so to speak, and she did not care to educate any of Steed’s fellow agents about her pregnant form.
Although her formal status with the ministry was debatable, she still used the athletic facilities. As an official advisor to the secret services on various matters, she possessed the necessary credentials to enter ministry headquarters. Whenever she signed in at the gymnasium nobody batted an eye at the civilian status indicated on her card. She was not sure whether being married to Steed or being a favorite of Hemming -- the head of the ministry’s physical training program – put her in better stead. Whichever it was she was grateful, because in her current state the gym equipment in the basement at home was difficult to use and even risky and although the pool was still warm, it was not long enough for a good swim. The ministry’s lap pool allowed her to get the exercise she craved.
She slipped into the steamy sauna and shut the door quickly to keep in the hot, aromatic vapors. Her doctor had not specifically forbidden her to use the sauna, but then, she had not asked. Hemming had the steam kept very hot and dense, and Emma had learned from Steed and by experience that it was a training tool for the agents. Even here within the security of the ministry discretion and caution were the watchwords, and agents who talked out of school while basking in the steam were likely to be overheard – and reprimanded – by senior agents or trainers skulking in the misty shadows.
Through the steam Emma could see the woman who’d come in ahead of her and three or four other towel-wrapped figures. Moving carefully on the slick, hot tile she climbed up one tier and scooted to the back, stretching out flat on her back with her knees bent up to ease her lower spine.
The steam made her drowsy and she let herself drift for a few minutes, breathing in the moisture and imagining its curative effects on her lungs and sinuses. People came and went and the steam jets hissed and gurgled. Emma stretched first one leg and then the other and massaged her wet scalp with her fingers. I deserve a little pampering this morning, she told herself. She would be spending the afternoon at Arnold Bray’s funeral spying for Steed.
“Tessa, is that you?” a female voice asked.
“Yes it’s me. I’ve just finished with Hemming’s self defense class. I don’t know why I let them talk me into it.”
Emma smiled. She had been a star pupil in Hemming’s class when Steed had suggested she take it shortly after they began working together. Hemming had quickly made her his assistant and asked her to teach certain techniques that were her own invention.
“I know. It’s silly to require it of administrative assistants. It’s not like we’ll ever be in the field.”
Tessa chuckled. “I think there could be a need for it right here in the building, depending on which agents are in town,” she said. Susan laughed appreciatively and Emma smiled. Some things never changed.
“How is operation Steed going?” Susan asked. Emma’s eyes sprung open, but she forced herself to remain still. Administrative assistants were not, she supposed, trained to be discrete in saunas.
“Slowly,” Tessa replied with frustration in her voice. “He was in on Friday and I brought him tea, but he barely spoke to me.”
“You prepared it the way he likes it?”
“I tried, but apparently he doesn’t like his tea the same as he does his coffee. He added sugar.”
Emma smirked and held up her index finger, rotating it counterclockwise, but the other two women did not see her through the steam.
“Oh well, now you know. Next you’ll be moving on to drinks.”
Both women giggled and Emma’s stomach lurched.
Does he know? He’s incapable of not flirting, and this Tessa is audacious. Emma toyed with the idea of interrupting Tessa and Susan by identifying herself, but she decided not to. She did not for a moment believe that Steed would stray from her with either of these women, but the temptation to foil their scheming in a more visible way was too strong. Whether Steed was oblivious to them, or aware and simply ignoring it, this sort of pursuit of her husband had to be publicly discouraged.
Vowing to contrive a suitable response she sat up and edged along the upper seat toward the door, then climbed down and out without attracting undue attention.
***
“Amen.”
“Amen,” Emma and the rest of the mourners echoed the minister’s final word and stood quietly for a moment gazing at the casket containing the remains of Mr. Bray.
“Well, I’ve never had a customer go to such lengths to avoid making another purchase,” Nancy sighed as she and Emma turned away from the grave, their fashionable shoes sinking in the springy sod. Emma focused on walking on the balls of her feet to keep her narrow two-inch heels from sinking and tripping her. “And you lost a potential new patron.”
“Not if he wanted to collect paintings like that one,” Emma replied, realizing at the same time how disrespectful their discussion was. She glanced around surreptitiously, remembering Steed’s assignment: He had asked her to photograph the mourners and she’d done so with a miniature camera mounted in her shoulder bag.
“What do you think of that one?” Nancy asked, jutting her chin toward a tall redhead who had been standing across the grave from them and was now pacing them off to the left. “She looks like ‘the other woman.’”
