This story copyright © 2002, 2003, 2004 Mia McCroskey
Characters from The Avengers and Scarecrow and Mrs. King and other sources are the property of their respective owners.
[an error occurred while processing this directive] people have read this story since April 2004
Many thanks to Pat for correcting my French and offering some other useful advice!
Steed Feels the Pressure Mounting
Emma Goes for a Ride
Chapter 6
Emma had thirty-five minutes before the next train for Paris. She purchased a ticket and located a telephone, dialing the number she'd memorized. A young, English, male voice answered the call.
"Bonsoir, je peux vous aider?"
"Bonsoir, this is Lady Emma Peel. Is Miss King available?" Emma replied, more comfortable using a language that passersby might not understand.
"Oh, yes, Lady Emma. Please hold," the young agent sounded flustered.
"Mrs. Peel?" Tara's voice came on the line. Emma's eyebrows arched at the use of a name that she was accustomed to hearing only from Steed.
"Miss King, Steed and I have run into some trouble. I'm catching a train back to Paris in a half hour. Meanwhile, can I ask you for some help?"
"Tell me what you need," Tara replied without hesitation.
Encouraged by Tara's willing cooperation, Emma explained Steed's predicament and described the truck. She mentioned that their rental car had been sunk, and asked Tara to book her on a late flight back to London, or first thing in the morning if necessary.
"Come here when you get in," Tara instructed Emma when she'd taken all of the information. She gave Emma the address. "Do you have money? Identification?"
Emma was impressed at the other woman's thoroughness. "Yes, I had carried essentials in my pockets today. But that's just about it," she replied, nudging her saddle with her toe.
"Right, then. I'll see you in a couple hours."
Emma climbed out of the taxi and slung the saddle in its white cotton bag over her shoulder. A light rain had just started to fall, so she dashed across the broad sidewalk into a small vestibule and rang the bell as Tara had instructed.
"Miss King," Agent Nelson leaned in through Tara's office doorway, "I think Lady Emma is here." Tara looked from the report she'd been staring blankly at to the small monitor mounted on the wall. Emma Peel was unmistakable, even from the odd angle of the ceiling-mounted camera. As Tara observed her, she glanced up at the lens and cracked a crooked smile. She stood with a strange bag slung over her shoulder.
"Who does she think she is, Father Christmas?" Tara muttered.
"Miss King?"
She realized Nelson was still waiting.
"Bring her here, then," she said dismissing him with a flip of her hand. "And bring the prisoner to the examination room," she added at a shout. She suppressed a yawn and stashed the report she'd been looking at in a drawer, leaving her desk clear.
"Here we are, Lady Emma," Nelson's voice carried in from the outer office, "Can I get you anything? We have Perrier, and Vichy water, and tea, of course –"
"No, thank you. You're most kind," Emma's voice interrupted him. Behind her desk, Tara stiffened her spine and forced herself not to think about her last encounter with the other woman.
"Miss King," Emma stepped into her office, forcing Nelson to move away or appear to be eavesdropping.
"Lady Emma," Tara replied, "Please sit down," she indicated the chair in front of her desk. Emma set the strange bag on the floor and seated herself, looking around the office as she did so.
Ministry austere, Emma thought, and Tara hasn't spent any
of her own money to spruce it up. I wonder if it's lack of funds, or that she
doesn't realize that's how it's done.
"Thank you for waiting for me this evening, Miss King," Emma began. "I owe you an apology. I'm glad to have an opportunity to make it."
Tara was too surprised to speak. She stared at Emma, wondering what could possibly come next.
"I pride myself on not making snap judgments about people," Emma went on. "You are a good agent. You're intelligent, creative, and attentive. And you're loyal. I allowed myself to think poorly of you, for personal reasons that had nothing to do with you. I hope you will allow me to correct my error now."
"Mrs. Peel, I -- I'm not sure what to say," Tara stammered.
Emma leaned back and crossed her legs, her expectant smile encouraging Tara to think of something. Tara took a slow, deep breath, looking at the other woman. That's how she'd thought of Mrs. Peel for the past three years: The other woman, who held Steed's affections even from a distance. And just three weeks ago, this other woman had stepped back into Steed's life and taken him. Just like that. But in her heart of hearts she knew that she'd never had a chance with him. His heart had followed Mrs. Peel out the door that morning when Peter Peel returned, and although he'd been affectionate with Tara, there'd never been anything more. After working with him for three years, she was not even sure that he was what she wanted.
Now Emma Peel, her rival, sat on her turf, seeking her help, and offered her an apology. Damn the woman and her upper class manners! Tara leaned back, nervously swiveling her chair back and forth.
"I owe you an apology, as well," she said. "For that morning. I was out of line, coming upstairs and confronting you."
Emma nodded, politely agreeing. Tara had half expected her to dissemble, to offer a mutual apology, to tell her it was understandable. But she did not. Tara, in her own office, her own Ministry branch, had been undercut with a simple nod of the woman's head. My God she's good, Tara thought.
