A/N: My thanks once again to my readers and reviewers…There is a glancing reference in Chapter 2 to the special half-hour episode "Possessed" which aired 11/22/1979. Enjoy!
§ § § -- August 18, 1998
"Oh wow," murmured Leslie, tipping forward in her seat on a quiet Tuesday evening. She was in the TV room upstairs at the main house, watching the evening news, and the announcement had just been made. She completely forgot the bowl of grapes she had been snacking on and stared fascinated at the set.
"…We repeat, King Androno of Arcolos is dead at age 72. This news was just released this afternoon; we are told that the funeral and burial have already taken place in private, with only the king's sons, daughters-in-law and grandchildren in attendance. The official press release from the palace states that Prince Errico, the firstborn son of Androno, will be officially crowned king of Arcolos on September 2, picking up where his late father left off. Once again, King Androno of Arcolos died on August 13 of a heart attack…"
Roarke appeared in the doorway then. "What has you so riveted, Leslie?"
She twisted in her seat and rapidly explained what she had just heard. "I guess this means eventually we're going to have to address Michiko as Her Majesty, Queen of Arcolos," she remarked with a little smile.
"Indeed," said Roarke and returned the smile. "Well, unless I miss my guess, you'll probably be receiving an invitation to the coronation ceremony in the next several days."
"That'd be fun," Leslie said. Then a thought occurred to her and she smiled wistfully. "In fact, I hope I do—there's a good chance I might see Christian there."
Roarke chuckled and patted her shoulder. "Perhaps, perhaps. Oh, by the way, Leslie, tomorrow evening I have a lengthy island council meeting to attend, so it's likely that I won't return until very late. If that is in fact the case, don't wait up for me; just go on to bed at the usual hour. You need not leave a light on."
"Oh, you know I will," Leslie said affectionately. "I mean, as far as I know, the ability to see in the dark isn't one of your attributes, unless you happen to be part cat somewhere in your distant ancestry." She grinned at him.
"Impertinent child," Roarke teased, making her laugh. "Very well. I don't expect anything unusual, as befits mid-week, so you should have a quiet night."
Leslie nodded. "Sounds fine," she said. Roarke left the room and she settled back onto the sofa, letting herself daydream a little about meeting up with Christian at the coronation. It had already been nearly a year since they had last seen each other, so the thought was a heady one. I guess we'll see, she thought hopefully.
§ § § -- August 19, 1998
Roarke left for the island council meeting just after supper, and Leslie helped Mariki clear the table, a little unnerved by the weather. All day it had been a little unsettled, even though the only real sign of approaching inclemency was the presence of high, feathery cirrus clouds. Over the last hour or two these had finally been supplanted by some serious-looking dark overcast. Mariki peered at the sky from under the porch. "I appreciate the help, Miss Leslie," she said humorously, "although I have to question your reason for doing it. I thought you were over all that storm foolishness."
Leslie rewarded her with a supremely dirty look. "If you must know, that 'foolishness' only got worse after I experienced that tornado," she said sourly. "I went into that situation thinking no mere thunderstorm could scare me after going through a tornado, and instead I set myself back to the point that the merest whisper of thunder in the middle of the night wakes me out of a sound sleep—even though it's been almost two and a half years."
Mariki shook her head, tsk'ing in mock concern. "You're too old to let a little storm scare you, Miss Leslie," she scolded. "You really ought to talk to Mr. Roarke about it. I'm sure he has some cure for you."
"None he'd let me make any use of," Leslie said. "He'd only tell me I have to get past it myself and that there's no miracle solution. Come on, quit yakking and let's get these things loaded up. Seriously, I heard earlier that there's supposed to be a whopper of a storm coming in, and I want you to get safely home before it breaks." Her voice was clipped with worry as she spoke, briskly stacking dishes on the serving cart.
Mariki knew why. "Mr. Roarke'll be just fine," she said. "Don't you worry." Leslie only offered a quick, uneasy smile, and Mariki dropped the subject.
A few minutes later she wheeled the cart away to the kitchen, and Leslie pushed the chairs under the table and ducked into the house. Of all the nights for a storm to come in, it had to be the night of the monthly island council meeting. She crossed the study and pulled the French shutters securely closed, exerting some effort to do so. A few years ago Roarke had replaced the old folding shutters with sturdy, heavy ones that were designed to withstand storms, so Leslie felt a little more secure; but she wasn't too thrilled with the prospect of being alone in the house for the better part of the evening. At the moment it was still quiet, but her nervous anticipation was causing her subconscious to plague her with minor storm hallucinations. She kept thinking she saw lightning every time she glanced too quickly out the window, and her ears continuously strained for the sound of thunder.
She was typing out a long e-mail to Christian, confessing her fears and ridiculing them for his benefit, when the phone rang and scared her nearly through the ceiling. She let out a frustrated curse and went to pick it up, her hand trembling. "Yes?"
"Miss Leslie, this is the Fantasy Island Airport," said the voice on the other end. "We just got the day's last charter plane on radar, and it's still almost an hour out. That storm they've been predicting is headed in at a pretty good clip—we can already see lightning from this end of the island. It's gonna be a close call as to whether the plane will beat the storm in here. We're advising landing at another point and waiting out the weather, but they want to know what Mr. Roarke thinks."
"I don't know," Leslie said, her gaze perversely straying to the window but still seeing nothing. "He's at the island council meeting and expects it to run late."
"Oh, damn," groaned the voice. "Is there any way you can reach him?"
"I doubt it," Leslie said. "It's my understanding there are some pretty heavy issues being discussed—I do know for a fact that it's a closed meeting. How many passengers are on the charter, do you know?"
