A/N: The last unposted story from those that take place during Fantasy Island's actual run. This one directly precedes "Ghost of a Chance" in the timeline and includes Julie, who (in my calculations) was just finishing up her employment with Roarke. Thanks to jtbwriter and PDXWiz for taking the time to read and review these stories!
§ § § -- July 17, 1982
Summer vacation was about half over when Leslie found herself involved in one of the more unusual fantasies Roarke had granted. For some reason, this weekend he had three groups of guests. A young man wanted to return to his childhood for a weekend; and there was one of the regular requests by an older man to shoot the Red Baron out of the German sky. Tattoo rolled his eyes at that; he had complained to Roarke at some point about always having to play the part of the Red Baron, and Roarke had finally agreed to let him off the hook for those fantasies.
It was the extra fantasy, however, that was to affect Leslie. She had no inkling of what lay ahead simply from looking at the pair who stepped out of the charter plane, dressed in highly tasteful—and extremely expensive—clothing. "I bet they're rich," Tattoo speculated, obviously seeing dollar signs again.
"For once, you are correct," Roarke said wryly, "and I might add that you will be very happy to hear that Mrs. Catherine Lightwood-Wynton has paid us the princely sum of one million dollars to grant her fantasy."
"A million dollars!" Tattoo breathed, eyes feverishly bright. "Sacre bleu!"
"What kind of fantasy is worth a million dollars?" Leslie wanted to know.
"A very unusual and difficult one," Roarke said. "Mrs. Lightwood-Wynton has always dreamed of seeing the world; but her life in the English countryside north of London keeps her secluded at home. She married into a very rich family twenty-three years ago, and ever since then her life has been an endless swirl of society balls and parties attended by people who come merely to see and be seen. She has found all this deadly dull, and has finally decided to put some of the family money to what she feels is a better use. Her fantasy is to travel around the world alone."
"Oh, come on, Mr. Roarke," scoffed Julie. "All the way around the world in just one short weekend?"
"In a week, actually," Roarke said. "Mrs. Lightwood-Wynton has mapped out her itinerary in extraordinary detail. The catch is…"
"Catch!?" Tattoo blurted. "It'll be hard enough to send her on a trip like that, even in a week, without there being a catch on top of that!"
Roarke smiled. "Are you suggesting, my friend, that the fantasy is too difficult?"
"Well," Tattoo mused, "you did say she paid a million dollars. But that's still a lot of work without something else added to it."
"Enough already," Leslie said. "What's the catch?"
"The catch," Roarke replied with a strangely anticipatory smile, "is that Mrs. Lightwood-Wynton wants to make her trip in the ancient pasts of each country she plans to visit. And that is why she will be here until the morning of July 26, so that she will have the opportunity to spend a little time in each country of her choice."
"Who's the kid with her?" Julie asked, at last drawing notice to the other half of the duo. Roarke smiled again, casting a sidelong glance at Leslie.
"He is the lady's eighteen-year-old son, Simon Cameron Lightwood-Wynton IV," he said. "And it so happens that, while he apparently insisted on accompanying his mother here to Fantasy Island, he has no interest in taking her trip with her. So he will be staying in the Lightwood-Wynton mansion in the Enclave—and you, Leslie, will be his companion for the week while his mother is gone."
Leslie turned and stared at him, completely stunned. "What?" she demanded.
"What for?" Tattoo asked for her, himself curious.
"Well, obviously he can't stay there alone," Roarke said. "His mother asked that I provide him with a sort of live-in guide during her absence, so that Simon won't become overly bored and possibly get into trouble as a result. But it is his first trip ever to Fantasy Island, and he has no idea what to do. Thus, he needs someone to show him, and I felt that since the two of you are close in age, you were the natural choice."
Leslie gaped at him, still too flabbergasted to speak; and before she could recover, a native girl brought Roarke's drink, with which he proceeded to toast his latest guests. She turned slowly and stared at Simon Lightwood-Wynton, who was peering and his surroundings and looking less than impressed. I think I want to strangle someone, she thought dazedly, but I'm not quite sure who…
‡ ‡ ‡
Catherine and Simon Lightwood-Wynton were waiting at the main house when Roarke came back with Leslie and Tattoo, having assigned Julie to the World War I fantasy and Tattoo to that of the man who wanted to revisit his youth. Tattoo greeted the British visitors before closeting himself inside the time-travel room to make final preparations therein, leaving Roarke and Leslie with the Lightwood-Wyntons.
"So," Roarke said, seating himself at his desk with Leslie standing beside his chair at his left. "You have a most unusual and fascinating fantasy, Mrs. Lightwood-Wynton. How long have you wished to embark upon such a journey?"
