§ § § -- August 9, 1983
On a balmy Tuesday evening late in the summer, Roarke and Leslie found themselves going through the endless applications for the position of assistant, as they had been doing for the last three months or so. By now it was an exercise in boredom and discouragement; Leslie suspected it wouldn't be long before they came to dread it outright. Not one person seemed quite right for the job somehow.
Then Roarke extracted a pale-pink envelope and ripped it open, only to find that the letter was from Delphine. When he finished reading it, he sat back and turned to his daughter with a broad smile. "It looks as if we may soon get a break from the endless streams of applications," he said.
Leslie looked up hopefully. "Really? How do you figure?"
"This letter comes from Delphine," Roarke said and proceeded to read from it. "'I think I might have the answer to your problem, uncle. Mother's eccentric elderly cousin, who lived in England for some fifty years, died about a month ago and left behind a fair-sized estate. She also threw about a dozen servants out of work as a result.' " Leslie laughed at that. "'One of them,' " Roarke continued reading, "'wrote to me inquiring about work requirements in the United States, with the idea that I could use some help around the house now that I've got little Thomas to take care of. He was Cousin Moira's butler, and his name is Lawrence Cornwell- McKinnie. Needless to say, I don't have much use for a butler, but I did remember that you've been looking for an assistant for some time. I think he'd fit the bill, seeing as how Cousin Moira was a MacNabb by birth. It was my understanding that she was kind of senile toward the end, and if Lawrence is your typical English butler, then Fantasy Island ought to be a piece of cake for him after what he probably saw at Moira's manor.' " Roarke set down Delphine's letter, chuckling.
Leslie giggled too. "Lawrence Cornwell-McKinnie, huh?" she tried out the name. "Sounds veddy British to me. But I can see why Delphine would think he'd be a good candidate, after hearing her letter."
"I agree," Roarke said. "Delphine provides Mr. Cornwell-McKinnie's address as a postscript. I will write to him, and if he seems agreeable, then I will have a new assistant."
Thus it was that on Saturday morning, the tenth of September 1983, the new member of their "staff" arrived on Fantasy Island. Lawrence Cornwell-McKinnie was a little taller than Roarke and a bit heavyset, with thinning dark hair. He was also as British as they came and intimidated Leslie right from the beginning, making her feel as if she had regressed to the frightened fifteen-year-old who had first come to the island. He first set foot on the island dressed to the nines, all the way from bowler hat to gleaming black shoes. He and Roarke shook hands in grave fashion and greeted each other rather formally before Lawrence then turned to Leslie. "Good day, young lady," he said and tipped his hat, sketching her a bow. She blinked.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. ...uh, sir," she murmured shyly.
"You may call me Lawrence," the new arrival said graciously. "I do realize that my full name can be rather a mouthful."
"Thank you," mumbled Leslie, still overwhelmed. Unaccustomed to such heavy-handed formality, she found herself missing Tattoo badly for the first time in many weeks.
"Leslie Hamilton is my eighteen-year-old daughter," Roarke explained to Lawrence. "I formally adopted her just three months ago upon her graduation from high school. She is a great help to me in the absence of my former assistant, and even before he left she was carrying out a number of tasks for me."
Lawrence looked confused, which relieved Leslie, oddly enough. It made him seem more human somehow. "I was under the impression, sir, that you were in need of an assistant."
"Indeed so," said Roarke, ever patient. "Leslie is something of a secondary assistant and has always been an invaluable help; however, I need someone with me full-time, as she is still quite young and inexperienced." Leslie winced, perceiving these words as a stigma of sorts. "Shall we go on to the main house?"
Once they had arrived there they found Mariki cleaning the study. "Would you be so kind as to bring some refreshments, if indeed you care for any, Lawrence?" Roarke inquired.
"I should be delighted in a cup of tea, thank you very much," said Lawrence cheerfully.
Presently Mariki returned with a tray bearing a teapot and two cups, along with a glass of lemonade for Leslie. Still shy, she retreated to what used to be Tattoo's accustomed spot beside Roarke's desk, eager in spite of her shyness and apprehension to hear Lawrence's story. Roarke settled his teacup into its saucer and prompted, "I understand that you worked for Moira Dobson for twenty-two years."
