§ § § -- May 2, 1984

"So this is the day Lawrence's friend Adam arrives," Leslie observed at breakfast on Wednesday morning. "I have to admit to some trepidation, Mr. Roarke. With a name like O'Cearlach, he can't be anything but Irish, and you know how much magic is in their folklore."

Roarke looked across the table at his daughter and smiled. "That could as easily be an advantage as not," he pointed out. "It's surprisingly difficult to find an assistant who can accept the mysteries and oddities of Fantasy Island. You yourself were in awe for a very long time after you first arrived here, don't forget."

"I know," Leslie said, "and sometimes I think I'll never quite lose it. But then again, Tattoo was in awe a lot, and you didn't seem to mind."

Roarke's smile turned reminiscent. "Tattoo was a special case," he said. "He had a way of being astounded at something new and yet quickly accepting it. That's how he could sometimes play parts in fantasies and adopt the knowing attitude of the insider." He focused on her and added with a teasing twinkle in his dark eyes, "Perhaps that's the way to remove that 'outsider's mien' from you…have you play supporting roles in certain fantasies."

Leslie lowered her head a little and directed a wary look at him through her bangs. "Not if I have to be the Red Baron, the way Tattoo had to do so often."

Roarke laughed heartily. "So Tattoo told you tales out of school, then, did he? As a matter of fact, Leslie, having you play unobtrusive roles in some fantasies might be a beneficial experience for you; but I would never put you in danger, and you should know that. I think you had better finish your breakfast. Lawrence should be here any moment, and it won't be long before we meet his friend from Ireland and find out precisely what we're dealing with."

Leslie murmured something in assent and stared reflectively at her plate for long enough that Roarke soon noticed she wasn't eating. "Are you all right, my daughter?"

She lifted her suddenly melancholy gaze, aiming it somewhere over the duck pond across the lane from them, and murmured wistfully, "I wish Tattoo could come back."

At that Roarke abandoned his own nearly empty plate, pulling up the nearest chair to hers and taking both her hands in his. "I know," he admitted quietly, attracting Leslie's surprised stare. "So do I, but I'm afraid it can't be helped. We both know he is extremely busy, particularly since his last letter to us." In this recently received missive, Tattoo had caught up his former boss and his honorary niece on his life as it was now; he was running a very popular art gallery in which he sold not only his own paintings, but those of many other unknown artists as well. He was frantically busy and rarely had time to himself anymore. Furthermore, Solange was expecting their first child in September, which news had delighted both Roarke and Leslie. They knew Tattoo was very happy with his life, and wouldn't begrudge him that for the world.

"But I know you miss him," Leslie persisted softly, her eyes beginning to fill with tears in spite of herself. "I do. I can't believe how much I miss him. I'm glad he's so happy, but it's just that he left such a huge hole in our lives. I mean, we thought Lawrence was really settling in, but I have to wonder if he felt inadequate in Tattoo's place."

"Surely not," Roarke said, frowning slightly. "I never detected that feeling about him. As a matter of fact, Lawrence has been a most able and efficient assistant."

Leslie peered searchingly at her adoptive father through the standing tears. "Maybe so," she finally said, "but as I recall, you never once addressed him as 'my friend'."

Roarke's startled glance met hers for a moment; then he closed his eyes. He never said a word in response, but after a moment, when he opened them again, he was staring into space. After a long time he nodded, squeezing her hands absently, his dark eyes very far away.

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"Adam, old chap, it's smashing to see you again!" Roarke and Leslie watched with undisguised astonishment as Lawrence, beaming like a madman, met his friend in the middle of the clearing and unabashedly hugged him. For all the world, he could have been greeting a long-lost brother. They couldn't quite see who it was Lawrence was welcoming so heartily, but within seconds the tall Englishman planted a hand between the new arrival's shoulder blades and directed him to where Roarke and Leslie waited. "Sir, miss, this is my oldest and dearest friend, Adam O'Cearlach, from Dublin, Ireland. Adam, this is my superior, Mr. Roarke, of whom you undoubtedly have already heard; and this is his daughter, Miss Leslie Hamilton."

