A/N: This one will conveniently segué into the story that will follow, so with some luck I'll produce and post chapters a little faster. Here's the first one to get you started. Thanks as always to the "regulars"!
§ § § -- December 14, 2005
On a quiet Wednesday a couple of weeks before Christmas, Christian dropped in at his office to keep an appointment with a wealthy customer who wanted him to design and post a genealogical website for his family. Leslie was at work with Roarke, of course, and the triplets were at home with Ingrid; other than that they had begun ascertaining what to pack for their upcoming trip to Lilla Jordsö for Rudolf's wedding to Louisa Karlsen, there was nothing out of the ordinary going on.
So Christian, having exchanged greetings and various kinds of news, both personal and business-related, with his employees, was hunched over the work arm of his desk, intent on sketching some preliminary ideas for his client, when the bell over the door jangled and everyone looked up to see who'd set it off. The newcomer was a man who appeared to be in his late thirties or thereabouts, attired in a business suit, with his sandy-blond hair looking unnaturally neat, as if he'd just come out of the barbershop. "Mawnin', all," he said, glancing around the large office. "Is Prince Christian in?"
Christian sat up and volunteered, "Yes, I am. What can I do for you?"
The fellow brightened and took the chair that Christian kept on the other side of the work arm. "My name's Ben Kellah-rye'm from Boston, Mass. I'm he-uh-ron a vacation, but I sawr this place walking through the squay-ah and thought I'd drop in." His heavy Boston accent made Christian wonder whether he should call Leslie in to translate; the R's in his words were all but nonexistent.
"Mass?" Christian echoed blankly.
"Massachusetts," Keller said and grinned, extending a hand to be shaken. Christian smiled and accepted it. "Uh…befo-rye go on…should I call you Yaw Highness?"
Christian's smile grew into a weary chuckle. "Frankly, I'd prefer 'Mr. Enstad'. I suspect you would as well. You know, my wife would probably have a field day listening to you talk. She's originally from Connecticut."
Ben Keller laughed. "I've gotten mawr'n a few funny looks since I got he-uh. Guess y'don't get too many Boston accents around these pahts. Well, anyway. I hope I don't seem too presumptuous, Mistuh-renstad." Christian blinked at the way Keller ran the "mister" into his surname, turning it almost into one word, and began to seriously contemplate picking up the phone and dialing the main house to get Leslie over here. "But I've noticed yaw one of the best computuh-rexperts goin', and to tell you the truth, I've been hoping faw-ra long time to have a chance to wuhk with you, aw-rat least faw you. I've done pretty well faw myself, owned a few businesses around Greatuh Boston, and I think I can help you get a foothold they-uh. You think maybe we could talk awhile, ovuh lunch, say?"
Only if I can bring in Leslie to act as interpreter, Christian thought irreverently, and had to squelch a grin. It had been just about a year now since he'd gotten the Santi Arcuros branch of Enstad Computer Services up and running, and he'd actually had no plans to expand since then. He'd figured four branches was enough for a single owner; he was afraid that if he set up any more franchises, he'd have to get a partner, and that idea didn't appeal to him at all. He knew Leslie would probably object too, because of the habits he practiced in the course of hiring new employees. On the other hand, she might be less upset when she found out the location of the latest projected branch. "Well," Christian mused, "I don't know about lunch. I usually eat with my wife and father-in-law."
"Maybe we could do suppah, then," Keller offered eagerly. "That'd give me time to get my pawtfolio togethuh so you can look at it and decide faw y'self. What say?"
Christian slowly sat back in his chair and peered at Keller curiously. "What exactly do you do for a living, Mr. Keller? You said you've owned businesses around Boston, but what services did they provide?"
"Computuh services, like yaws," Keller said. "I'm pretty knowledgeable about 'em. I know yaw company catuhs to a high-end mahket, and I can scout out the best locations in the wealthi-uh pahts of town…" Christian listened, beginning to zone out slightly, while the man carried on for a couple of minutes. Finally he raised a hand.
"Forgive me, but you've caught me very much off guard. I really had no plans to expand the company any further, and I'd much prefer to discuss this with my wife. Why don't we make plans to meet for lunch tomorrow?" he suggested.
Keller nodded enthusiastically. "That'd be great," he said. "Thanks much, Mistuh-renstad. 'Preciate it." He shook Christian's hand again, then got up and left the office, while the prince watched him go, feeling a little broadsided.