"Indeed I did," Lawrence replied. "She was an excellent employer, Mr. Roarke. She grew rather dotty toward the end of her life. She was a MacNabb by birth, as you undoubtedly know, and the late Mr. Dobson never quite adjusted to those powers she inherited." Lawrence chuckled suddenly at some memory.
"How did you and the other staff react?" Roarke asked.
"Oh, I must say, Mr. Roarke, I was a touch befuddled at first." Lawrence grinned quite broadly, and Leslie began to think she might come to like this guy after all. "Mrs. Dobson was always just a bit daft and quite absent-minded to boot, but that's what made her such a delight to work for. I got a thorough initiation on my very first day of employment with her when she levitated a tea tray directly into my hands, before anyone had had a chance to explain the provenance of her abilities to me. I was never quite so startled in all my born days, but I soon grew accustomed to her eccentricities. We all did. Her staff remained with her for a great many years, and we shall all miss her dearly."
"I see," Roarke said, amused. "I trust in that case that you have a fair idea of what you should expect in the course of your employment here on the island. As the cliché goes, it's a dirty job, but someone has to do it."
"Quite so, sir," Lawrence said confidently. "I expect to have no trouble at all."
"Very well, then." Roarke rose from his chair and offered his hand to Lawrence, who reached out and shook it. "Welcome to Fantasy Island, Lawrence. Leslie will show you the cottage you are to live in, and you may take the weekend to settle in before you begin your duties."
"Thank you, sir. I expect I shall be very happy in my stay here." Lawrence finished his tea, placed the cup carefully on the tray Mariki had left behind, and departed the main house. Leslie, following along, halted for a moment and looked at Roarke.
"I thought we'd never see this day," she remarked.
Roarke chuckled. "Neither did I. It would appear, though, that I have just acquired a butler." Leslie giggled and left the house to show Lawrence where Tattoo's old cottage was. She would always miss Tattoo, but she was looking forward to seeing what Lawrence's tenure as Roarke's assistant would bring.
THE END
On a balmy Tuesday evening late in the summer, Roarke and Leslie found themselves going through the endless applications for the position of assistant, as they had been doing for the last three months or so. By now it was an exercise in boredom and discouragement; Leslie suspected it wouldn't be long before they came to dread it outright. Not one person seemed quite right for the job somehow.
Then Roarke extracted a pale-pink envelope and ripped it open, only to find that the letter was from Delphine. When he finished reading it, he sat back and turned to his daughter with a broad smile. "It looks as if we may soon get a break from the endless streams of applications," he said.
Leslie looked up hopefully. "Really? How do you figure?"
"This letter comes from Delphine," Roarke said and proceeded to read from it. "'I think I might have the answer to your problem, uncle. Mother's eccentric elderly cousin, who lived in England for some fifty years, died about a month ago and left behind a fair-sized estate. She also threw about a dozen servants out of work as a result.' " Leslie laughed at that. "'One of them,' " Roarke continued reading, "'wrote to me inquiring about work requirements in the United States, with the idea that I could use some help around the house now that I've got little Thomas to take care of. He was Cousin Moira's butler, and his name is Lawrence Cornwell- McKinnie. Needless to say, I don't have much use for a butler, but I did remember that you've been looking for an assistant for some time. I think he'd fit the bill, seeing as how Cousin Moira was a MacNabb by birth. It was my understanding that she was kind of senile toward the end, and if Lawrence is your typical English butler, then Fantasy Island ought to be a piece of cake for him after what he probably saw at Moira's manor.' " Roarke set down Delphine's letter, chuckling.
Leslie giggled too. "Lawrence Cornwell-McKinnie, huh?" she tried out the name. "Sounds veddy British to me. But I can see why Delphine would think he'd be a good candidate, after hearing her letter."
"I agree," Roarke said. "Delphine provides Mr. Cornwell-McKinnie's address as a postscript. I will write to him, and if he seems agreeable, then I will have a new assistant."
