Trouble For Two

by

Perditax

The first day

�Some people are born to trouble,� thought Mrs. Emma Peel as she leapt down the stairs three at a time, �and some people have trouble thrust upon them.�

Emma Peel was a tall, slender, athletic woman, clad in a black trouser suit and wearing plimsolls. Her auburn hair swirled about her shoulders and framed a lovely face, now creased in lines of determination as she skidded on the landing, rebounded off the wall without hesitation and took the next flight of stairs four at a time.

For her, it had been nothing but trouble since she�d acceded to the directorship of Knight Industries upon the death of her father. Knight Industries was an engineering firm, and purely a domestic one, yet the amount of industrial espionage that she�d had to foil in the last five years was enough to make a cat cry.

�Double double, toil and trouble,� thought Emma, shoving open the door to the ground floor and immediately falling into a calm walk. She wasn�t even breathing hard. She nodded and gave a cheerful smile to the security guard seated in a small enclosed dais in the center of the floor. She had no fear that he�d received a phone call of any kind - she�d taken care of that first thing when she�d entered the building. She had just reached the exit door when she heard the ding that announced an arriving elevator, and she opened her door to the sound of the doors of the elevator sliding open.

�Stop her,� cried Frederick Williams, the director of Elevated Engineering and the man responsible for the theft of certain plans from Knight Industries which Emma had just re-appropriated.

Emma didn�t hesitate. She burst through the doors, took three long strides and climbed over the back of her Lotus Elan and into the driver�s seat. The engine roared into life as she turned the ignition key. She pressed the accelerator hard down and roared away.

The wind blew through her hair as she sped down the road. Emma looked in the rear view mirror and to her surprise saw that Williams was following her in a convertible of his own. The fool. Did he really think he�d be able to get the plans away from her, even if he caught up with her? If anything he should be running away from her, since now that she had those plans back she could be calling the police and having him arrested, if that had been the done thing. It wasn�t the done thing - companies used their own people to handle industrial espionage. It was a private little game, no authorities need apply. It wasn�t the done thing for Williams to be following her, either.

Emma glanced at him out of her rear view mirror. Was that a gun he had in his hand? Had the man gone mad?

�Apparently so,� she said aloud, as she heard the ping of a bullet hitting somewhere in her car.

She twisted the wheel of her Lotus hard and took a corner on two wheels. Then she stamped on the brakes as she steered into a fortuitous parking spot at the side of the road. Her brakes squealed and locked, and she hit the parked car in front of her, a forest green Bentley, only a glancing blow. Hardly enough to bother about, even if she hadn�t been concentrating on other things.

She jumped out of her car and turned to sight Williams. He�d been unable to make the same sharp turn and had run into a light stanchion at the four corners instead. But he was clambering out of the car. There was blood on his forehead and the gun he was holding was waving about unsteadily, but there was still a murderous look of rage on his face. Emma looked down into the back seat of her car for any sort of weapon. Her fencing bag was there, tucked down on the floor, and she reached down and pulled out her foil. It wasn�t very aerodynamic, but...

�Allow me,� said a male voice behind her, and suddenly a bowler hat went spinning past her head, spinning through the air, and caught Williams full in the face. To her surprise he stopped as if poleaxed, and then fell over backward, unconscious.

Emma turned to look at her rescuer. He was tall, big, handsome, and dressed in a pearl grey business suit. �What was that bowler made out of, steel?� she queried.

He smiled. �I got the idea one day whilst walking through the British Museum. I came across Cromwell�s iron hat and thought, that�s the very thing for me.�

�Good thing you left off the plume, though,� Emma said.

She turned back to her attacker. Williams was still lying in the middle of the street, with concerned citizens clustered about him. She heard the whistle of an oncoming bobby. Well, that was that, then. He�d be jailed for carrying a firearm, not to mention knocking over a light stanchion, and be out of her hair for a while. She�d send her lawyers to see his lawyers and settle the matter that way.

Emma fished in a back pocket and pulled out one of her business cards. �I don�t want to get involved with the police. I�m sure the poor man just had one over the eight, or something. I don�t think I�ve harmed your Bentley too badly, but have it seen to and send me the bill. All right?� She clambered back into her Lotus. She half expected him to protest, to point out that she was leaving the scene of a crime, but he only looked at her in amusement and tipped an imaginary bowler at her as she drove off. She glanced into her rear view mirror to see him retrieve his chapeau and then get back into his car.

Emma sighed. Game over.

As she drove back to Knight Industries, she found herself thinking of the bowler-hatted man. She hadn�t been conscious of it at the time, but looking back on it, he�d been extremely attractive. Those deep set eyes, the high cheekbones and round chin, all capped by black hair cut short...just the way she liked it. He�d filled out his business suit quite nicely.

