A/N: The stories just keep pouring out of me. Thank you again for your reviews and feedback…I'm always grateful and happy to see what you think. Here's another for you to enjoy!
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§ § § -- May 5, 2001
Meeting Leslie on the porch of a Saturday morning, Roarke noticed the annoyed look on her face and paused to regard her more closely. "What's wrong?"
"Why does the military always have to make things as inconvenient as possible?" she demanded rhetorically. "Christian told me last evening when he got here for supper, before you came back from fixing that last-minute problem, that they called him yesterday at work and asked him to come over to Coral Island AFB and set up a new computer system for their airport tower."
"It sounds like an excellent opportunity for Christian's business," Roarke said. "Why is it a problem?"
"Because he has to do it tomorrow," Leslie told him, "and what's more, he's going to be gone the whole day! He said he tried to tell them he had some plans made because it's my birthday, but they insisted it had to be done this weekend, and he couldn't turn them down. I mean…I'm not blaming Christian, Father. I only wish the Air Force didn't have such an ironic sense of timing."
Roarke smiled at her disgruntled glare across the lane. "Believe me, child, I fully understand your disenchantment with the situation, but there just isn't anything to be done about it. I'm sure Christian is no happier about it than you are. Don't fret, Leslie, there will be other birthdays."
"But it would've been the first one…" Leslie said, sighing and looking away. "Oh, I don't know. I guess the spoiled brat in me is rearing its ugly little head again, isn't it?"
"Not to put it so bluntly, but yes," Roarke said, amused. "For the moment, why don't you set the problem aside and turn your mind to business matters, lest we be late meeting the plane." She nodded glumly and followed him to the car.
She wore one of three new outfits that she had received from Roarke for Christmas; they had talked the previous December about changing her look a bit for the new century, and she had tossed out a couple of ideas. Today she was wearing white pants with a black belt; a white blouse with black buttons, a black collar and black satin ribbon, tied in bows, threaded through the cuffs of the half-length sleeves; and her usual black flat-heeled shoes. As always, she wore her rainbow-gem bracelet on her left wrist, and of course, her wedding/ engagement ring set. She hadn't worn Teppo's ring, even to fend off amorous guests, since a couple of months before she had met Christian, and now kept it in a safe-deposit box in case she ever had a daughter to pass it down to.
She smoothed out the blouse on the way to the plane dock and slipped out of the car once Roarke had parked, coming to stand by his side as he called his usual, "Smiles, everyone, smiles!" After all these years, the ritual was still in place, and she unconsciously tapped her foot to the music of the welcoming band while Roarke introduced a family from Oklahoma who wanted to meet a somewhat notorious ancestor who had lived during Europe's Dark Ages. It made her laugh and hope aloud that they still liked the ancestor in question when the weekend was over.
Chuckling at her remark, Roarke shifted his attention back to the dock and frowned with sudden apprehension at the dark-blond man who descended it. "Mr. Scott Enderling," he said, "who comes from Carson City, Nevada…and has a most unusual fantasy."
"Which would be what?" asked Leslie, whose interest was always piqued by unusual fantasies. It made a nice break from routine.
To her amazement, Roarke hesitated, gave her a slightly worried look, and said, "I think perhaps it's best that the details come from Mr. Enderling himself, Leslie. In my reply letter to him, I requested that he meet us in my study within half an hour of his arrival, so that we can begin searching for the answer to his question without delay."
Leslie was instantly wary and a little alarmed; she'd never known Roarke to have that sort of reaction to any fantasy, and never before had he shied away from summarizing one to her before they met the guest who had it. It didn't bode well, and Leslie began to get acutely nervous behind her welcoming smile while Roarke raised his glass in toast.
‡ ‡ ‡
Scott Enderling was an average man for the most part: not too tall, not too short, not too fat or thin. He had a cleft chin, a slim nose and a well-groomed mustache that matched his hair; his eyes were blue and seemed to have a faintly wistful gleam to them. He reached the main house about fifteen minutes after Roarke and Leslie returned and shook hands with Roarke. "Thanks for seeing me," he said.
"Not at all," said Roarke. "May I introduce my assistant and daughter, Leslie Enstad."