Thus it was that on Saturday morning, the tenth of September 1983, the new member of their "staff" arrived on Fantasy Island. Lawrence Cornwell-McKinnie was a little taller than Roarke and a bit heavyset, with thinning dark hair. He was also as British as they came and intimidated Leslie right from the beginning, making her feel as if she had regressed to the frightened fifteen-year-old who had first come to the island. He first set foot on the island dressed to the nines, all the way from bowler hat to gleaming black shoes. He and Roarke shook hands in grave fashion and greeted each other rather formally before Lawrence then turned to Leslie. "Good day, young lady," he said and tipped his hat, sketching her a bow. She blinked.
"Nice to meet you, Mr. ...uh, sir," she murmured shyly.
"You may call me Lawrence," the new arrival said graciously. "I do realize that my full name can be rather a mouthful."
"Thank you," mumbled Leslie, still overwhelmed. Unaccustomed to such heavy-handed formality, she found herself missing Tattoo badly for the first time in many weeks.
"Leslie Hamilton is my eighteen-year-old daughter," Roarke explained to Lawrence. "I formally adopted her just three months ago upon her graduation from high school. She is a great help to me in the absence of my former assistant, and even before he left she was carrying out a number of tasks for me."
Lawrence looked confused, which relieved Leslie, oddly enough. It made him seem more human somehow. "I was under the impression, sir, that you were in need of an assistant."
"Indeed so," said Roarke, ever patient. "Leslie is something of a secondary assistant and has always been an invaluable help; however, I need someone with me full-time, as she is still quite young and inexperienced." Leslie winced, perceiving these words as a stigma of sorts. "Shall we go on to the main house?"
Once they had arrived there they found Mariki cleaning the study. "Would you be so kind as to bring some refreshments, if indeed you care for any, Lawrence?" Roarke inquired.
"I should be delighted in a cup of tea, thank you very much," said Lawrence cheerfully.
Presently Mariki returned with a tray bearing a teapot and two cups, along with a glass of lemonade for Leslie. Still shy, she retreated to what used to be Tattoo's accustomed spot beside Roarke's desk, eager in spite of her shyness and apprehension to hear Lawrence's story. Roarke settled his teacup into its saucer and prompted, "I understand that you worked for Moira Dobson for twenty-two years."
"Indeed I did," Lawrence replied. "She was an excellent employer, Mr. Roarke. She grew rather dotty toward the end of her life. She was a MacNabb by birth, as you undoubtedly know, and the late Mr. Dobson never quite adjusted to those powers she inherited." Lawrence chuckled suddenly at some memory.
"How did you and the other staff react?" Roarke asked.
"Oh, I must say, Mr. Roarke, I was a touch befuddled at first." Lawrence grinned quite broadly, and Leslie began to think she might come to like this guy after all. "Mrs. Dobson was always just a bit daft and quite absent-minded to boot, but that's what made her such a delight to work for. I got a thorough initiation on my very first day of employment with her when she levitated a tea tray directly into my hands, before anyone had had a chance to explain the provenance of her abilities to me. I was never quite so startled in all my born days, but I soon grew accustomed to her eccentricities. We all did. Her staff remained with her for a great many years, and we shall all miss her dearly."
"I see," Roarke said, amused. "I trust in that case that you have a fair idea of what you should expect in the course of your employment here on the island. As the cliché goes, it's a dirty job, but someone has to do it."
"Quite so, sir," Lawrence said confidently. "I expect to have no trouble at all."
"Very well, then." Roarke rose from his chair and offered his hand to Lawrence, who reached out and shook it. "Welcome to Fantasy Island, Lawrence. Leslie will show you the cottage you are to live in, and you may take the weekend to settle in before you begin your duties."
"Thank you, sir. I expect I shall be very happy in my stay here." Lawrence finished his tea, placed the cup carefully on the tray Mariki had left behind, and departed the main house. Leslie, following along, halted for a moment and looked at Roarke.
"I thought we'd never see this day," she remarked.
Roarke chuckled. "Neither did I. It would appear, though, that I have just acquired a butler." Leslie giggled and left the house to show Lawrence where Tattoo's old cottage was. She would always miss Tattoo, but she was looking forward to seeing what Lawrence's tenure as Roarke's assistant would bring.
THE END