“You should right crime fiction,” Emma replied, recalling that she had already photographed the woman.
“Oh come on, look at those legs. How can Mr. Bray’s widow compete?”
Emma glanced at the woman in question, a blonde about a decade Mr. Bray’s junior, dressed in Dior with a suntan the likes of which could only be had at the best Biarritz resorts.
“I don’t think she had any trouble there – in fact, she seems somewhat under whelmed.” Indeed, the widow was resting her hand on her stepson’s arm and favoring him with a warm smile as he escorted her to their limousine.
“Shock,” Nancy suggested.
“Opportunism,” Emma countered.
“I’m with you,” a third voice chimed in. Nancy and Emma looked simultaneously at the tall red head who had moved to intercept them. Emma wondered how much she’d heard.
“Catherine Banning,” she said. “You’re Nancy Belmont, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Nancy replied hesitantly.
“I represent Mr. Bray’s insurer. I understand he bought his most recent painting from your gallery the night he died.”
“Yes that’s right.”
“He telephoned my people that evening and left a message about adding it to his policy. A minor adjustment for such a work – not an artist we’d usually handle -- but Mr. Bray was a good customer. And I understand that the new work was not typical of the artist.”
“No. In fact the artists feels that it’s weak,” Emma replied with forced casualness. Nancy shot her a concerned look. She knew all too well how much Emma enjoyed little deceptions.
Catherine’s eyes narrowed as she examined Emma more closely, her gaze pausing on her protruding belly.
“Um, Catherine Banning, please let me introduce Mrs. Emma Knight Steed,” Nancy put in awkwardly. Catherine raked Emma with another head to toe inspection, which Emma returned with a barely concealed smirk.
“The artist,” Catherine said. “How interesting.”
“The insurance claims adjuster,” Emma replied. “Do you come to all your client’s funerals?”
“Only the ones who’ve been robbed,” Catherine replied without a hint of malice. “Miss Belmont, I’ll come by your gallery tomorrow.” She extended her hand to Nancy with a calling card that had mysteriously appeared there. No sooner had Nancy taken it than Catherine melted away in the dwindling crowd of mourners.
Nancy and Emma strolled onward to Emma’s car – she had taken her own advice and garaged the Lotus, switching to the big Range Rover usually left for Siobhan’s use.
“You may have met your match,” Nancy said as they got in.
“Pardon?” Emma turned the key and the engine roared to life.
“The way you two sized each other up,” Nancy added. “Like two cats circling.”
“You only say that because I’m pregnant and vulnerable,” Emma replied. The overheard conversation in the sauna had been preying on her all afternoon. Belief in her husband’s constancy did not completely ease her mind over her rivals, and she was feeling large and awkward. She didn’t observe Nancy’s puzzled expression as she signaled and entered the stream of traffic heading for the graveyard gate.
* * *
Emma studied a photograph of the widow Bray through an optical loupe, then set it down and examined a picture of the minister.
“Are you quite sure you focused the enlarger correctly?” she asked, glancing up at Steed as he entered the dining room with a tray of tea things. She was just a bit frustrated that her doctor had begged her not to work with photographic chemicals until after she delivered. Steed frowned at her accusation, clearly considering suggesting that the focus problem was in the shooting when the front doorbell chimed.
“That will be Gambit,” he said instead, setting down his tray. Emma smiled smugly as she unloaded the cups and saucers around the pile of photographs.
Steed returned with Gambit a moment later and they joined Emma at the table. Steed spread the photographs out for Gambit to examine them while Emma played mother.
“Here’s Maxine Tellerman,” he tapped a photo of a woman with a black veil concealing her face.
“Yes, so I thought,” Steed replied.
“Your prime suspect in the murder?” Emma confirmed. “That’s brazen.”
“That’s why she’s wearing the veil,” Gambit retorted.
“Disguised,” Steed added, his expression acknowledging that the disguise had been absurdly ineffective. “And who is this, I wonder?” he picked up the photograph of Catherine Banning.
“Insurance investigator,” Emma and Gambit replied in unison, their eyes meeting as they spoke.
Steed’s left brow arched. “This is the investigator you’ve been dealing with?” he asked Gambit.
Emma’s mouth curled in a knowing smile as Gambit’s face colored.
“No wonder you haven’t dispensed with her yet,” Steed added.
“She told Nancy that she would visit the gallery to speak with her about Mr. Bray,” Emma said.
