A/N: This was a tricky story to write, and battling a cold throughout the process didn't make it any easier! But it's finally ready, and I hope you'll enjoy it. This one's for Raggedygal… :) And thanks, of course, to jtbwriter, PDXWiz, Harry2 and Bishop T. (Overdue reiteration of disclaimer: Fantasy Island, Mr. Roarke and Tattoo were created by Aaron Spelling, Leonard Goldberg and Gene Levitt; I've simply been borrowing their creations as the basis for my tales. Also, thanks to TV writer Ruel Fischmann for creating a particularly memorable character who makes another appearance in this story.)
§ § § -- January 9, 2005
They stood quietly together at the plane dock, watching vacationers boarding; there were enough of them that both Christian and Leslie felt a little self-conscious trying to say a proper goodbye here in public. Too many people recognized them as being part of the royal family of Lilla Jordsö, and there were greetings and smiles.
Finally Christian shook his head and pulled his wife aside, behind an enormous jacaranda that was in full spectacular bloom. "This is ridiculous," he muttered. "I should have booked a later flight. Errico's jet could have waited another couple of hours."
Leslie smiled a little and shrugged. "I wish you had," she admitted. "Can't you change it now? Or did you already lock in your flight schedule?"
"I did," he grumbled, tossing a disgusted glance skyward. "This whole thing is simply insane." He focused on her and studied her for a long moment, as if trying to memorize her face. "Promise me that the next time someone begs me to open a new branch, you'll talk me out of agreeing. I don't like having to deal with the tax laws of foreign countries, I think the whole idea of becoming an international tycoon is not only absurd but a certain ticket to an ulcer…and more than anything else, I hate the traveling and being away from you."
"Solemn vow," Leslie said, sliding her arms around him and holding on tight. "I still don't know why it's impossible to turn this king down. You're not one of his subjects, Christian, and he can't imprison you or penalize you for not giving in to his demands. Does he know he's separating us for our wedding anniversary next Sunday?"
"Not even that swayed him," Christian said in frustration. "I honestly wish I could explain it to you and get you to understand. Maybe you have to be born royal, or at least European, to get the idea. Better still, try reading up on Henry VIII and James I of England. They both honestly and truly believed in the divine right of kings, and let absolutely nothing get in the way of that so-called right. Errico is the same way. He's damned generous, and if he considers you a friend, he'll go light-years out of his way to give you anything your heart might desire. But refuse him when he has his heart set on something, and his wrath is a spectacle to behold." He paused, saw Leslie's annoyed frown, and gave her the raised eyebrow she'd come to know all too well. "I seem to recall, when you and I were first getting to know each other, that you and Mr. Roarke both mentioned Errico's pursuit of you all those years ago. I know Errico well enough to know how singleminded he would have been—and how very angry I'm sure he got when you turned him down."
Leslie's mind spun back more than thirteen years to the summer she was twenty-six and the way Errico had courted her despite her vociferous insistence that she wasn't yet ready for a new romance. It had infuriated her, how certain of himself Errico had been and how he'd simply assumed he could carry her off with him no matter how much she objected to the idea. Not only that, but she suddenly also recalled Roarke's mention of the divine right of kings in reference to Errico, and her indignation began to fade. "Damn," she said on a resigned sigh. "You had to go and remind me. I don't think I've ever seen such cold rage and contempt in anyone's eyes as when I rejected him. And he himself mentioned that stupid 'divine-right' idea, now that I recall it."
"Well, there you are," Christian said. "He considers me a friend, and in all honesty I'd far rather be on his good side. Before you accuse me of meekly knuckling under to his every whim, try to remember how strongly he believes in that right, no matter how absurd and outdated it may be." He kissed her gently. "But I'm not without a little bargaining power of my own. I'll see to it that we're compensated in some way, however inadequate, for missing our anniversary. Errico's agreed to every demand I've made, and that must mean he wants something else. He'll have to stay on my good side too."
"Hmm," Leslie said, peering at him. "If he's that willing to make concessions, tell him you're staying till after our anniversary, and then you'll go."
Christian sighed, grinned sheepishly and ducked his head. "I'm afraid that's largely my own fault. I promised the family I would be there on a certain date."
"They'll understand if you change it," Leslie persisted.
"Leslie, don't you see? I forgot," Christian finally said, his tone filled with self-disgust. "I never thought I'd be one of those utter idiots who can't remember such an important date, but damned if I didn't actually forget. I booked all the flights and made all the arrangements, and it isn't possible for me to back out now. Perhaps being around those stupid amakarna pills that Tattoo's widow was being plied with affected my brain somehow."