He�d also been no slouch in the knight errant department. Tossing his bowler at Williams had been a stroke of genius. And to have it lined with iron, or steel, or lead, whatever in fact it had been...that wasn�t the chapeau of your average businessman. That suggested a man used to danger.

Emma found herself thinking about him on and off for the rest of the evening. Well, he had her business card. Perhaps he�d call her.

The second day

Emma Peel entered the foyer of Knight Industries the next morning to find the bowler hatted man waiting for her. He rose from a chair where he�d been engrossed in a newspaper, put on the bowler that he�d taken off, and then doffed it to her.

�Mrs. Peel. It�s a pleasure to see you again.�

�Thank you,� she said with a grin. �Mr....�

�Just Steed. John Steed.�

�Well...Steed. Come up to my office.�

He kept pace with her as she walked to the elevator. She gave her own security man, Andrews, a nod, as they passed. She pressed the button for the penthouse.

Steed�s knees bent slightly as the super fast elevator took off, gravity pressing them downward. �My word,� he said. �You like to get places quickly here, don�t you?�

�Wait til we reach our destination,� said Emma.

Steed arced one eyebrow. �Oh? What happens?� He found out a second later. The elevator came to a sudden halt and both of them hovered in the air for a second or two before sinking back onto the floor.

�I�ve got a nephew that would love riding in this thing,� Steed commented as they exited.

�Morning, Mrs. Slocombe,� Emma greeted her secretary. �Hold my calls, please.�

�Certainly, Mrs. Peel,� said the stout matron.

Steed gave her a second glance. �Love the hair,� he told her sincerely, for the woman�s stylist had truly performed a prodigious feat. She simpered at the compliment.

�So...Steed,� said Emma, as she went around her tennis-court sized desk and sat down. She gestured for him to have a seat as well. �You�ve had your Bentley seen to?�

�My Bentley?� he said blankly. Then, �Oh, that. Yes. No, ten mile an hour bumpers are marvelous, aren�t they? Not a scratch on her.�

�I�m glad to hear it. But then why....?�

�Can you ask?� said Steed in a warm, treacly voice. �I wanted to see you again.�

Emma smiled. �I�m flattered, Steed...�

�You�re going to say �but,�� said Steed with a smile. �I can see it trembling on your lips.�

�You�re wrong,� said Emma Peel. �How about dinner, tonight?� Steed beamed. �Lovely. When shall I pick up you up?�

�No, no. I always like first dates to be at a neutral place, when it�s a blind date, as it were. Shall we meet at Shambala�s at eight?�

�I�ll be counting the hours, Mrs. Peel.�

He rose, sketched a salute, and made his exit.

Emma smiled after him. Then she shook her head and got down to work.

Shambala�s

John Steed filled out his tuxedo quite nicely, Emma Peel confirmed as she entered the foyer of Shambala�s. And the blackness of the tuxedo complemented his round, handsome face quite nicely, she thought, as he turned towards her. She enjoyed his look of appreciation as his eyes took in her white lame gown and the firm, tanned body that filled it.

�Mrs. Peel, you look...delicious,� he murmured, coming forward quickly and taking one of her hands.

�As do you, Steed. As do you.�

Emma turned to the maitre�d. �Andre, is our table ready?� Andre, a small, elegant Frenchman who had been a fixture at Shambala�s for several years, flourished two menus. �Certainly, Mademoiselle Peel,� he said. �Please to follow me.�

�You come here often?� asked Steed, as they followed Andre, threading their way through the tables to a booth in the back in the dark.

�It�s one of my favorite spots, yes.�

�The wine steward will be with you immediately,� announced Andre as he placed the menus on the table. He snapped a finger, and indeed, a red jacked sommelier appeared. Emma allowed Steed to choose the wine - and he showed great mastery and knowledge of the selection, finally settling on an excellent Bordeaux. When the sommelier left to fill their order, he leaned forward. �Now,� he said breathily, �tell me all about yourself.�

Emma smiled. �You know more about me already than I know about you, Steed. I�m the director of Knight Industries. I�d much rather hear about you. �

�Oh, I�m afraid I�m a bit of a dilettante. A collector. Classic cars, for a start...�

�Yes, you�re Bentley was certainly gorgeous.�

�Thank you. I�ve also got a Bugatti and a Rolls Royce. I hope you�ll allow me to take you for a spin in them, some time.�

�I�m sure I shall enjoy it. I hope you�ll let me drive them. I love the feeling of a powerful engine under my hands.�

Steed raised an eyebrow. �Now, as to that...�

The wine arrived. The sommelier uncorked the bottle, poured a little bit into Steed�s glass for him to taste, and after Steed�s nod of approval filled both their glasses. He left the bottle on the table, bowed, and disappeared into the darkness of the restaurant.

They raised their glasses. �To powerful engines.� murmured Steed.