“Well, we can’t interfere with her doing her job, until she interferes with us,” Steed replied, still eying Gambit. The younger agent nodded a bit unsurely.
“In fact, I think you should keep her very close,” Steed went on.
“Steed?” Gambit was puzzled.
“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?” Emma asked.
Steed shot her a proud smile. “She saw you in his house the night he died. She could blow your cover. Bring her in close and put her on our team. If she recovers the painting and microdot, so much the better.”
“With pleasure,” Gambit replied, finally allowing a wide grin. Now Emma arched one brow. Gambit noticed her skeptical expression.
“You’d like her,” he said. “She’s very intelligent.”
“Yes I can see that,” Emma replied, nodding at the photograph with a chuckle.
“Now who else do we have here?” Steed said, shuffling the photographs again as he sipped his tea.
Emma and Gambit both glanced toward the door to the butler pantry where a movement caught their eyes.
“I’m sorry, I’m interrupting,” Tara said, taking in the scene. Steed half turned to look over his shoulder toward her, then rose instinctively. “Not at all. Join us Tara.”
Gambit also rose, offering her his chair, but she went to the other side of the table to sit beside Emma.
“Recognize anyone?” Steed asked her, spreading the photos out more and pushing some toward her.
“Should I?” she asked, pulling the photo of Skinner out from under some others.
“You should recognize him.”
“Skinner, isn’t it?”
“Dead on,” Steed replied, making Gambit cringe. “Anyone else?”
“Perhaps I should not ask, but why are we looking at mourners at a funeral?” Tara asked. “Or perhaps I simply mustn’t ask who died?”
“Among these mourners are some very unsavory characters, Tara,” Steed said.
“Well that goes without saying,” Tara replied with a rare smile.
“Well I’m glad that I don’t see Oxley,” Gambit said. “I think he really does consider the deal closed.”
“But if Miss Tellerman stole the painting and microdot, why was she at the funeral?” Emma asked.
Steed shrugged. “Is there a chance Oxley lied to you, Gambit? What if he’s looking for the painting?”
Gambit’s expression looked strained at being doubted. “I’m going with a gut feeling about Oxley. I don’t have anything concrete. I’m more concerned about Miss Tellerman. She’s working for the Chinese – right?” Steed nodded. “So if she stole the painting and handed it over to her Chinese buyers, how long do we have before their engineers look at the plans on the microdot?”
“And they won’t be happy with what they find,” Emma observed.
“Fake plans?” Tara asked, pleased that she was able to guess at the situation from their discussion.
“Very,” Emma confirmed, sliding a photo of widow Bray out from the bottom of the pile to look at it.
“You’re right Gambit, we have to accelerate the schedule as much as possible before whoever has the dot blows us out of the water,” Steed said. “If Oxley figures out that you substituted our false plans for the ones he stole everyone involved will be in danger. And we have to get that painting back,” Steed said, hoping Emma would not think that Nancy was included in those who were threatened.
“But it’s still strange that she came to the funeral,” Emma said. “Perhaps for the same reason you had me take these photos, Steed.”
“To see who else was there,” he nodded, eyes rising to Gambit. “Did you return that auction slip to the gallery?”
“Yes. I broke in last night.”
“What?” Emma nearly growled. Steed laid a hand on her forearm and Tara inched away from her.
“Gambit had borrowed the list of bids. It was only right to return it for Nancy’s records.”
“She has an alarm system – what did you do to it?”
“Painfully simple, actually. You should have someone consult with her on a better one,” Gambit’s smug tone only served to further anger Emma.
“Mike,” Steed cautioned.
Emma pulled her arm out from under Steed’s hand and sat back in her chair, arms crossed, glaring at Gambit. Realizing that he was playing with fire and that his superior was likely to be the one who got burned, he tried to salvage the situation: “I reset it when I left. In any case,” he turned to Steed as if by ignoring Emma’s anger it would go away, “Why did you ask about the list of bids?”
“Because I want the insurance investigator to see it – I want her to focus on Miss Tellerman.”
“So I don’t have to.”
“If she’s as good as her reputation suggests she’ll recover all of the missing art, and, hopefully, our microdot. I want you to focus in this new arrangement of Oxley’s.”
“What new arrangement?” Emma asked, still sulking in her chair.
“He says he has a new source of information. He wants to set up private auctions –.” Gambit stopped, watching her sit up, hands on the arms of her chair, anticipating that he would try to explain why the gallery should be further involved. He silently congratulated himself on vetoing that idea already. “I already told him I’d set up a different arrangement – not the Belmont Gallery,” he said, just pre-empting Emma’s imminent protest.
