A/N: This is the continuation of the previous story, "Leslie Takes a Holiday". A heartfelt thanks to TexasBethM for her very welcome review!
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-- October 15, 1993
Little Mireille Latignon had insisted on keeping her father and his honorary niece company in the guest bedroom while Leslie was packing for her trip to her next destination. Tattoo watched his youngest child with indulgence and some bemusement as the little girl sat sentinel on the bed beside Leslie's suitcase, bright blue eyes watching every move the young woman made. "What's wrong, Mireille?" he finally asked.
"She go?" the child asked, pointing at Leslie.
"Yes, chérie, she's going to another place tomorrow," Tattoo explained with a smile that carried a trace of sadness.
"Me go too," Mireille declared.
Leslie stopped in surprise and blinked at her, then grinned wryly. "She's a talker, Tattoo," she remarked. "Maybe you have a prodigy on your hands."
"Oh, please," groaned Tattoo, rolling his eyes. "I've never seen a prodigy who wasn't misunderstood, mistreated, or both. Don't pin that one on my daughter."
"Okay, I take it back," Leslie said, still grinning. "But she's bright, all right." She knelt so that she was on the child's level. "Mireille, do you really want to go with me?" Mireille nodded, and Leslie tipped her head to one side. "But won't you miss Maman and Papá and your brother and sister?"
"They come too," Mireille said decisively.
Tattoo and Leslie both laughed. "We can't go, Mireille," Tattoo said. "This is Leslie's trip, and when she's done, she won't come back here. She's going home."
Solange appeared in the doorway then with Patrick and Antoinette flanking her. Antoinette looked surprised. "Are you leaving already, cousine?" she asked. After some initial awkwardness from the two older children, they and Leslie had become friends, particularly after Leslie told them a few stories about their father in his days on Fantasy Island. Solange had been right; both children were equally fluent in French and English.
"It's time for me to go to my next vacation spot, yes," Leslie said, "and your little sister thinks I'm taking her with me." She grinned.
"Silly Mireille," Antoinette said. "Maman would cry if you leave. Do you want that?"
Mireille stared at Solange, who took the cue and assumed an expression that made her look as if she were going to burst into tears any second. Mireille jumped off the bed and made a beeline for Solange, who picked her up and hugged her, winking at Leslie. "Children, why don't we leave Papá and cousine alone for a little while. I'm sure there are lots of things they need to talk about in private. Besides, I need help with some of these cookies I'm trying to bake. I don't think they're coming out exactly right."
"You need more cinnamon," Patrick told her as she shepherded the kids away. Leslie grinned again and shook her head, resuming her packing.
"You're collecting quite a lot of souvenirs," Tattoo observed. "I think you're going to have to get another bag."
"I brought an empty duffel for precisely that reason," Leslie said, reaching under the bed and pulling it out. "I need to be careful—it's already half full." She paused and regarded him curiously. "Are you falling behind on your paintings because I was here?"
"I'm on my own schedule," Tattoo informed her firmly. "I paint when I feel the urge to paint, and I do it as long as I want to. Having you here superseded that. It's not as if you live next door and I can see you anytime, you know. Why?"
"Oh…it just seems that since you showed me what's in progress in the studio, you haven't really worked on them much," she said with a shrug. "And Solange told me about those fall-foliage paintings of yours that are so in demand. I can see why—they're beautiful, every one of them. We could have easily sat and talked while you were painting in there, you know."
Tattoo shrugged, looking faintly uneasy. "Don't worry about it, Leslie," he said. "Just where is it you're going next, anyway?"
She eyed him askance for a long moment, then accepted the change of subject with some reluctance. "Lilla Jordsö," she said. "It's a small island southeast of the Shetlands, settled by Swedes. They still speak the language, but they have their own monarchy and are self-governing. My grandmother visited there as a child and told me about it once."
"I see," said Tattoo. "Solange has been there. You could ask her about it."
Leslie did so later that evening, long after supper and after she'd read the requisite bedtime story to Mireille. With Patrick and Antoinette busy in their bedrooms doing homework, the adults had a chance to talk more freely. "Solange, Tattoo says you've been to Lilla Jordsö," Leslie said, absently swirling the dregs of white wine in her glass. "What did you think of the place?"
Solange frowned and glanced at Tattoo. "Well…it was just before I found out I was pregnant with Mireille. I was dancing part-time with the Moulin Rouge Revival troupe, and we had been asked to perform in Sundborg, the capital city. We stayed in the largest inn we could find—a family-run place some way north of the city. I think it was called something that sounded like Lily Castle, or whatever the Swedish for that is."
The words triggered something in Leslie's memory and she suggested, "Liljefors Slott? That's the name of the place where I have a reservation."
Solange's eyes widened with unmistakable alarm. "You do? Yes, that's the place, but Leslie…I'm not so sure you should stay there."
Leslie stared at her, wine forgotten. "Why not?"
Solange shifted uncomfortably in her chair and stared into her own wineglass. "As I said, it's a family-run place. We never really saw anyone in the family, except for the desk clerks. But when we did…well, not all of us went through this; I didn't myself. I was sick in the mornings and keeping to myself and my own room. But some of the other dancers said that they did strange things they never would have done otherwise. They said it was as if someone was controlling what they were thinking."
This knocked on some hidden door in Leslie's memory, but try as she might, she couldn't get it open. Don't have the right key for that one yet, I guess, she thought. She mulled over Solange's words for a long moment before murmuring, "Mind control?"
"That's what it sounded like. To tell the truth, it sounded pretty spooky. Normally that kind of stuff doesn't bother me and I don't necessarily believe in it. But I guess being pregnant was working on my hormones or something, because it sounded plausible, and more than one member of the troupe was claiming the same thing. It seemed like too much for mere coincidence." Solange sat up, an intense, anxious look on her face. "Please, Leslie, be careful. You may be Mr. Roarke's daughter, but you're still…"
Leslie smiled a little ruefully. "Only an adoptee? I know, Solange. I'm just a mere mortal like most of the rest of us. But there's something familiar-sounding about all this. I can't pin it down yet, but maybe I will when I'm not really thinking about it." She focused then, meeting Solange's worried gaze and then Tattoo's. He wore the same expressionless, yet curiously mysterious and knowing look he used to so often don with Roarke's guests, but she could see his wife's anxiety gleaming from his dark eyes. "Please, try not to worry. I'll be careful. And anyway, you've got my curiosity piqued. I promise not to get myself in over my head if I can help it."
"But that's just it," Solange insisted. "I don't think you can. Once we left, everyone seemed back to normal, but it was just so weird…"
Leslie nodded slowly. "I don't blame you for feeling kind of creeped out. It is weird, I agree with you. But something tells me this needs to be looked into."