"Most of my life, I expect," Catherine said. She was a slender, refined blonde in her mid-forties, with a small pointed face dominated by a pair of large gray eyes. "I became interested in history at quite a young age, Mr. Roarke, and atop that, I've never been outside the United Kingdom until now. But I've always found the modern world quite boring, actually. So I thought touring my favorite countries early in their histories would be a truly stimulating experience."
"Indeed," Roarke agreed, nodding. "Your letter was of enormous interest to all of us, but it has turned out to be a singular challenge preparing to grant your fantasy. We have spent most of the summer since the closing of school making all the assorted preparations, and after an overwhelming amount of research and fact-checking, I believe we are finally ready to send you on your way. There is a specially prepared room in your mansion here on the island which will be your starting point, Mrs. Lightwood-Wynton, so I suggest we be on our way there without further delay."
"Carry on, Mr. Roarke, by all means," Catherine said and grinned. "Oh…I nearly forgot. Have you someone who can keep Simon entertained?"
"Really, Mum," Simon complained, rolling his eyes. He looked a lot like his mother, with the same gray eyes and dark-blond hair, though his face was more rounded and surprisingly attractive as a result. "Are you suggesting that I need a babysitter? The very idea is positively revolting."
"Not a babysitter," his mother corrected him in a placating tone. "Just a guide, Simon, dear, that's all. Someone who can show you around the island."
"And that someone is my ward, Leslie Hamilton," Roarke said. "She is seventeen years old, so I expect the two of you may find a certain number of things in common." Both Simon and Leslie stared at him dubiously, and he glanced back and forth at their nearly identical expressions and cleared his throat. "Shall we be on our way? Leslie, have you packed as I told you to do?"
"Packed?" Simon echoed before she could reply. "Does that mean she'll be living in the mansion with me, Mum? That sounds like babysitting to me…and frankly, I'm insulted, especially since she's younger than I."
Leslie eyed him narrowly while he raked her with a scathing look from head to toe. There was no question in her mind that this was going to be the worst week of her entire summer. Maybe the entire year, she thought disgustedly.
"Really, Simon, do you truly think I'd let you stay there all alone for a week?" Catherine asked impatiently. "Staff are paid to keep you fed and the house tidy, not to entertain you the entire week. And before you remind me for the umpteenth time that you are now eighteen years old, let me remind you that you're not the most mature eighteen-year-old alive." She turned to Leslie and addressed her directly for the first time. "I hope you've friends you could introduce my son to. He has a tendency to spend his time with older boys, troublemakers. Frankly, Mr. Roarke, his father has grown quite weary of buying him out of assorted dust-ups, and he insisted I take Simon with me when I came here. Although, I might add, Simon seemed very interested in going."
Simon sneered. "That was before I found out you're leaving me with a chaperone."
Leslie wanted more and more to protest, but she didn't feel comfortable doing it in front of their guests; and she knew from past experience that Roarke wouldn't let her out of the problem anyway. He had a firm policy of seeing something through once it was begun, so that from time to time Leslie found herself in situations she'd have preferred to steer well clear of. This was definitely such a situation. On their way back from the wooden covered bridge Roarke sometimes used for time-travel fantasies, she'd realized that she wouldn't even get to come home to sleep in her own bed at night and had raised the biggest ruckus Roarke and Tattoo had ever witnessed from her; but it had done no good whatsoever. Roarke had been unswerving in his decision, and Tattoo had flatly refused to get involved; so that meant she was stuck with this spoiled rich kid from England.
"What about transportation?" she finally asked Roarke sullenly. "We'll need a car to get around the island if we expect to do anything outside the mansion."
"There's a chauffeured Mercedes at the mansion, Leslie," Catherine told her with a smile. "Neither you nor Simon will find it necessary to drive anywhere."
"Oh," she murmured, not certain whether she liked that idea. Her last excuse for a protest gone, she shrugged fatalistically and looked at Roarke again.
"If you're ready," he said with a raised eyebrow directed solely at her, "then we can leave right now."
So they all got into a station wagon, about which Simon made a couple of unflattering comments before his mother shushed him, and headed out onto the Ring Road. Leslie, finding herself curious about Catherine's fantasy, twisted in her seat enough to face their guest and asked, "Which countries are you planning to visit?"
Catherine's face lit with excitement. "Ancient Egypt during the time of King Tut; Norway in its Viking days; Japan in the time of the samurai; Russia when Catherine the Great ruled; India during the reign of Emperor Akbar; Mexico under the Aztecs; aboriginal Australia before it was discovered by Europeans; Turkey in the time of Suleiman the Great; and an American Indian tribe in the Great Plains during the early 1700s when the land was still utterly unknown to white settlers."
"Wow," said Leslie, honestly impressed. "What an amazing idea. It makes me wish I could go along with you."
"That would suit me just fine," Simon remarked.
