§ § § - October 8, 1983

When they finally got back to the main house, Lawrence was there, arranging freshly washed teacups in gleaming precision on a ceramic tray atop the tea table that had been installed in the study over the summer. He snapped up straight when Roarke and Leslie came into the room. "Ah, sir, I'm very glad you're back. I'm afraid I have bad news. Mr. Anderson had to be taken to the hospital after all. It turned out that he wrenched his back more badly than he had first believed, and I took him to see a doctor there. It appears he will be laid up for several days."

"Oh boy," murmured Leslie.

Roarke frowned. "Several days?" he repeated, sounding vaguely horrified.

"I'm afraid so, sir," said Lawrence apologetically. "Of course, I could still—"

"No, no, it's gone too far for that now," Roarke said through a sigh. "As always, I do appreciate the offer, but…" He focused on Lawrence. "Where is Miss Barnes now?"

"Back at her bungalow, I believe," said Lawrence. "She mentioned that Mr. Payne had gone to the open-air dining room…and taken his calculator, as he always does." At Roarke's look, he added hastily, "Her words, sir."

"What's this guy do that he's so suspicious of us, anyway?" Leslie asked.

"He's a certified public accountant," Roarke told her. "Apparently one who watches his pennies to an even greater extent than the stereotype would have it." He paused a few seconds, considering the situation; then he smiled. "I believe I have an idea. Leslie, perhaps you'd like to help me?"

"Sure, anything," she agreed. And when Roarke explained to her what his plan was, she burst into laughter. "I love it, that's great! Do you want to start right now?"

"I'd say there's no better time, miss," Lawrence put in. "If you don't mind my making a small suggestion, I'd offer a little advice. Try not to overdo your acting."

"Just because I didn't take drama classes in high school doesn't mean I can't put up a façade every now and then," Leslie retorted, goaded. "I've been here longer than you have, and I've actually helped Mr. Roarke a lot more than you think I have. I'm not just some glorified go-fer anymore." Even as she spoke her last statement, she found herself wondering uneasily whether it was really true.

Roarke chuckled. "Trust me, Leslie, you've never been a 'glorified go-fer', except perhaps in your earliest days here. You've learned a great deal and you've become invaluable to me. And Lawrence, I am sure she will consider your advice. Why don't you find out what tomorrow's restaurant and hotel menus are, in case we need to place any further emergency orders like this afternoon's."

"Yes, of course, sir," Lawrence agreed, looking a bit chastened. He fussed with a teacup that didn't look the least bit out of place to Leslie, then tossed Roarke an apologetic look and hurried out of the study. Roarke smiled faintly, then gestured for Leslie to come along with him.

Per his instructions, she made her way alone to the open-air dining room while he went to collect Deborah Barnes from her bungalow. Pausing momentarily on the perimeter, she scanned the tables and spied Dennis Payne sitting alone at a rear table, poking at his calculator and looking a little frustrated. He glanced up and stared at her as she approached his table. "Oh, hi there…Leslie, is it?"

"Yup. Hi, Mr. Payne. Do you need anything?" she inquired.

"Well…maybe just Debbie, but I guess she'll be along pretty soon." He shifted in his chair and eyed her. "Listen, I want to talk to you anyway. Mind sitting down?"

"Not at all, thank you," said Leslie and took a seat. "What's wrong?"

"This operation you and Roarke are running," Payne began.

Leslie held up a hand. "Sorry, Mr. Payne…but I'm not really running it. I'm more or less his employee." She glanced at the calculator and noticed a long list of numerical figures on a notepad beside it. "Let me guess…you want to talk about our prices."

Payne slapped a pencil atop the notepad and leaned forward, pinning her in place with a sharp stare. "It just seems to me that anybody who comes here and gets a bungalow, or a hotel room, for these exorbitant rates you charge—" He must have seen some shift in her expression, for he backed up a bit. "Excuse me—for these exorbitant rates Roarke charges. Anyway, I think it's highway robbery. At these prices, you should be including meals and drinks in the package. At this rate, Debbie and I'll go broke before tomorrow morning."

