A/N: This year it'll be fifteen years since the death of Hervé Villechaize, and now and then I like to recall his character of Tattoo—probably his best-known role—in a story. I expect to do something similar around the actual anniversary of his death in September. Meanwhile, I hope you'll enjoy this tale, which since I'm working on two writing projects simultaneously may be a while in the completion. Thanks as ever to the usual gang, and to all other readers!
§ § § -- December 18, 2004
The second party of guests on this final weekend before Christmas made Roarke smile with a mixture of reminiscence and gentle sadness. "So they've done it," he said as if to himself, watching three dark-haired teenagers filing down the ramp from the plane's hatch. "We will undoubtedly have a very intriguing week. You are looking at Patrick Latignon and his younger sisters, Antoinette and Mireille."
Leslie gasped. "Tattoo's kids!?"
"The very same, yes," Roarke said, still smiling.
"Where's Solange?" Leslie asked, seeing that the Latignon children were alone.
"Ah…there's a story for us," Roarke told her. "We'll have more details in another hour or so, but to summarize, they tell me their mother is planning to remarry: and they are very much afraid that she is doing her utmost to forget their father. As they put it, they are 'running away' to protest Solange's actions. I let them come here because Patrick and Antoinette have both completed school, and it's Christmas vacation for young Mireille."
"I see," Leslie said. "If you want the truth, I can see exactly where the kids are coming from. I thought Tattoo was the only one Solange could ever love—they were always so happy together. When I visited them back in 1993, I could see how they doted on each other. Why in the world would she want to marry again?"
"Don't forget, my dear Leslie, you believed you could never marry again when Teppo died," Roarke reminded her, "and now here you are, even happier with Christian than you were with Teppo. Solange will have her side of the story as well, but we will hear out her children first, give them a chance to air their grievances." And with that, he raised his glass in the weekly toast, while Tattoo's children gazed around them with wide-eyed wonder, no doubt taking in everything their father had once been so familiar with.
‡ ‡ ‡
By ten o'clock the Latignon youngsters were in Roarke's study, soaking in the room and its décor, as if trying to imagine their father here. Roarke was alone in the study, and watched them with amusement and a bit of avuncular affection as they gazed around in speechless surprise. Then a baby cried upstairs, and all three drew up straight at once. "Is that one of cousine's babies?" asked Antoinette excitedly.
"Indeed it is," Roarke said. "Come in and please sit down, there's no need for you to stand as you are. Leslie will be down in another moment."
Just as he spoke, a door closed upstairs and after a few more seconds Leslie trotted down. "Oh, good, you're here!" she said cheerfully.
"Cousine!" cried Antoinette happily, and she jumped from the chair she'd just taken and hugged Leslie, who laughed and returned it. Patrick came right behind his sister; Mireille was a little shy, but willing enough to bestow a hug as well.
"It's been a very long time since you visited us, cousine," Patrick remarked while Roarke came around from his desk and they all sat around the tea table near the staircase. "I was only nine then, but I remember it pretty well."
"I do too," Antoinette said cheerfully. "And I remember how Papa took you into the city to his art gallery, and all we wanted was to go as well. Especially Mireille."
Mireille smiled shyly and admitted, "I can't remember. I was so little then."
"I wouldn't expect you to," said Leslie. "You weren't even two years old yet. So how are you now, you three? What are you up to?"
Patrick grinned and said, "I run Papa's art gallery now. I took over from the main assistant he had there when you were visiting. Papa's paintings still sell!"
"They should," said Leslie. "He was a very talented artist. We'll have to show you the museum we established in your father's memory. How old are you now?"
"I'm twenty," Patrick explained, "and Antoinette is eighteen. Mireille is nearly thirteen now, and we had to wait till she was out of school for the holidays before we could come here without alertingMaman that we were leaving." He frowned slightly, exchanging glances with his two sisters.
"I told the dance company I was going on personal leave," Antoinette said, looking slightly guilty. "I followed in Maman's footsteps a bit, but I'm a ballerina, not a modern dancer as she was. They understood…I think."
"You think?" Leslie echoed dubiously.
Antoinette sighed heavily. "We all think it was for an excellent reason. Maman is planning her wedding, and it's all she thinks of now. We come and go and I think she hardly notices. Patrick has a little attic loft in the city and I spend more time there than at home, because home is so gloomy."