"Simon, for heaven's sake," said Catherine, exasperated. "That's precisely what I mean by your not being the most mature eighteen-year-old. Even a child would know better than to insult one's hosts! I do apologize, Mr. Roarke and Leslie."
"That's quite all right, Mrs. Lightwood-Wynton," Roarke said, and Leslie cast him a quick glance that fairly screamed oh no it's not! "I daresay that, out of necessity, the two of them will learn to get along with each other." She sighed and rolled her eyes; she would have been more than willing to get along if only Simon were. Unfortunately, it sounded as if Roarke was putting her in the same category with Simon!
There were about ten mansions in the Enclave; there might have been more, but all of them were surrounded by plenty of manicured landscaping, and this took up quite a bit of space. One of them couldn't be seen from the area's main thoroughfare; the only indication of its existence was a narrow dirt lane that traced a straight line between two rows of carefully trimmed fir trees and vanished into the vegetation. Simon peered along the lane and asked unexpectedly, "Where does that go?"
"To a secluded chateau that until recently belonged to the silent-film star Claude Duncan," Roarke told him. "Mr. Duncan passed away nearly eighteen months ago, and the building has been essentially abandoned since then."
"I see," murmured Simon, sitting back in his seat. Roarke, glancing in the mirror, saw Catherine give her son a suspicious look, but no one said anything. A moment or two later Roarke pulled into the long circular drive of the Lightwood-Wynton property, an unusual but attractive house built a bit like a cross between an oversized ski chalet and a castle. Two enormous, airy A-frame sections were flanked by round towers with battlements and separated by another such tower between them, which served as the main entrance. Leslie stared at the place with great interest, thinking it would be fun to explore in there.
"This is ours?" Simon asked, also staring, but clearly less enamored of it than Leslie was. "It's the smallest one on the lane, Mum."
"That's perfectly fine with me," Catherine said in a tone that told him to keep quiet. "Why maintain an enormous house when you're so rarely in it? Actually, Mr. Roarke, it might behoove us to put the house up for sale when my fantasy has run its course. I don't believe Cameron has ever been here, and it's the first time for both Simon and me."
"If that is your decision, then by all means contact me when you're ready," Roarke said. "For now, this is your home away from home, particularly in the case of Simon and Leslie. There is a full staff in residence, and the house should be ready for you."
They were greeted by said staff, nearly all Polynesian residents of the fishing village and overwhelmingly female; there were four maids, a cook, a laundress, two gardeners and the chauffeur, the only man. Roarke gestured at the staff to introduce themselves; the one non-Polynesian, one of the maids, was named Morelita Zuma. Of them all, she was the only one who greeted them by name. "Hello, Miss Leslie," she said with a slight bow.
"Hello," Leslie replied with a smile, wondering why it was that this lady knew her when the others apparently didn't. Of course, the fishing-village residents were largely unaware of the nature of Roarke's lucrative business; they knew who he was and were well aware that he was nearly singlehandedly responsible for elevating the islanders' standard of living many years before, but didn't know why. Leslie had been amazed when Roarke and Tattoo had told her during her first week on the island about the relative isolation of that village. It was astonishing in this day and age that anyone could still maintain such a distance from the rest of the world. In any case, she wasn't at all surprised when the rest of the staff simply smiled politely at her and directed their respectful bows to Roarke, whom they did recognize.
Once Simon and Leslie had been shown their rooms (which, to the satisfaction of both, were on opposite ends of the house), Roarke brought them to a small room off what Leslie assumed was the ballroom. It was windowless, like the time-travel room at the main house, and about fifteen feet on each side, so that there was plenty of room for assorted accoutrements of Catherine's fantasy. There was a photo of a pharaoh on one wall, beneath which stood a table that bore a small pyramid that looked remarkably like the real thing; a Viking ship model; an ugly stone Aztec god about four feet in height; a boomerang hung on another wall with a didgeridoo on a table beneath; a large, elaborately feathered headdress on a Styrofoam head; a samurai sword mounted on a third wall, flanked by old Japanese prints; a fifty-four-inch-high ceramic elephant, complete with jeweled golden howdah on its back; and on another table in the middle of the floor beside it, a Russian samovar and balalaika flanked an elaborately wrought golden filigree crown. Colorful, shimmering Turkish silks had been artfully draped from the ceiling, completing the montage of artifacts from the countries of Catherine's journey.
"How wonderful, Mr. Roarke!" exclaimed Catherine, picking her way around the room and examining the assortment of items. Leslie glanced down and smiled at the lavish Turkish carpet beneath their feet. "Is this where I start my trip?"
"Indeed it is," Roarke confirmed with a smile. "As you reach the end of each phase of the journey, you will momentarily find yourself in this room. You will notice that the various items are numbered." Catherine, noting the placard with the number 1 printed on it standing atop the little pyramid, nodded. "That is the order in which you will visit each country you have chosen. When you complete each stage of your trip and find yourself in this room, simply move on to the next number in sequence and you will be automatically transported to the corresponding country. You shall have one full day in each location. Do you have any questions?"