At the main house for lunch a few hours later, he wasn't remotely surprised when Leslie noticed his preoccupied demeanor. "What's wrong, my love?" she asked.
Christian hesitated a moment, glancing past her. "Where's Mr. Roarke?"
"He's on the phone," she said. "He'll be out in a minute. Something happened to you this morning, didn't it?"
He sighed and nodded. "I had an unexpected visitor at the office." He went on to tell her about Ben Keller and his unorthodox proposal for opening a branch of the business in Boston or its environs. He smiled faintly when Leslie brightened with surprise at mention of the locale, but it wasn't long before she was frowning.
"Just like that, he wants to do business?" she asked after contemplating his narrative for a minute or two. "He sounds pretty brash to me. So you're saying all he did is just walk right on in, and run his mouth for a few minutes, without providing the least bit of proof that he really is a business owner?"
"Was," Christian corrected with a shrug, and nodded. "He claims to have a portfolio that he plans to show me tomorrow at lunch."
Leslie sat up straight. "You mean you didn't brush him off? Oh, Christian!"
Christian threw his hands into the air. "Truly, Leslie, I'm no happier about it than you are, but then again, I don't know anything about the man. I intend to do some extensive background checking on him within the next twenty-four hours. He may just be overeager to do business with me, and that would explain his apparent lack of professionalism. But I didn't dwell on it too much. I had that appointment, after all."
Leslie nodded. "I know, how'd that go?"
"It looks very promising, and I think I'm going to really enjoy creating this site," said Christian with a smile. "He's managed to trace his family back some eight or nine generations, which isn't easy to do, and it's going to keep me busy for quite some time."
"He knows we're going to Lilla Jordsö for New Year's, of course," Leslie said quizzically. Christian rolled his eyes and she shrugged. "Just checking."
"Believe me, Leslie, my customers are fully aware of who I am and what my obligations are as a result," Christian said a little testily. He just had time to register her look of startled hurt when Roarke came out to join them. "We'll talk about this later."
Roarke looked at him askance, taking his usual chair. "You present the appearance of a man with a great deal on his mind, Christian," he observed.
Christian merely shrugged a shoulder, but Leslie supplied, "Some guy from Boston who's here on vacation just walked right into Christian's office and practically begged him to open another branch of his business in the Boston area somewhere. No phone call, no prior appointment, no material to back up his claims."
"Is that really what has you so indignant?" Roarke asked indulgently, eyeing his daughter with the bare specter of a smile. "Or is it the fear that this person may prove to be legitimate, thus talking your husband into setting up another branch of his company and leaving you and the children for at least a month in order to carry this out?"
Leslie, looking caught out, compressed her lips and gave him a reproachful look, but Roarke noticed that she didn't extend the look to Christian. "Well, there's always that."
Roarke chuckled. "As I thought. Well, that's entirely up to the two of you, but if I might be so presumptuous as to contribute my opinion, I believe I am aware of the identity of the man you're speaking of. Benjamin Keller?"
Christian and Leslie both looked at him in open-mouthed surprise. "Yes, as a matter of fact, that's him," Christian said. "Do you know anything about him?"
"He's spending this week here on vacation," Roarke said. "He has just sold a very prosperous business in a suburb of his hometown, and has let it be known that he's looking to build another such operation 'from the ground up', as he says. You may consider Ben Keller to be quite honest and up-front—if, indeed, you're at all interested in his offer."
Christian looked thoughtful. "Perhaps. I had meant to have him checked out, but your testimonial goes a long way, Mr. Roarke."
"I appreciate the confidence, but I believe you'll feel better if you do look into his background." At that point Roarke paused and looked around to where a woman was strolling across the veranda toward their table, looking as if she had all the time on earth. "Yes, Mrs. Baines, what may I do for you?"
"I do hope I'm not intruding," said the woman in an obsequious tone of voice that had both Christian and Leslie doubting the sincerity of her words. "I just wanted to make a request, Mr. Roarke—is it possible to rent a laptop computer for the week?"
"Of course," Roarke replied with a smile. "My son-in-law can arrange for that for you; he does this frequently for our guests." Christian had started this service during the summer, and it had proven to be an excellent source of extra revenue for him.
"Just let me know where it should be delivered," said Christian. "I have only to call the electronics shop on the next island, and they'll bring it right to your door."