Recognizing surrender in Tara's eyes, and realizing it was what she'd been looking for, Emma uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, crossing her arms on the edge of Tara's desk.
"Have you received any reports on the truck?" she asked. She wasn't proud of the sense of victory that suffused her, but it certainly was sweet.
Tara seized the opportunity to change the subject. "We've put out a bulletin across northern France. All the ferry operators have been alerted. It's just a matter of time." She looked out the open office doorway, then pressed a button on the corner of her desk. Agent Nelson's head popped through the doorway.
"Yes Miss King?"
"You've made Lady Emma's travel arrangements?"
"Yes Miss King, Lady Emma, you are booked on a flight in," he paused to glance at his wristwatch, "three hours. You'll need to leave in about sixty minutes, to be sure to catch it. I'll order a taxi."
"Thank you, Nelson," Emma replied, then turned her gaze back on Tara. "What about the man who was following me?" she asked. It was a bit of business she would rather forget, in light of more recent events.
"Nelson will take you to him," Tara replied, nodding at the other agent.
"Yes ma'am. This way, Lady Emma," he said. Emma rose and followed him out of Tara's office. When she was gone, Tara picked up the telephone and dialed an international number.
"Mother," she said.
The man in black, as Emma had come to think of him, was a hard nut to crack. He flatly denied following her. He demanded a lawyer, and threatened to contact the British Embassy. They both knew they were empty threats, but he maintained them for the half hour Emma spent with him. She finally gave up, stalking out of the bare room and slamming the door. She strode right up to the desk where Nelson sat outside Tara's office.
"Release him in the morning," she said.
"Yes ma'am," Nelson replied. Emma looked past him into Tara's office. The other woman hung up the telephone and waved her in.
"The British authorities are also alerted for the truck," she said as Emma sat down.
"There's something else," Emma said. "I gave your number here to a Pauline Duchamp. If she decides to help us, she'll call here and say she has information for Steed."
"Who is she?"
"I'm not sure. She's the woman that picked up the mail. Steed followed her to the château . She's involved – maybe De Courcelles's girlfriend. She knows the plan, and De Courcelles's hurt her."
Tara nodded. Nelson poked his head in the doorway, "Lady Emma's taxi will be here in fifteen minutes," he said.
"Thank you, Nelson, that will be all," Tara said pointedly. The younger agent straightened abruptly, then vanished. Tara shook her head and sighed.
"They study you, you know," she said, seeing Emma's surprised look. "Your investigative techniques, your combat style. Among the female agent's there's a little acronym, ‘WWEPD'--."
"Weeped?" Emma sounded it out, looking puzzled.
"What Would Emma Peel Do," Tara explained. Emma's brows rose in surprise and, for the first time in hours, she laughed. She fell back in her chair, covering her mouth as a second peal of laughter erupted from her. It was infectious – Tara joined in.
"So Agent Nelson, there, will have currency with the others for months to come. He called a taxi for Lady Emma Peel."
"And booked a flight," Emma added, causing them both to laugh more. "Oh my dear, I'm so sorry," Emma sputtered, glancing out the door to see if Nelson might be within hearing range. She didn't want to hurt his feelings.
"It's why I met with Steed in the park the other day," Tara went on. "I can only imagine what would have happened if both of you turned up here during the day. I'd get no work out of them for weeks," she shook her head, smiling at the other woman, genuinely enjoying the conversation.
"You can't be serious," Emma shook her head. But Tara shrugged.
"I'm afraid so. Don't get me wrong – I love this assignment. But it is much, much harder than I expected. Of course, I always appreciated Steed, but in the last few weeks I've learned just how good he is," she stopped, watching Emma's face grow anxious.
"I'm sorry. I'm worried, too. And I talk when I'm worried. It's a bad habit," she said quickly, "Not very ‘WWEPD'," she added. She rose and stepped around the desk. Extending her hand, she said, "I think it might be good for us to start over. We'll need to keep in touch, until we get him back, and I'd prefer that we don't leave things hanging."
Emma rose too so that she looked down into Tara's big eyes. She took Tara's hand, forcing her unhappy features into a friendly smile. She sensed that, somehow, she had gained a friend. "Emma Peel would like that very much," she said softly. Tara smiled, almost shyly, and squeezed Emma's hand.
Emma opened the door to Steed's flat using the concealed release. She set her saddle on an armchair and climbed directly up the stairs to his bedroom. Everything was tidy – his Ministry-bonded cleaning lady must have been in. She stripped off her now travel-worn jumpsuit and put it on a hangar pilfered from his closet. She hung it in the bathroom and drew a hot bath. The water felt like heaven, soaking off the sweat, grime, and fear of the last eighteen hours. She wanted more than anything to keep going – to get into a car and start driving the roads of southern England searching for the Agricultural Technologies truck. But she knew that was impossible. So she forced herself to relax in the water, to scrub away at her old skin and reveal a bright, thick new coat. One that would protect her in the coming days.