"Just one," said Catherine. "Is it all right to take this with me?" She lifted a small duffel in one hand. "It's an overnight bag, with essentials such as toothbrush and toothpaste, shampoo, soap and so on."
Roarke smiled. "I think that would be permissible, since you didn't request to live in the exact manner of the places you're going—only visiting." This was greeted with soft laughter from Catherine and Leslie; Simon only rolled his eyes. Roarke either didn't see him do it, or just ignored him. "When your fantasy has concluded, you will find Leslie here waiting for you. In your absence, the room will be locked and she will have the key, so that when you return here, she can let you out." He turned to Leslie and gave her a small silver skeleton key. "Don't lose this, Leslie, whatever you do. There is no other."
"I'll put it on a string and wear it all the time, Mr. Roarke," she promised.
"Good," he said with a smile and returned his attention to Catherine. "I believe all the details have been attended to. Are you ready to begin your fantasy?"
Catherine's eyes gleamed with excitement and she nodded rapidly. "Oh, that I am, Mr. Roarke, no question about it."
Roarke nodded, smiling at the anticipation that shone in her eyes. "In that case, why don't you stand here beside the pyramid. I will turn off the lights, and once we have left the room, close your eyes and count to five. When you open them again, your fantasy will have begun. May you have a most enjoyable trip, Mrs. Lightwood-Wynton."
"Thank you ever so much, Mr. Roarke," Catherine replied, turning and taking up a stance beside the table that bore the pyramid. She clutched her overnight bag and took a deep breath, watching them as they headed for the door, as though impatient for them to leave so she could get started. Roarke gestured Simon out the door first, then Leslie; he flipped the light switch down and then closed the door.
In the ballroom, Simon eyed Roarke doubtfully. "Can you really do what you say you can do?" he wanted to know.
Roarke only smiled. "You might ask your mother when she returns nine days from now. In the meantime, I have other duties. Leslie, if you need anything, just call at any time, and either Tattoo or I will see to your request. You might take Simon to the stables, since I expect he feels quite at home around horses." He patted her shoulder. "Have a good week, and I'll see you in a few days."
"Okay," she said quietly, resigned but still not happy about what she viewed as a lost week with a spoiled, ultra-rich snob. She followed Roarke as far as the door and hefted a large nylon duffel bag over her shoulder, with the intention of going up to the room that would be hers for the week and getting in touch with her friends to let them know where she was.
Roarke was barely five seconds out the door when Simon demanded, "So where are these alleged stables Mr. Roarke mentioned?"
"Northern side of the island," she replied curtly, though she strove to keep her voice polite. "Let me know what time you want to go."
"Immediately," Simon said.
Leslie stared at him, convinced he was doing this just to goad her. "Give me a few minutes to change my clothes, and we'll go," she said neutrally, though without warmth.
"Oh, very well," Simon agreed grudgingly. "I suppose I had better change as well if we're to ride. Five minutes, no more—I really need to move round."
In that case, maybe you ought to walk all the way to the stables, Leslie thought, but managed to keep her mouth shut as she left the room. Once she made it to her own room, she swiftly changed into a pair of pale blue jeans and a casual white cotton top with wide straps that tied over the shoulders, then went to the phone on the bureau and dialed Myeko's number.
When Myeko came on the line, she said, "Hi, it's Leslie. What're you doing today?"
"Nothing," Myeko replied immediately. "How come?"
"I've got maybe half a minute to explain this," said Leslie, "but here's the thing in a nutshell. Mr. Roarke's assigned me to play guide to this rich kid from England while his mother's having a fantasy. The thing is, they're going to be here till almost the end of the month, so I actually have to live here in their mansion in the Enclave. The number here is 528, and one of the staff will pick up, so just ask for me and they'll send the call to the phone in my room here. Anyway…his mother wanted me to introduce him to my friends, which is a good thing, because I don't think I could spend the whole week just dancing attendance on him. He wants to go to the stables right now. Do me a favor and call the other girls and let them know, will you? There's a chauffeur here, so when you see a Mercedes pull up in front of your house, that's us. And when we get there, let me know who else can come."
"Wow," said Myeko. "Sounds cool to me. I'll call Michiko and ask her to get hold of Maureen and Frida, and I'll call Camille and Lauren. By the time you get here I should know how many of us there'll be."
"Great," said Leslie. "See you in a few." She hung up and tugged riding boots on her feet, her only concession to their planned activity; Simon was liable to show up in full riding regalia, she reflected, right down to beanie and crop! She stuffed a small bottle of sunscreen into one pocket, then left the room to see if she could find someone whom she could talk out of a length of string for the key Roarke had given her.