"It's dismal," Mireille pronounced. "When I finish school each day I try to go to Patrick's flat rather than home. We still live in the house that you visited, cousine, but you'd never recognize it now. Maman turned Papa's glass art studio into a greenhouse…for vegetables, ugh! And she's taken all of Papa's paintings off the walls and plans to store them away! She doesn't want to remember Papa anymore!" Her eyes shone with tears.
Leslie blinked, amazed. "Seriously?"
"It's true," said Antoinette solemnly. "Actually, Mamansaid she's going to store the paintings, but I frankly think she really plans to sell them. If she doesn't want them around, they should at least stay in the family."
"I handled that," Patrick put in, clearing his throat.
"You did?" blurted his sisters and Leslie all at once, and Roarke chuckled silently.
"How?" Antoinette pressed him.
Patrick shot Roarke a sidelong look and then smiled reluctantly. "Remember when Maman was away on that weekend with Georges?" he asked. His sisters nodded and he shifted in his seat to include Roarke and Leslie in his explanation. "Maman asked me to stay with Antoinette and Mireille while she visited Marseilles on a holiday weekend with her fiancé, Georges. She had already taken down all of Papa's paintings and stored them in the room where you slept on your visit, Leslie. She had told all of us that there would be no room in Georges' house when she and the girls move in after their marriage, and that she planned to have the paintings stored away. But then Antoinette voiced her suspicion that she really wants to sell them, and I thought it was better safe than sorry. I wrapped them up, brought them back into the city with me and kept them at the gallery. Then on the Monday immediately following, my employees helped me to package them properly, and we shipped them here to Fantasy Island. They'll be safe here."
"They haven't arrived yet," Leslie told him.
Roarke frowned thoughtfully. "As a matter of fact," he said, "I received word yesterday afternoon that a number of large fragile parcels had arrived at the docks on the other side of the island. It's quite likely that those may be Tattoo's paintings. Perhaps, Leslie, when you take the youngsters around the island, you can make a trip there and pick them up." He regarded the Latignons. "I do feel that you three should inform your mother as to the whereabouts of the paintings, particularly if you hope to ensure that they remain here."
"We'll tell her, in due time," Patrick said a little coolly. "But you have to understand, Mr. Roarke, we're not in a frame of mind to talk much to her just now."
"What exactly do you have against your mother's fiancé?" Roarke inquired.
"I suppose it's two problems, really," Antoinette said slowly. "Perhaps it would be one thing if Maman weren't treating Papa's things, and his memory, as so much waste. She doesn't want his paintings around, she's made his studio into a greenhouse as Mireille said, and she's put our villa up for sale as well."
Leslie gasped. "Did she really!"
The Latignons nodded soberly. "And it's not just the way she's trying to shut out the memory of Papa," Patrick said, "but it's the man she wants to marry. His name is Georges LeNoir, and he's…well…"
"Evil," Mireille filled in with dire conviction.
"How is he…'evil'?" Roarke asked, putting the word in imaginary quotation marks. "What has he done that has brought you to feel this way?"
Patrick and Antoinette looked helplessly at each other. "It's a feeling, I suppose," said Antoinette reluctantly. "He's very oily. He smiles at us and pats us on the head like puppies when Maman's around. He's the one who talked her into putting away Papa's paintings and selling our house."
"He suggested that she should start her life fresh and new," Patrick added sourly.
"And if Georges thinks Maman should get rid of Papa's paintings and our house," Mireille said, tears filling her eyes, "then the next thing she'll want to get rid of could be us!"
Roarke and Leslie looked at each other. "Have you seen him doing anything suspicious at all?" Leslie asked hesitantly. "What I mean is, does Solange seem to be acting other than normal? Do you know much about the guy? Does it seem as if she's concentrating on him a lot more than she should be?"
"Yes, to that last," Antoinette said. "Georges is her whole world. He seems so sweet and loving to her, but to us it looks…wrong."
"Exaggerated," Patrick put in. "He sounds like a bad romance novel."
Leslie stifled a smile at that. "Does Georges have access to her bank accounts at all?"