Their guest looked puzzled as he shook hands with her. "I thought your name was Hamilton…? Oh, wait, that's right. I forgot—what a dope. You're married."
Leslie smiled, her manner a bit reserved. "Yes, just a few months ago." She looked at Roarke and said a touch ruefully, "I guess I'd better ask Christian to change that one page on the website, now that I've taken on his surname."
Roarke smiled at that, then suggested, "Please have a seat, Mr. Enderling."
"Thanks," the man said, started to sit and then shot Leslie a nervous look. "I, uh…I think you might want to sit down for this too, Mrs. Enstad."
"Just call me Leslie," she said immediately. She loved hearing others call her "Mrs. Enstad", but she generally preferred being on a first-name basis with their guests who were fairly near her own age.
He smiled, still nervous. "Thanks, Leslie, then call me Scott, please. Matter of fact, I think it'd be a lot less nerve-racking for me, so I'm glad you said that."
Leslie stared at him from behind Roarke's desk. "Is there something going on here that I should know about?"
Scott nodded, watching her warily. "Yeah, I'm afraid there is." He lowered himself into the chair, then looked at Roarke. "Did you tell her, Mr. Roarke?"
"No, I felt it best to leave that to you," Roarke said gently. "Leslie, sweetheart, Mr. Enderling is right—you might prefer to be seated when you hear what he has to say."
She gave him a look that was tinged with the beginnings of panic. "Is this something about Christian?" she asked.
"No, no, Christian isn't involved in this," Roarke assured her, extending a hand toward the chair, "but please do sit, Leslie. Let Mr. Enderling tell you his story."
Slowly Leslie circled around to the remaining chair and settled into it, tense and expectant. "Okay, let's have it," she said.
Scott took a deep breath and said to the front of the desk, "I'm here because I'm looking for my birth father. In the late fifties my mother was in college and was involved with… with a certain man who turned out to be married. She didn't know it till after they'd slept together a few times. He'd already left her when she found out she was pregnant with me, and I was born in 1960. Mom died three years ago and left me a packet of letters from this guy, and told me to find him. But I never really knew where to look…" He cleared his throat, reached inside the sport jacket he wore and extracted a very worn and yellowing envelope from an inner pocket. "These are his letters. I had only his name to go on till recently, so it wasn't easy to track him down. Then I finally got the idea to come here, and Mr. Roarke told me right away that I definitely should make the trip." He finally focused on Leslie with a worried look on his face. "You see, the name of the man my mother was involved with is Michael Hamilton—and I think you're my half-sister."
Both Scott and Roarke watched her as it sank in. Leslie, stunned into speechlessness, gawked huge-eyed at Scott; her mouth fell open in slow motion and her body went utterly still. Roarke leaned over with some alarm. "Leslie, your face is white," he said. "Are you all right, child? Do you need anything?"
She tried to speak, but her throat had gone dry and her voice failed her. Her eyes skipped from Scott to Roarke, enormous with pleading. "Tell me…tell me I heard him wrong," she croaked at last.
"No, you heard correctly," Roarke said, very kindly, sympathy radiating from him. "Mr. Enderling, why don't you show Leslie the letters."
"Right," said Scott, giving a start and hastily offering the envelope to Leslie. "Take your time looking through them. There's about six or eight months' worth there."
Without being quite aware she was doing it, Leslie took the envelope, staring at Scott again. "What was your mother's name?" she asked.
"Joanne Carroll," he replied promptly. "I was two when she married John Enderling."
Leslie nodded faintly and swallowed, which did nothing to alleviate the dusty feeling in her throat, and opened the envelope with a hesitant, quaking hand. She pulled out a thick packet of papers that had been folded in thirds; opening them, she thumbed slowly through them and estimated that there must be some two dozen or more sheets. Barely aware of Roarke's and Scott's concerned gazes on her, she focused on the topmost sheet and read aloud in a barely audible voice. " 'Dear Joanne, I can't believe the way I feel when I'm around you. I never thought I could fall in love with two women at once…' " Leslie's voice gave out again and she screwed her eyes shut, shaking her head. "Oh, God."