Leslie was suddenly grateful for the casual talk she'd had with Seth, the bartender at the pool, when she and Roarke had delivered his grenadine. "As a matter of fact, I happen to know that we charge forty percent less per drink, and thirty-three percent less for meals, than you'd be paying in places like Las Vegas or Honolulu."

On Dennis Payne's openmouthed gape, she noticed a flash of white in her peripheral vision and realized Roarke and Debbie Barnes must have arrived. Payne abruptly began tapping frenetically on his calculator again, and Leslie used his distraction to meet Roarke's gaze through the bushes and nod at him.

He nodded back, then turned to Deborah Barnes and mouthed, "Now!" at her, upon which Leslie immediately heard a light, high-pitched laugh. She grinned to herself, watching Deborah tip her head back. Payne's head jerked up and he stared into the bushes as she trilled, "It must be so romantic, living on an island like this."

"Yes, but it can also be very lonely…Deborah." Leslie was sure she'd seen Roarke cast the fastest of glances toward their table, just to be sure Payne was listening.

"I can't imagine a man like you being lonely," singsonged Deborah in that persistent New York twang of hers. "No way."

"Once in a blue moon," said Roarke, taking her hands in his, "someone like you comes along to remind me just how lonely a man can be. Even in paradise."

Deborah, her attention completely distracted from the increasingly agitated Payne, blinked rapidly in disbelief. "But…with all your beautiful lady guests…"

Roarke released a dismissive chuckle, then placed his hands on her upper arms. At this, Payne got to his feet and edged toward the bushes. "Have you ever stood in a crowd of hundreds of people," Roarke asked, "and felt lonely?"

"You've felt that way too?" Deborah said, amazed. "You?"

"Many, many times," Roarke replied wistfully.

"Maybe what you need is somebody to take care of you, to see that you're never lonely again," she said earnestly. "Y'know what I mean?"

Roarke placed a palm on her cheek and said, "I know exactly what you mean." He leaned forward as if to kiss her, and Payne promptly waded into the bushes while Leslie watched, both hands over her mouth to stop any telltale chortles.

"Debbie!" Payne yelled, shocking Roarke and Deborah apart.

"Oh! My gosh," Deborah stuttered. "Dennis!"

Roarke smiled broadly. "Oh, Mr. Payne, how nice," he said, his voice betraying just the right amount of startled nervousness. "I was just, um, uh, showing Miss Barnes around the island."

"Sure you were," Payne retorted caustically. "The deluxe tour, right?"

"Exactly," said Roarke brightly. He pulled out his pocket watch. "Well, I really must get back. Uh…" He focused on the young woman. "Thank you for a most beautiful afternoon, Deborah." He put a special emphasis on the name that made her stare at him with an odd look in her eyes. Lifting her hand, he began to kiss it, then changed his mind at Payne's threatening look. "Au revoir…for now."

Leslie, forgotten at Payne's table with the calculator and notepad, arose to leave herself, but paused when she heard Payne growl, "Oh, he's got some good thing goin' here, you know that? His line! His line is pure garbage. I mean, who does he think he's fooling with that 'lonely man in paradise' junk, anyway?" He paused as if allowing Deborah to respond, but she only made a little noise and wandered away from him. "Huh, Deb? Debbie?"

Well, go after her, stupid, Leslie urged him mentally, but he merely stood there staring after his girlfriend. She frowned. Something about Deborah's reaction here struck her as decidedly strange. Maybe it was time she warned Roarke before it got any worse.

Lawrence's presence at the supper table didn't deter her at all. "I think it's time to back off from Deborah Barnes, Mr. Roarke," Leslie said without preamble. "You've definitely made Dennis Payne sit up and take notice. He's pretty mad by now."

"Oh?" said Roarke, looking pleased. "That's very good news, Leslie, thank you."

