This story is intended for amusement purposes only. This story is not meant to infringe on the names of Remington Steele, Laura Holt or anything that would cause MTM productions or anybody else to sue me. This story is the property of Lisa Watson ã 2003.

Steele Alone for the Holidays - Part IV

 

    Remington looked up at the large double doors before him and exhaled.  He felt an overwhelming urge to turn around and walk back down the worn stone steps behind him.  Part of him was hesitant to uncover anything about his past.  Some things were better left forgotten right?  Wrong!  He admonished.  There was so much about his present he was thankful for; his new life far surpassed the turmoil of his old.  Of course getting shot at, beat up and an occasional broken bone not withstanding.  No, he had to do this.  If there was any way possible to find out his origin, at least the names of his birth parents he had to try.  The thing was, how to begin when he didn't even know HIS real name.

     The building was on the north side of London; it's facade of red, well worn brick, glass and stone majestically bore the affects of time.  With an unsteady pull Remington opened the doors and walked in.  A reception desk stood just inside the door.  The interior a direct contradiction to the exterior.  Inside the walls were painted a fresh, bold mustard color and the furniture was a contemporary in design.  The blonde woman before him was middle-aged but extremely attractive.

    "Good morning sir, welcome to Argyle & Associates.  How may I help you?"

    "Actually I was looking for a Ms. Agnes Moore.  I don't expect she works here," Remington said looking around absentmindedly.

    "I'm sorry sir but Ms. Moore died some time ago." 

    "I don't suppose you know what came of the orphanage that was here?" 

    The woman nodded.  "Our company purchased the building after Ms. Moore died.  As you can see it's been through some rather extensive renovations," she said cheerfully.

    "Evidently,"  Remington replied.  "Uh Mrs..."

    "Miss Channing," The woman corrected with a smile.

    "Miss Channing, I'm in desperate need of information.  You see, I used to be an orphan and was placed by Ms. Moore's organization into some very..."  Remington paused.   "Unforgettable families.  I'm trying to find any information I can to assist me in locating the first family I was placed in,"

    "Oh, you poor dear," Miss Channing frowned and leaned further over her desk.  "I'm not sure what happened to those records Mr?"

    "Steele, Remington Steele."  He said automatically.

    "Mr. Steele, if you give me a moment I could ask one of  Mr. Argyle's associates.  One of them might remember any old documents we may have come across when we moved in,"

    "I'd be eternally greatful for any assistance you could provide," Remington said sincerely.

    The woman stood up so abruptly to leave she forgot the headphone attached to her head.  The cord snapped back, pulling the headphone with it.  Embarrassed, she quickly ran up the circular staircase behind her.

    Sitting down in the waiting area, Remington nervously tapped his foot on the highly polished marble floor.  It was a few minutes before the receptionist returned; he stood when she walked towards him.

   "Sorry for the delay Mr. Steele.  Mr. Grant said that all the documents left by Ms. Moore's agency were stored away in a storage room.  He couldn't bring himself to throw them away you see.  If you'd just sign in, I'd be happy to have someone escort you,"

    "Thank you so much Miss Channing," Remington said sincerely.  He grinned with newfound hope as he quickly signed the register and waited for his escort.  The escort turned out to be a gangly teenager that was obviously working to put himself through university.  Remington thanked the nervous young man as he opened a door and stood aside to allow him to enter.

    "I'll be right outside sir, take your time,"

    Thanking him Remington threw his overcoat on a nearby chair and headed for the closet.  What he found was a tidy, miniture, disaster area.  Nothing was in a box, papers were just neatly shoved into the closet in file folders that looked to be centuries old.  Remington felt his enthusiasm wane at seeing the mound of white paper.  "Laura would have a field day," Remington said dryly before pulling off his suit jacket and rolling up his sleeves.

    Two hours and three paper cuts later, Remington found a shred of hope.  He'd found an entry Agnes had put into the journal she kept on children's placements.   He thoroughly read her description of the 'Jones boy' and felt something stir within him.  It was nineteen years ago, he was eleven at the time; at least he thought he was.  He looked down at the paper again and read on.