Emma relaxed, her face warming into a slightly embarrassed smile.
“Sorry Mike. I shouldn’t have flown off like that.”
Steed favored her with an indulgent smile and Gambit shrugged. In fact, her anger had disturbed him. He so seldom saw her demonstrate such raw emotion it came as a shock when she did.
“Never mind darling,” Steed said. “We spies are thick skinned.”
Emma’s smirk suggested that she thought of herself as thick-skinned as well, usually.
***
“I daren’t leave the house except with the children,” Dolly groaned to Siobhan over the telephone. “Mrs. Rolfe has made it very clear that I am on notice. The slightest indiscretion and I’m out.”
“Oh Dolly, really,” Siobhan replied, “you know how hard they all think it is to find a good nanny – you really think she’ll let you go that quickly? It’s not like you’ve been irresponsible with the children or anything.”
“No, but there have been a few – issues. You know? It’s hard to juggle this job and a boyfriend. Aiden doesn’t always understand that I have to get a good night’s sleep, even on my nights off.”
“So that’s the real trouble, hum?” Siobhan teased, although she was positively envious of Dolly’s relationship with Aiden. Something made her want to cast it into a negative light. “And the other night, were you saying he doesn’t listen to you?”
She regretted it immediately, but Dolly only groaned again. “I wasn’t sure that you heard – I guess everyone has heard by now, whether they were in the room, or even at the party. Yes, it’s true. He asked me to do something and I wasn’t able to. But he would not listen to my explanation.”
“What did he ask you to do?” Siobhan blurted the question without thinking. Silence on the other end of the line told her she should have been more discrete. Too late now. “Dolly?”
“Nothing.”
“Um, Dolls, you don’t get into a screaming fight over nothing,” Siobhan’s mind was reeling, imaging all manner of requests a boyfriend might make that a girlfriend might not want to do. But Dolly had said she wasn’t able to not did not want to. “If he’s pressuring you to, you know, do something you’re not interested in you just tell him no.”
“It’s like I told him, I couldn’t do it that day,” Dolly replied. “I wanted to talk about what happened, but he just blew up.”
“What is it that he wanted you to do, then?” Siobhan finally asked. She could not imagine that it was anything intimate, not the way Dolly was talking.
“Well, I shouldn’t – Siobhan, do you ever get frustrated not having any money?”
“I have money,” Siobhan replied, curiosity growing.
“Don’t be dense, you know what I mean. We don’t have the kind of money our employers do. Do you ever get tired of being the help?”
Siobhan thought back to a similar conversation she’d had with Hal the groom, where she’d been the one asking a question like that. He had told her that he was very happy doing what he did and that he lived comfortably, and she had realized that the Steeds worked very hard for what they had, and took enormous risks.
“I don’t intend to be ‘the help’ forever,” she replied to Dolly.
“Oh no? What do you intend to do? Find a rich man? All the ones you’ll ever work for are already taken.” Dolly’s tone was flippant, but her words were rather hurtful.
“No – I mean, marrying money would be all right but right now I’m studying, preparing for my next career.”
“Which is?”
“Writing. I’m observing people, making notes. Eventually I’ll sell something, and eventually I’ll be able to stop being a nanny.”
“You’re daft! You can’t write about your employers. You aren’t writing about me are you?”
“In my journal,” Siobhan admitted, still stung and willing to annoy her friend.
“You haven’t written anything about the other night!”
“It’s my journal, Dolly.”
“I had better not see myself in a newspaper somewhere!”
You already were, Siobhan thought, recalling the short item that had appeared in the local paper about the fight at the party. Fortunately she managed to hold her tongue on that count. “Anyway, what do you mean about money?” she asked.
Dolly did not reply immediately and Siobhan half expected her to end the conversation. When she did her tone had changed: she was almost whispering.
“Aiden has an organization. There are four of us now, but he’d like to expand. It’s practically foolproof.”
“What is it? Like a union, or an agency – for wages or something?”
Dolly chuckled. “That would be pointless, wouldn’t it? No, it’s nothing like that. We procure things – valuable things. Aiden sells them and we all profit.”
Siobhan sat up straight in her rocking chair, eyes wide, staring at the open nursery door as if the Steeds might be standing outside listening.
“Dolly you can’t mean it! I don’t even want to say what I think you mean. Tell me you haven’t –.”
“Relax Siobhan. None of us takes anything from our employers. That would be idiotic.”