"I'm really sorry," Scott said helplessly. "I didn't mean to shock you like that, Leslie. I just…I mean, my stepfather always made it clear to me that I wasn't his kid, and I used to think it would be cool to find my real dad and maybe some brothers and sisters. I was only looking for family."
Leslie opened her eyes and stared at Roarke again. "I recognize Michael's chicken-scratch printing," she said dazedly. "That was his writing style—tiny and cramped and almost illegible. Father, I'm not…I don't know what on earth to think…how am I supposed to deal with this? I can't even get an answer from him now!"
Roarke understood immediately what she referred to, and he came out from behind the desk to put a comforting hand on her shoulder and get a look at the letters at the same time. "I realize this is very difficult for you, child," he said gently, "but think how Mr. Enderling is undoubtedly feeling at this moment." He looked up at Scott. "You realize that these letters in and of themselves do not constitute absolute proof of your parentage; they merely indicate that Michael Hamilton was involved with your mother. We have a lab here on the island, in our hospital, and they can perform a DNA test and have the results for you by tomorrow. We have some of the best scientists in the world here."
"Yeah, of course," Scott said immediately, eager to be accommodating. "I have no problem at all with that, believe me. Leslie, please accept my apologies."
Leslie could only manage a nod, and Roarke smiled sympathetically at Scott. "Perhaps the best thing to do is to give Leslie time to absorb the news, and in the meantime you can relax a bit. Try not to worry if you can help it, all right? You might like to take a swim or just sit in the sun by the pool. When we need to see you again, we'll call for you."
"Sure, Mr. Roarke," Scott said, casting Leslie an anxious glance. "I wish I could've had a better way of saying it. I just hope…" He stood, apparently searching for words, then gave a helpless shrug. "I didn't mean to be any trouble."
"It's quite all right," Roarke assured him. "You'll find a driver waiting outside with your things, and he will take you to your bungalow." Scott nodded, sighed softly and left the house in a dejected silence.
Roarke took his vacated chair and leaned forward, studying Leslie with concern, reaching out and catching the hand that wasn't clutching the letters. "Leslie, don't forget what I've always told you—get your feelings out in the open," he urged.
"I just can't believe this," she said, staring at him. "It has nothing to do with Scott. I can see he's blameless in this—after all, it's not like he asked to be born—it's Michael I'm angry at, damn him…"
"That's already happened," Roarke put in with quiet humor.
"That's the problem! I thought, with his soul in the custody of Mephistopheles, I'd finally put him and his awful memory behind me, and now here's this poor guy thinking Michael might be his father. I actually managed to forgive Michael Hamilton for destroying my family, and now I find out he was having an affair with another woman while he was married to my mother. I can only hope Mom never found out about it. I think it would have devastated her."
Roarke said, "Mr. Enderling tells us he was born in 1960, so it would appear that Michael Hamilton's involvement with Joanne Carroll occurred in 1959. How long had he and your mother been married by then?"
"Four years," Leslie said. "I wasn't born till ten years into their marriage, and that's about the time Michael started changing, according to what Mom used to tell me. But if you ask me, he was never any different before I came along. Not from what I know now."
"There is much you don't really know about him, Leslie," Roarke said, "and I suspect those letters may contain some insights. For your own sake, sweetheart, ask Mr. Enderling if he's willing to let you keep them overnight, so that you can go through them at your leisure." He waited till she had met his gaze before continuing, "I think it's also a good idea if you and Mr. Enderling get a little better acquainted. If he truly is your half-brother, he will wish to remain in contact with you, if I guess correctly."
Leslie closed her eyes for a moment, drew in a deep breath, opened them and emptied her lungs with a gust. "There must be a Chinese curse on me or something."
"A Chinese curse?" Roarke echoed, puzzled.
"You know that classic saying that the Chinese are supposed to have, about living in interesting times? I think someone got a look at me when I was born and said, 'May she live an interesting life.' "
Roarke laughed. "Through all the assorted upheavals and ordeals you've endured, Leslie, I find that your sense of humor survives surprisingly intact, and I believe it's one of the constants that has held you together in these situations. If you can continue to find some humor in this, I think you'll have little trouble accepting whatever conclusions we will uncover here. Why don't you put the letters in your room upstairs for safekeeping, and we'll go and meet the Clancy family at their bungalow."