"Only three," came the reply. "But that's still three too many."
Leslie thought about it for a moment. "Can you make any kind of estimate as to how far away the storm looks from your vantage point?"
There was a pause. "Well, from here we're seeing lightning just on the horizon, but the weather reports say it should be hitting Fantasy Island within an hour. You might want to keep an ear out yourself, Miss Leslie."
"I'll do that," she said with resolve. "Listen, call me about every fifteen minutes with updates—where the plane is on your radar and how much progress the storm seems to have made. If it looks like the storm's winning the race, tell the pilot to touch down at Kingman Reef and batten down the hatches. Otherwise, let him come on in and tell him to put on all the speed he can."
"Roger that, Miss Leslie, and thanks. Talk to you in fifteen," the voice said and hung up. Leslie put the receiver back on the hook and wandered to the window, anxiously scanning the sky. All she needed was another thing to worry about. Heaving a sigh, she went back to the computer and resumed composing her message to Christian.
The next time the phone rang, she all but held her breath. "What's the situation?"
"Seems to be holding off so far, Miss Leslie. Stick with the status quo?"
"Yup. How far out is the charter now?"
"About thirty-five minutes. He's gone to max speed—says it'll be chancy with the fuel, but he'll give it a shot. We'll keep you posted." She agreed and broke the connection. Then it was back to the computer, where she checked for a new message from Christian. So far he hadn't replied; she glanced at the clock and realized he was probably having breakfast right about now.
By the time the next update came in, she herself was beginning to see lightning out the windows. "Please tell me the plane's almost here," she said nervously.
"He's looking at fifteen minutes to the plane dock. By the way, Miss Leslie, he says don't come meet him or the passengers. We've already sent a vehicle out there to take the arrivals to shelter, but he doesn't want any unnecessary personnel out there. Once we get the radio report, we'll call you and let you know they're in."
"It'll be close," Leslie said. "I see lightning from here. Wait till they get in before you call again." The airport acknowledged this and hung up; a few seconds later the phone rang again and she grabbed it. "Main house…"
"Hello, Leslie, are things all right over there?" asked Roarke's voice.
"We're hoping so." Swiftly she summarized the situation with the charter plane. "By the time they call again, the plane should be in—I hope."
"That's quite a risk the pilot is taking," Roarke said, his voice taut with what sounded to Leslie like anger. "Is the airport very certain he will get in ahead of that storm?"
"They just told me he's about fifteen minutes out," Leslie said. "I'm starting to see lightning now, but so far that's it. They seem pretty optimistic that he'll beat the weather. If he doesn't—" She winced and said reluctantly, "It's likely to be my fault. I was the one who gave the go-ahead for him to come in if it looked like he could outpace the storm."
"Not necessarily," said Roarke. "You told me that you advised the airport to have the plane land at Kingman Reef if the weather changed quickly, so he had that option. It was the pilot's choice to make the run for Fantasy Island. We're on a short break at the moment, but there is a receptionist here. When you get the final word on the plane, call the council house and leave a message. The number here is 335."
"Okay, I will, Father. But what about you? The council house is down near the high school, for heaven's sake. By the time that meeting ends, the storm will be in full swing."
"I'll remain on this side of the island. There are several empty guest houses down here, and I'll take shelter in one of those. Try not to worry, Leslie. You're doing a fine job. I'll see you tomorrow morning."
"All right, good night, Father." Leslie hung up and let out a huge sigh, then ventured as close to a window as she dared. Lightning flickered long enough to reveal the silhouettes of trees beginning to sway in the gradually rising wind. She bit her lip and checked once more for a message from Christian; this time he had answered, and she quickly read his reassurances. "Don't worry too much if you can help it, Leslie Rose," he concluded. "After all, there's only so much you can do. Just remember, I'm with you in spirit. Let me know tonight—tomorrow morning for you—how it all worked out. I love you."
Leslie smiled. Christian was well aware of her silly storm phobia, but he took it in stride, for which she was grateful. She wrote a quick message back: "Thanks for trying to make me feel better. I think it helped a bit. The storm is moving in quickly, so I guess I'd better go for now. I love you too…have a good day." She added her name at the end, sent the message, signed off and shut down the computer. After that, about all she was capable of doing was pacing the room in wide circles, trying to avoid looking out the window, and willing the telephone to ring with good news.
The grandfather clock was quietly ringing out 9:30 when the phone sounded off for the last time. Now there was thunder as well as lightning, and the wind was beginning to whistle around the corners of the house. Leslie grabbed the receiver in the middle of the first ring. "Yes?"
"They just landed, Miss Leslie, and everyone's fine. From here we can handle things with no problem. They'll tie down the plane at the dock, since the lagoon should provide a little protection."
"Oh, thank you…what an incredible relief. You guys get home now, all right?"
There was a laugh on the other end. "We're shutting things down as I speak. Take care and keep dry, and thanks."
"Thank you," Leslie repeated, and broke the connection with a tension-killing laugh. She held the button down for a moment, then let go and punched out 335. She left a message for Roarke with the council-house receptionist, then set about closing down the study for the night, her hands shaking from her immense relief.
She was about to douse the desk lamp when there came a frantic pounding on the door. Unable to fathom who it could possibly be, she half-ran across the room and pulled open the inner door, then the outside door to the veranda, and stared at the new arrival.
"Michiko Tokita Bartolomé, what're you doing here?" she shouted in shock.
"I just got here," Michiko yelled back, over the noise of wind and thunder, and shot a terrified glance into the sky. "Please, just let me in, Leslie—I'll explain in a minute."