“Who then? You can’t really mean you’re in a theft ring!” and even as she said it the story started unfolding in her head. She wanted to hang up and start making notes, except that Dolly might provide even more useful details.
“The other employers,” Dolly said. “We all have access to one anothers’ homes. We arrange for an alibi for the employee, and then one of the others does it. We’re not taking actual valuables – just papers, documents. Aiden tells us what to look for.”
“You’ve actually done this?” Siobhan had gone from curious to shocked. Her respect for her friend had just plummeted. How could Dolly not realize that information could be far more valuable than the art, jewelry, silver, and even money to be found in their employers’ homes?
“Not yet. That was what the fight was about. I was supposed to, but I couldn’t – I was nearly caught.”
“Stop,” Siobhan said. “Don’t tell me anything else.”
“Look, Siobhan, they have so much more than we do. Where’s the harm, really? It’s just papers.”
“Stop Dolly. It’s wrong, that’s the harm.” She shivered at the notion that someone she let into the Steed home – another nanny here so the children could play together – might slip into Mr. Steed’s study, or the library where Mrs. Steed kept papers from Knight Industries, and steal top secret information.
“Is it right that they have so much more than us?”
“It is if they’ve worked for it, Dolly, or if their family did. What are these documents? – no, nevermind. I don’t want to know. Even if they didn’t work for what they have, we’ve no right to just take what we want. I really don’t want to know anything more. I’m sorry I asked.”
“I guess I am too. I’m sorry you don’t approve. When you get tired of being a writer you can let me know, and I’ll let you know if we can use you.”
Siobhan heard the line disconnect before she had lowered the phone from her ear. She scowled and stared at the receiver for a moment before hanging it up. She supposed she had lost a friend, but the danger of being even remotely involved with whatever Dolly had gotten into was far too high. The Steeds had been understanding about the fight at the party, but they would have to dismiss her if she had anything to do with stealing, and dismissal would be the lightest penalty for stealing the kind of information they handled. Knowing this she could no longer risk having any of their circle of friends in the Steed home, and she was faced with a decision about what and how to tell them what she had learned.
* * *
“This is interesting,” Emma angled the local morning paper to better catch the light shining in through the kitchen windows. “A string of thefts in the county has police investigators casting a wide net,” she read. “At first regarded as a few unrelated incidents, four thefts from local homes are now being considered the work of a single thief or organized group.”
Emma glanced up at Steed, who had lowered his section of the paper to listen. Tar sipped her coffee, also listening. All three of them looked toward Siobhan, sitting across from Emma with John in his highchair next to her. She was holding his spoon over his bowl of oatmeal. Her face had gone pale.
“Siobhan, are you quite all right?” Steed asked.
The nanny dropped the spoon into the bowl and swallowed hard. “Yes. No. I think I feel ill. Please excuse me.”
She got up, pressing past John in his chair and making for the back stairs. Steed frowned and looked back at Emma while John craned his neck to watch his nanny disappear.
“That was odd,” Tara said.
“Read the rest,” Steed said, nodding at the newspaper in Emma’s hands as he slid around the table on the built-in bench in order to take over feeding his son.
Emma read the rest of the article, which named the victims of the thefts. The last name made Steed stop with John’s spoon in the air just as Siobhan had.
“Really darling, you and Siobhan are going to confuse the child. Give him his cereal,” Emma said, forcing Steed to notice John’s growing frustration with his interrupted meal.
“Tear that out, will you?” Steed asked as he continued feeding John.
“The article?”
“Yes. Thanks.”
“Our security system is very good darling. Your people installed it,” Emma observed as she folded the newspaper and then tore carefully along the folds.
“It’s not that,” he paused to consider his next statement. He looked across at Emma, his most trusted partner, and considered her level of security clearance. Then he glanced at Tara, who had no clearance at all now, and had betrayed his trust when she did. “That last theft was from someone who is under suspicion of leaking vital information. The second name you read is also involved in a similar case.”
Emma silently re-read the names of the victims, then let her gaze wander toward the door to the back stairs where Siobhan had disappeared.
“I don’t want to think she has anything to do with it,” Steed said. “But I have to look into it.”
“Yes of course,” Emma sighed. “And I’ll lay you odds that she knows something. Damn.”
“Don’t make assumptions yet. Let me look into it.”
“And lock the silver cabinet.”
“It’s not the silver I’m concerned about.”
***
Email your comments on this story to miamc at mmvn dot net (you know how to translate that!)