"In fact," she went on, toying a bit ostentatiously with her napkin, "it might be past time to back off. I mean…you're good, Mr. Roarke, you're really good—you did a truly thorough job of making Mr. Payne jealous. It's just…well…by now he might have a very good reason to be jealous."

By this time both Roarke and Lawrence were watching her with growing puzzlement and some impatience on Roarke's part. "Would you mind getting to the point, Leslie?" he prompted her.

She cleared her throat, glanced at Lawrence and mumbled, "Maybe you should've let Lawrence step in for Mr. Anderson after all."

"For heaven's sake, miss, why?" Lawrence demanded.

Leslie sighed. "I don't suppose you'll believe me. I know he won't." She waved a hand in Lawrence's direction. "But after you left, Mr. Payne was complaining about the lines he thought you were feeding Miss Barnes, and when he tried to get her to agree with him, she just walked away without saying anything. It was sort of hard to tell from the back, but she looked a little…um…well, dreamy."

"Now really, miss, how could you possibly discern a thing like that?" scoffed Lawrence. "Especially since you couldn't see her face."

"It was the way she walked," Leslie said. "And the fact that she didn't say a word to Mr. Payne was another tipoff."

"That's hardly enough evidence to convict someone on," said Lawrence dismissively and turned to Roarke. "Pay her no mind, sir. She's probably suffering from an attack of what women like to call 'female intuition'."

"Now Lawrence," Roarke said indulgently, "I wouldn't dismiss such a thing out of hand if I were you. However…" He looked at his daughter. "He does have a point about scanty evidence, Leslie. I submit that it was merely part of Miss Barnes' way of making very sure that Mr. Payne becomes jealous enough to make the proposal she so badly wants."

Leslie didn't buy it for a second, but she was outnumbered, and she knew they were both right, as little as she liked to admit it. "Okay," she said with a skeptical shrug, "if you say so." With that, she concentrated on her meal and let the men talk around her.

Roarke finished first and arose. "Take your time, both of you, please. I need to go to the luau to be certain everything is running smoothly." Lawrence and Leslie both understood this statement; Lawrence had been forced to make a trip down to the pineapple plantation and cadge more fruit out of them when the hotel manager reported that Jean-Claude, the hotel's irascible chef, had complained he was running short. "Lawrence, if you'll be so kind as to go to the hotel and speak with the manager to be sure that the dining room has all the supplies it needs for tomorrow, I would appreciate it. And Leslie, if you would kindly remain here and take any calls that come in, you might do me a favor and prepare the bills for payment." Thanks to her senior-year math class, she had learned how to manage a checkbook, and during the summer Roarke had turned over the chore of bill-paying to her, making arrangements with the island bank that her signature was to be honored on checks from his account from that point forward.

"Sure, I'll be glad to," said Leslie, picking up her glass. "Actually, I'm full, so I'll get started on that right now."

"I've had enough as well, sir," Lawrence said. "I believe a trip to the hotel will give me a chance to walk off my dinner."

Roarke nodded. "Very good, thank you both." They followed him along the veranda, where Lawrence split off to stride up the lane toward the Ring Road. Leslie trailed Roarke as far as the study, where she took a seat behind his desk and pulled out a drawer to retrieve the business checkbook. Roarke smiled at her, continuing out through the French shutters and across the terrace toward the jungle, which had been cleared back to a fair extent over the summer to provide a pleasant back lawn.

Leslie had opened the checkbook and was reaching for the first of the waiting bills when she suddenly heard a New York accent behind her. "Mr. Roarke—kiss me!"

Astounded, she pushed off with one foot to turn the chair around; there stood Deborah Barnes, grasping Roarke's hands. "I beg your pardon?" said Roarke blankly.

"Dennis hasn't let me out of his sight all afternoon," Deborah bubbled delightedly. "It's working!" Roarke smiled, and she threw a glance over his shoulder. "He's watching us right now." Roarke started to look, but she arrested the motion with a quick series of little yips. "No no no…don't look! Just kiss me." He stared doubtfully at her, and she nodded. "One kiss, Mr. Roarke, and you're lookin' at an engaged woman." With that, she shut her eyes and jutted her chin forward and up, puckering her lips.