�And besides cars, what is it you collect,� Emma asked.

�Oh, military paraphernalia. I was in the War, you know. Didn�t actually serve in the field. Never got to �go over the top,� as the saying goes, like most of my friends at the time. Special services, that was me. Making sure the whole war ran on time and turned out the way it was supposed to.� he smiled, as if at a private joke.

Emma nodded. �My husband was in the war,� she said, almost to herself. �Husband-to-be, I should say. He was a fighter pilot. Effected him for life - laying his life on the line every day, for all that he only went in during the last months of 1945. Eighteen years old, he was. Spent only a few months on the front lines, but it didn�t matter. Danger became like a drug to him...as it did to many of the pilots, of course. After the war he became a test pilot - he needed that...danger fix.�

Steed nodded. He knew the feeling. �Your husband...I notice you don�t wear a wedding ring.�

Emma gave herself a little shake. �He died, a couple of years ago. Testing a new sort of plane and he crashed.�

�I�m sorry.�

Emma shrugged. �We had a few good years. And he died doing what he loved.�

�And do you love being the director of Knight Industries?�

�Actually I do. It�s very exciting, in its own way...�

The evening passed rapidly, as they discussed everything under the sun. Finally Steed looked around. �It seems we�ve closed the place, my dear.�

Emma smiled, pleased at the endearment. �Yes.� Steed stood up, and held her chair for her while she rose. Andre was waiting for them at the maitre�d�s station, and gave them their bill. Steed withdrew several bills from his wallet. Then he took her arm and they walked out into the night.

�It�s too bad you didn�t allow me to drive you here,� Steed said regretfully. �Then I could have driven you home. I don�t want this evening to end.�

�We-ell,� said Emma, �my car�s parked in a secure spot. It�ll be safe til morning.�

Steed�s eyes widened. �I�m delighted to hear it. My car is this way.�

He opened the passenger side door of the Bentley for her, then climbed into his own seat, released the handbrake with a flourish, and they were off. �Where to?� he queried, and she gave him the address. He drove there quickly and expertly.

�Come up for a nightcap,� said Emma.

She unlocked the door to her flat and ushered him in. Steed looked around at the barren living room. There was a modern fireplace in the center of the room, and empty bookshelves running around that...and nothing else. He noted Emma�s fencing bag by the door. Two foils protruded from it, but only one mask.

�Just moved in?� asked Steed.

�No. Remodeling. Every six months or so I feel like a change.�

Steed nudged the fencing bag with his foot.

�Are you a good fencer?� he asked idly.

Emma shrugged. �I fenced at university. My teammates gave me the nickname Emma the Third, because I always placed third in tournaments.�

�Tournaments in England?�

�Oh, England and on the continent.�

�So actually you were the third best fencer...on the continent? That�s not bad.�

Emma grinned. �I didn�t think so.�

Steed bent down and picked up one of the foils. They both had French grips, with the pommel long and flat and curved to nestle in his hand. He preferred the Italian grip himself, with the little handles one could use to manipulate the point of the blade more effectively.

�I�ve always found the foil a very sensuous weapon,� Steed said musingly. �And bouting...between a man and a woman, of course...a very sensuous thing.�

Emma arced an eyebrow. She kicked off her slippers, and picked up the other foil. �Shall we have a little bout?� she asked.

Steed grinned. �Is your dress up to it, Mrs. Peel?�

For answer she straightened and brought the blade up vertically, saluting him. He returned the salute, and then they both fell into a fencing stance, right leg extended, toe pointing forward, left leg back, toe pointing to the side.

Steed placed his blade on Mrs. Peel�s. He exerted a bit of pressure, and brought the blade scraping down, with a seductive metal on metal sound. Emma gave his blade a �beat�, hitting it slightly out of line with her own, and made as if to lunge. Steed retreated a few steps, and then �took� Mrs. Peel�s blade again.

It was in no sense a real bout. They moved slowly, partly because neither of them was wearing a mask but mostly because they weren�t bouting, they were playing. They took turns �taking� one another�s blade, exerting pressure on it, running their own blade up and down it with that metal on metal sound, then a brief flurry of attack, parry and riposte. Finally Steed judged that Mrs. Peel was suitably close to a wall. He moved faster than he had up til then, running his blade up to her pommel and then moving his whole body forward into hers, forcing her back against the wall. His body was pressed against hers, their faces were very close.

�In the real world,� murmured Emma, smiling, �I�d scrape my boot down your shin and impale you as you danced around in agony.�

Steed bent his head closer. She tilted hers up to meet him. They kissed. Closed mouth...then Emma�s lips parted and his tongue darted in as if it had a mind of its own. As one they held out their sword hands and dropped the foils. Emma put her hands on his chest, feeling the musculature. Steed rested his hands on her shoulders.