   "...I believe the Jones boy will do well with the Chester family.  Their initial interview went well and I'm certain the secondary one will prove just as promising.  Mr. Chester's finances checked out as well as the home inspection.  Our lad hasn't met them yet, but I'm sure he'll be taken with them.  He is tall, dark haired and blue eyed, just like the Chester children.  I've no doubt he'll fit in quite nicely.  Jonesey has been through a great deal in his short life.  I've tried to get him to open up but he's so guarded and defensive.  I pray this family works out.  He is in desperate need of a stable, loving environment and I will do what I can to ensure he gets it..."

    Remington had to stop and compose himself.  He'd never known Ms. Moore thought of him that way.  He'd remembered her as a strict, no nonsense type of woman.  But could he have seen every authority figure back then in a negative light?  It was obvious she cared about 'the castaways' as they called themselves.  He read on until he came to the personal information about the Chester family.  He quickly gathered together the pile of papers he'd put aside and stuffed them into a well worn folder.  After rolling the folder into a tube shape, he stood up.  Standing he stretched his lithe body before placing his find in his overcoat.  His muscles were sore from sitting on the floor so long but he ignored the pain.  He thanked the young man outside the door and slipped him a fifty-dollar bill.  The boy's eyes bugged out and he stammered a surprised thank you.  "Consider this a contribution to your education," Remington winked and went downstairs to sign out.

***

    "Laura!  Your side is slipping again,"  Francis said tersely.  "Honestly Laura, if you're no better than Donald,"

    "Sorry Francis, I don't know why this has to be so precise anyway.  It's just a reindeer,"   Laura muttered.

    Francis' eyes grew wide and she almost dropped her duct tape.  "Just a reindeer?  Laura, I'll have you know that Christine Dougherty has won our neighborhood's grand prize for christmas decorating for two consecutive years!  If I see that arrogant smirk on her face or hear those snide remarks once more at our woman's group meeting I think I'll strangle her with her christmas lights!"

    "Easy honey, you're on the roof," Donald called from below.

    "Well if I could've trusted you to hang this darn deer correctly I wouldn't have to be!"

    "Francis, I'm a dentist, not a decorator,"  Donald reminded her.  "Besides, I've been working on the expansive light display for the front of the house.  It's guaranteed to impress everyone and run up our electric bill,"

    "Ooh, let me come look!"  Francis said cheerily as she lowered herself down the ladder.   "Oh, Donald!"  Francis said as she watched him ceremoniously flip the switch.  "It's...it's beautiful," she sniffed and through her arms around her husband.

    "Yeah Donald,"   Laura called from the roof.  "It's great, now can I get down?"

    Sometime later Laura was helping Francis put back the decorations that hadn't used. 

    "Laura, what's wrong with you?  You just don't seem to be in the christmas spirit,"

    "I'm sorry, I just have my mind on other things right now,"

    "Other things?   Honey, you mean other people.  You don't think I've noticed you've been more than distracted since he left?"

    Laura arched an eyebrow and chuckled.  "Have I been that bad?"

    "Laura, you told mother to send you some of Aunt Irene's fruitcake,"

    "I what!?  Now I know I've got it bad!"  Laura wailed.

    After a few seconds both sisters couldn't contain themselves, they dissolved in a sea of snickers and giggles.   Laura flopped on the couch and let her hand trail over the side.  Francis remembered how Laura used to do that when they were younger and she was troubled.

    "Oh Francis, I'm so torn.  I don't know whether I should stay here or go be with him, give him support.   This is a tumultuous time for him right now.  I just want him to know I'm here for him,"

    "He does Laura,"  Francis said quietly.  "If he needs you, he'll let you know.   I know it's hard for you to be here not doing anything but you've got to let him sort this out alone.  You can't fix everything, no matter how hard you try,"

    Laura looked at her sister and frowned.  "You're talking about my innate ability to always try and solve everyone's problems?  I suppose that kicked into full gear after Daddy left,"

    "I can't argue there, but you've got to realize that some things are beyond your control.  This is one of them.  Remington needs to do this all by himself.  They're his demons Laura, not yours,"

    Laura was thoughtful a moment before she sighed heavily and looked longingly at the phone.  "This is hard Fran."

    "Love usually is, Laura."         

To Be Continued...