"I'm in the Lilac Bungalow," the woman said, straightening the skirt of her expensive and well-tailored suit. She also wore a matching blazer over a ruffled blouse, and her pumps were plain with low heels, but clearly made from Italian leather. She had painstakingly coifed gray hair and wore a pair of half-round glasses attached to a gold chain. "I appreciate the time and effort."
"I'm glad to help," Christian replied with a strictly professional smile that left his hazel eyes cold. "If you need anything else, just let us know."
"I certainly will," the woman said with a peculiar little smirk and a pair of meaningfully raised eyebrows. "Mr. Roarke." With a nod, she turned and departed.
"Why in the world does that woman leave me feeling I'd better watch my back?" Christian asked ominously, eyeing Leslie as if she knew.
"I don't know her," Leslie protested, staring at him.
"She is a vacationing guest," Roarke said tranquilly. "She's here under the name Baines, but you might know her better as Barbara Verdon."
Leslie pulled in a breath and Christian's face instantly morphed into an outraged mask. Together they demanded, "The gossip columnist?"
"The very same," said Roarke as Mariki came out with her serving cart.
"And you say she's here on vacation?" Christian went on, his voice frigid. "Yet she wants a laptop, and judging from her expression just before she walked out of here, she knows perfectly well who I am. Whatever happened to my privacy?"
"As I said," Roarke reminded him sternly, "she is here on vacation. What she chooses to do with that vacation is entirely her business. If you are that upset by her presence, my dear Christian, then I can only suggest that you do your utmost to avoid her."
"So easy to say," Christian muttered. "There goes the rest of my week." Roarke and Leslie eyed him for a moment; he quirked a brow at them and then began to help himself to the various dishes Mariki had just begun setting out.
§ § § -- December 17, 2005
By Saturday morning Christian and Leslie were barely speaking to each other; it was plain to Roarke from the look on his daughter's face that she was upset and angry. Pausing on the porch as they usually did before going to meet the plane, he asked dryly, "Will you be able to concentrate on your job this weekend, young lady?"
"I'll do just fine, thanks," Leslie replied curtly.
Roarke gave her a remonstrative look. "Whatever's on your mind now, I'll thank you not to take it out on me," he said, but he spoke gently.
She sighed and cast him an apologetic look. "I honestly don't know who to blame it on. Christian's found out that Ben Keller's legitimate, and he's actually interested enough in expanding into Boston that he's begun seriously talking with the guy. Another six or eight weeks away from home, that's all it means to me. But then I was doing my usual rounds yesterday, and Camille caught me in town and showed me Barbara Verdon's latest gossipfest in the L.A. Times. Apparently she overheard more of our conversation on Wednesday than we thought. Her column suggests Christian makes a habit of abandoning his family to devote all his time and attention to his business."
"Isn't that what you are obliquely implying yourself, with your disapproval of Christian's possible new business venture?" Roarke asked pointedly. "You can't have it both ways, Leslie. You can't be angry with Christian for considering another expansion, and then be angry with Barbara Verdon for drawing the conclusions she has."
"Oh yes I can," Leslie retorted as the car drew up. "I'm a woman. Men think we're illogical as it is. I might as well live down to that expectation." Roarke laughed, a little reluctantly, and shook his head, ushering her down to the rover.
At the plane dock they welcomed a couple whose daughter wanted to meet Santa Claus in person so that she could be sure her Christmas wishes were granted, "for once in her life," as Roarke quoted the child's letter. Then a group of five well-known faces emerged from the plane's hatch and stepped out, one by one, gathering at the end of the dock before starting down the ramp together. "I presume you recognize these people."
"Oh, absolutely," said Leslie, eyes wide, week's animosity momentarily forgotten. "Toni Karlsen, the actress; Karsten Henning, the musician; Elin Kristel Granath, the singer; Joy Foster, the singer; and Marcolo Bartolomé, the prince."
Roarke chuckled. "Indeed so. And they all have the same fantasy, which I am sure both you and Christian will identify closely with. They are completely fed up with the lies and fabrications printed in tabloids and newspapers, and wish to turn the tables on those who perpetuate these stories. Or, failing that, on one person in particular."
A sense of foreboding welled up within Leslie and she turned to him, guessing, "Don't tell me. The particular person in question is Barbara Verdon, who of course is already here on the island, wreaking more of her havoc."
"Precisely," Roarke said. "Unfortunately, they may find that revenge isn't all it's made out to be." He aimed a look at her, then accepted his glass of champagne and raised it in the famous toast: "My dear guests! I am Mr. Roarke, your host. Welcome to Fantasy Island!"