"I hope not," Patrick said. "It's a classic thing, you know: Papa left us a lot of money when he died. You'll remember that, Leslie—he painted during every spare moment he had, trying to create enough stock to sell so that he could put money away for us to live on after he was gone, and so we could keep our home. He put money into a family account for all of us, one that Maman drew on for our living expenses; and he also created small trust funds for each of us children. We are to gain sole control of our respective funds as each of us reaches our twenty-first birthdays. I still have nine months before mine comes; and obviously the girls' accounts are even more vulnerable, particularly Mireille's. You see, Maman has control of our trust funds at the moment. We could be in a great deal of trouble if she decides to allow Georges access as well."
"So she hasn't done so yet, then?" Roarke prompted.
Antoinette frowned and looked at Patrick, who shrugged one shoulder. "I don't know for certain," he admitted. "But I do think there's that danger."
"How does this guy treat you when Solange isn't around to see?" Leslie asked.
"He's cruel," Mireille said instantly. "Patrick can fight back because he doesn't live at home anymore, and he's a man now and doesn't have to be afraid of Georges. But he always looks at Antoinette with big eyes, and he thinks I'm a pest. He hits me sometimes."
Antoinette shuddered visibly and reluctantly disclosed, "I think he's a pedophile, of sorts. It's as Mireille said—he stares at me a lot, and it feels as if he's trying to imagine me without my clothes on." She looked up. "I'm afraid he might rape me someday."
"We can't report him, either," Patrick added. "He hasn't actually done anything yet, there's only the threat and our suspicions. But we truly believe Maman's in danger, and the three of us as well, and everything we own. OnlyMaman doesn't seem to see it."
Roarke nodded, silent a moment, taking in each of his late former assistant's children before speaking. "I've received word from Solange," he said quietly. "Your absence was noticed within hours after your departure, and she tracked your movements enough to learn that this was your destination. She told me that she and Monsieur LeNoir can't get away immediately, but she requested passes so that she could arrive on the last charter of the day before Christmas Eve. So they will be here."
Patrick scowled; Antoinette gasped, and Mireille looked frantically at her brother and then at Roarke. "Mr. Roarke, you actually gave them passes?" Patrick demanded.
Roarke lifted a hand. "Please, Patrick, hear me out. I am not unsympathetic to your tale, believe me. But it is my policy to try whenever possible to get both sides of a story, and your mother does have the right to tell hers." He smiled slightly. "Furthermore, I will have the opportunity to observe Monsieur LeNoir while he and your mother are here, and learn for myself what sort of man he is and what intentions he has. If he is foolish enough to try anything, I will know."
Patrick grinned at that. "Well, now that you mention that, I can remember when I was a little boy and the stories Papa would tell me and Antoinette about this island, and you and your powers, and cousine, and so on. We should have known to trust you."
"That's why we came here in the first place," Antoinette said. "We knew you were Papa's very best friend, and that you helped him a lot before he met Maman and they had us. And we remembered Leslie from her visit. So we knew this would be a safe place for us to come." She put an arm around her younger sister. "Don't worry, Mireille, Maman and that horrible Georges won't be here for five days. We're safe till then and nothing can happen to us—and cousine will be showing us all the places Papa knew."
"Where will we stay?" Mireille asked, biting her lip.
"I've set aside a special bungalow for you," Roarke said with a smile. "It's the one that Tattoo himself lived in when he worked for me. Leslie owns a number of your father's artworks, and she saw to it that two of them were hung in that bungalow. Perhaps it will help you three to feel a little closer to your father."
Patrick and Antoinette smiled at that, and Mireille broke away from her sister to go over and kiss Roarke's cheek. "If Leslie is ourcousine, and you are her father, then you must be our uncle," she said. "And I'm happy that you are."
"Your father was a very dear friend of mine," Roarke told her gently, "and his children are always welcome on my island. If you ever need anything, please tell me so."
"Right now," Leslie said, "how about you three come with me. You can get settled in the bungalow, take a little rest if you want to and freshen up. We've got everything ready for you, and your suitcases are already there. I'll come and get you about quarter till noon and you can have lunch here at the main house with us, and meet Christian then."
"To meet a real live prince!" Antoinette said with a little sigh. "It would be a dream come true! You must be very happy with him,cousine."
"You couldn't imagine," Leslie told her and grinned at her dreamy mien. "Well, come on, let's go. You have plenty of time before lunch."