He was so clearly ready to undergo self-flagellation for his lapse in memory that Leslie had to laugh in spite of everything. "Well, it's not as if it's a milestone or anything," she said through a sigh. "It's just our fourth anniversary."
Christian groaned and squeezed his eyes shut. "It's not 'just' anything!" he protested, shaking his head vigorously. "It was a stupid error on my part! Leslie, don't you realize I'd give anything to go back in time and change my actions?"
"Want to talk to Father?" Leslie teased impishly, and he groaned again. She giggled and hugged him. "Yes, okay, it's all your fault, you screwed up big-time, and you really owe me one. Several, actually. I expect to see a gigantic bouquet of roses next Sunday morning, and I expect you to call me, and e-mail me, and send me a card, and leave me a humongous box of chocolates. Does that make you feel better, now that I've given you hell?"
Christian was staring at her. "You really are no help at all," he complained.
"Don't fret so much over it, my love," she said softly, sobering. "I could tell you were as frustrated with Errico's persistence as I was, and I figure you just had a senior moment or two when you put your plans together. My darling, there are much worse things you could have done than forget our anniversary, so stop beating yourself to death about it. You finally gave in to him just to get him off your back, didn't you? And when you did, you were so annoyed that you forgot to think it through."
"Yes, well, all right…I'll concede to that," he said, blowing out his breath. "I'm still not happy with myself, and you're being far more understanding than I deserve about all this, but you have a way of reading my emotions sometimes that frightens me a little." She giggled and cuddled against him, trying to savor their last moments together, and he squeezed her, then tilted her head back and kissed her deeply. It brought back to her mind their intense lovemaking from the night before, and she lost herself in him to the point that when he broke contact, she wanted nothing more than to take him home and fall into bed with him all over again.
"My Rose," he murmured, sounding as aroused as she felt. "If only we could—"
"Last call for all passengers," they heard one of the attendants shout. Christian and Leslie both stiffened, then groaned and sagged against each other, reality hitting home once more. They were out of time, and they hugged each other hard before coming out from behind the jacaranda and walking reluctantly to the plane dock.
"I love you, Christian," she murmured, pausing with him at the foot of the ramp.
"And I love you, my darling Rose," he said quietly, hugging her one last time before releasing her and turning away. Five steps up the ramp, he stopped short, stood still for a second, and then turned back. "Tell me, Leslie, what in fate's name is a senior moment?"
She burst out laughing. "I'll explain it to you in an e-mail. Go on, my love, you're going to miss the plane." He rolled his eyes, laughed as well, and finally boarded the charter, leaving Leslie chuckling softly to herself.
§ § § -- January 15, 2005
"The man you see before you is Dr. Brennan Reese, from Tucumcari, New Mexico," said Roarke the first Saturday after Christian's departure. "He's quite successful, has a small practice with another doctor, is married and has two children, lives in a pleasant house in the suburbs. But for much of his life something has plagued him, and it all began with a century-and-a-half-old diary."
"Hmm, well, this sounds interesting," Leslie said. "Go on."
"The diary apparently was written by the sister of Dr. Reese's great-great-grandmother," Roarke said, as if in contemplation. "She was a nurse, engaged to be married to a young man who was dying. The young lady was apparently so in love with her fiancé that she simply couldn't bear to lose him, and according to what Dr. Reese tells me was written in the diary, she 'made arrangements' to keep him alive. It was the last entry she ever wrote. What happened to her is a family mystery, and Dr. Reese wants to solve that mystery."
"It seems like something that could have been researched over the internet," Leslie mused. "We have hardly any nineteenth-century fantasies anymore because of that; so many people are getting their questions answered that way."
"That's very true," Roarke agreed, "but even the internet can be of only so much help. It contains merely what information was already available; it doesn't necessarily procure new information. Such is the case with Dr. Reese, and that's why he's here."
It was Leslie's habit to play a little with the triplets before putting them in for their morning naps on Saturdays, just so she could have some contact with them before going about her job. For that reason Roarke usually allowed about two hours before the first of the weekend guests was due at the main house. This weekend the babies were a little restless, as if they knew Christian was gone and missed him. Atop that, Susanna and Karina were both actively teething, and the process was clearly more painful for them than it had been for their brother. Of the two girls it seemed Susanna had the harder time, and she was crying around her teething ring when Brennan Reese walked in, carrying a small leather-bound book. Like most people, he recognized Leslie as a princess, and gave her a quick bow before approaching curiously. "Poor little girl," he said. "Teething, huh?"