Leslie watched, glued to the scene, while Roarke tried to look over his shoulder one more time, then popped the briefest of miniature pecks on Deborah's lips. Before he could do more than begin to step away, or Leslie stretch her own lips for the laugh that boiled up, Deborah grabbed Roarke and really planted one on him. Leslie's laugh died completely, particularly when there was no outraged shout from Dennis Payne.

Just then Lawrence entered the room, making her spin back around in the chair. "I thought you were going to the hotel," she said, startled.

"I stopped at the lounge first so that I could be certain everyone has what is needed for tomorrow," he said, passing the desk without breaking stride. "And unfortunately, they don't. It is necessary for me to inform Mr. Roarke."

"Oh," she murmured weakly, watching him go, unable to look away now. Lawrence strolled onto the terrace, then stopped short, while in the meantime Roarke's eyes flew open and nearly burst out of his head, as if he needed to release pressure and Deborah's kiss was stopping it up.

Finally she let him go, and he gasped for a moment, as if he'd forgotten to breathe. "Yes…well…that should hook him," he managed.

But if Roarke had been stunned, Deborah was no less so. "Hook…who?" she mumbled, then noticed Lawrence and Leslie staring in shock. She made a tiny, almost sheepish noise, patted Roarke's arm and walked away, looking slightly spaced out.

Belatedly Roarke followed Deborah's glance and saw Leslie and Lawrence, the latter of whom promptly started forward. Leslie, who by now had totally forgotten her task, just gaped while Lawrence stopped beside Roarke, cleared his throat and inquired drolly, "Rehearsing again, sir?"

Sternly Roarke informed him, "The kiss was for Mr. Payne's benefit, Lawrence. Miss Barnes said he was watching us. Probably from behind those bushes over there." This came out the side of his mouth; Leslie grinned, while Lawrence automatically turned his head in that direction. "No, no, don't look, don't look," Roarke hurriedly exhorted.

Lawrence stared at him. "If that is true, sir, Mr. Payne is a most remarkable young man," he said, a censorious note in his voice.

"Why do you say that?" Roarke asked.

"Because I just left him in the lounge," Lawrence announced. "He was starting his third sugarless cola." One of Roarke's eyebrows ascended slightly. "Is it possible, sir, that Miss Barnes was simply looking for an excuse to kiss you?"

For a full five seconds Roarke stared at him without moving a single facial muscle. Then he said, "Lawrence, I think we have a problem."

"We, sir?" the butler retorted. Roarke's eyes widened as Lawrence produced a handkerchief and made a discreet wagging motion at him with one finger, then turned and made his way back toward the study. Roarke glared after him, dabbing at his mouth where Deborah had left some of her lipstick in her zeal.

Lawrence paused on the terrace when he noticed Leslie gawking, and glanced over his shoulder before turning an apologetic look on her and utterly shocking her. "I promise you, miss," he said low, "I will never again mock, or doubt, your female intuition." So saying, he strode back through the study, presumably on his way to the hotel.

Leslie was still gaping after him with her lower jaw dangling when Roarke came back into the room. "I must apologize, Leslie, for dismissing your suspicions," he said heavily.

Even more shocked, she turned her empty stare on him. "Uh…"

Roarke smiled wryly. "Do you find it so astounding that I should recant?"

"Not…um…well, not you," she managed at last, shaking her head violently a couple of times in the hope of getting her mind back on track. "It's Lawrence. He walked through here and told me he'd never doubt my female intuition again."

That wry smile just got more so. "And neither will I," Roarke vowed, before tugging at his tie, trying to button his already buttoned suit jacket, and finally rolling his eyes to himself and leaving on his original mission to the luau. Leslie watched him go, let a grin spread across her face, and finally got down to the business of paying the bills.