"And how," Leslie said with a resigned smile and sigh. "I guess we're in for a few months of siege." Dr. Reese laughed, and she arose with Susanna in her arms. "I'll be right back, let me just put her down for her nap."
When she returned, Roarke and Dr. Reese were talking a little, though the doctor seemed slightly nervous, drumming his fingers on the cover of the book. "Ah, good," Roarke said when Leslie stepped off the last stair tread. "Why don't you begin now, Dr. Reese, and tell us what you know."
Dr. Reese lifted the leather-bound book and placed it on the desk in front of Roarke. "That's my great-great-great-aunt's diary," he explained. "Her name was Amarette Blaine. It dates from 1853 and 1854 but covers only about ten months. It was the last in a series she kept from her teens on, and it gives a really detailed portrait of a nineteenth-century life. She lived in Pittsburgh and was going to marry there, except that her fiancé, Gareth Moran, had a disease that at the time couldn't be cured. She refers to it as 'consumption', whereas we know it as tuberculosis."
Roarke nodded. "I understand," he said. "May I look at the diary?"
"Of course," Dr. Reese said. "In fact, I'd specifically like you to look at the last two entries. They're the whole reason for this mystery." Roarke opened the book and glanced up at Leslie; together they silently read the final two entries of the diary.
June 5, 1854. Gareth's consumption has laid him so low that he is now confined to his bed. Lately he has begun to cough up blood. I am deeply frightened for him…or, that is, I was. He shall be saved: I have made arrangements so that it will be done.
June 6, 1854. The time has come. I have not dared tell Gareth what I am giving up for him. One day I hope he will forgive me. I must leave now. Farewell, dear diary.
"Cryptic," Leslie remarked.
Dr. Reese nodded. "No question about that. That's what I'm doing here, you see. My great-great-great-aunt disappeared after that, and no one knows where to. No trace of her was ever found. I want to go back and find out what really happened to Amarette Blaine."
Roarke looked up, though both Dr. Reese and Leslie had the sense that part of his attention was elsewhere. "I have arranged for you to return to the Pittsburgh of early June, 1854, so that you may meet Miss Blaine. As in the present day, you will be a doctor, and I will see to it that you have the proper medication to take with you so that Gareth Moran can be cured." Dr. Reese's face lit up; Leslie, on the other hand, stared at her father, astounded. "I have a few final arrangements to make, so if you will, please return here in one hour."
"That I will," Dr. Reese said enthusiastically, standing up and shaking hands. "Thank you so much, Mr. Roarke."
"Do you mind if I retain this until you come back?" Roarke asked, lifting the diary.
"Not a bit," Dr. Reese replied cheerfully. "Not a bit, Mr. Roarke. See you in an hour." He trotted out of the house whistling.
Leslie leaned against the desk and folded her arms over her chest. "You know, in all the years I've watched you grant fantasies, I don't think I've ever seen you do that," she said, shaking her head. "It took you all of sixty seconds to tell that man you'll send him back."
Roarke nodded, watching her quizzically. "Yes?"
"But that isn't all," she said. "It's not even the biggest thing. You're actually going to send him back with the medicine to cure his great-aunt's fiancé? Are you sure you haven't finally lost your sanity?"
Roarke smiled slightly. "I'm quite sure, my dear Leslie."
She gaped at him. "But you're always telling people that it's not possible to change history! What makes this fantasy so different from all the other ones?"
"This diary," he said, displaying it at her. "There is something in here that tells me that these events, according to the entries herein, should never have happened."
Leslie studied him for a long moment. "Okay…what is it?"
He smiled at that and said, "Good, you're learning." When she rolled her eyes, he let out a soft chuckle. "Bring that chair over here, and I'll show you. You may not be able to see it, but I'll explain anyhow." He showed her the diary and instructed, "Look very carefully at these two pages, and tell me what you see here."
She did so, squinting hard, then looked up. "It's like something was erased, but not."
"Precisely," Roarke said and proceeded to explain further. "Dr. Reese will save Mr. Moran's life, but I myself will have to save Amarette Blaine." He scowled, his dark eyes faraway; then he came back to the moment and focused on his daughter. "I will need you to do a few things for me, Leslie, if you would. After that, whatever happens, you are to remain here whenever I am not in the office. You'll be checking on our other guests and making the usual rounds, as well as gathering the material I need; I must make a series of trips back in time. What with Christian away and the danger involved in this fantasy, I don't want you caught up in it. Do you understand?"
Leslie nodded. "I'll do whatever you need me to, Father."
He smiled and rested his hand on her shoulder. "Good, thank you, my child. Before we do anything more, let's make the time-travel room ready."