Adam O'Cearlach had gravely shaken hands with Roarke at the moment of introduction; when Lawrence presented Leslie, however, his expression changed completely. "Hamilton, is it now? A good, sound Irish name, lass!" He smiled especially at her, lifted her hand in his own and kissed the back of it. Totally stunned, Leslie stared at him blankly. "An' a lovely colleen ye are too, I might add." The smile acquired some unnameable quality that instantly alerted Roarke, who made a mental note and decided to leave it at that for the moment. After all, the Irishman had barely arrived, and it was only fair to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Adam O'Cearlach was a good bit younger than Lawrence, actually. Whereas Lawrence appeared to be in his early forties, Adam was twenty-eight, as he shortly explained to Roarke and Leslie once they had all repaired to the main house and Mariki had served refreshments. "I'm certain ye must be wonderin' how Lawrence here an' I could be such close friends for so long," he observed, speaking easily in a broad Irish brogue that was constantly punctuated with rolled R's. "Me sainted da died before I was old enough to remember him, y'see, an' me mother an' I moved to England for a time. The Cornwell-McKinnie family lived just down the road, an' Lawrence became the brother I never had. In some ways he was even like a second da to me, an' the good Lord knows I needed one."

"Quite so," Lawrence interjected with a fond glance at Adam. "He was very much the wild child. His mother couldn't seem to keep him in line, and I spent enough time watching my younger sisters that I simply accepted him as another sibling. Adam is also the brother that I never had."

"Anyhoo," Adam picked up the narrative, "Lawrence received a scholarship to university in me hometown of Dublin, an' when he went back, he took me along with him. By then me poor ma, of sainted memory, had passed on, an' there was no one to keep me in check." Adam grinned. "I gave Lawrence here the divil of a time, I did. Always runnin' around lookin' for mischief to get into, I was. But by the time Lawrence moved back to England, I was old enough to be shiftin' for meself, an' somehoo I was blessed with the luck o' the Irish in spades."

"The man is better than a horseshoe or a four-leaf clover," Lawrence remarked dryly.

"Four-leaf clovers indeed, Lawrence! Why, y'know I raise a whole field of 'em at me cottage," Adam said, in the way he might have reminded someone that it was time to feed the dog. "An' besides, there's a reason for me good luck, Mr. Roarke, sir. When I was but a lad of eighteen, I caught me a leprechaun."

"No kidding!" blurted Leslie, the first words she had spoken since Adam's arrival.

"Aye, indeed I did, lassie!It wasno easy trick, that. Th' slippery little divil was all over the place, y'know. But I'd spent me childhood catchin' frogs, an' ye know the way they leap about and are nivver still. Aye, he gave me quite the workout, he did."

"How did you find him? By accident, or what?" Leslie asked, eyes huge with fascination.

"Oh aye, the little divil was careless, just snoozin' in the grass, an' I tripped right over him! Sarved 'im right too." Adam chuckled merrily, clearly taken with the memory. "He could run, aye, but I always could go like the wind. Chasin' the wee divil halfway across the Emerald Isle and nivver once stoppin'. Soon as I caught him, he knew it was all over. Th' wee sprite was so desperate to get away, he promised me three pots o' gold, an' I held him to it too!" Adam chuckled again. "Aye, I have nothin' to worry aboot for th' rrr-rrrest o' me days. Lawrence here helped me invest wisely, an' I can live off the interest and sit at me little cottage at home in Dublin, an' raise four-leafers for the tourists. Just send 'em off into the field so they can find their own clovers, an' they're delighted. Think they have themselves a real Irish souvenir, they do." Adam paused long enough to take a sip from his glass, then seemed to snap back to the present and focused on Roarke. "Ah, but enough o' me! I do tend to ramble on. I merely thought I should explain why I was so reluctant to come here. Lawrence had all he could do to talk me into it, y'see."

"There's no challenge to raising clover," Lawrence said, with a courtly, almost snobbish sniff of disdain. "You were becoming bored stiff, Adam, and I know it even if you don't. This is the sort of job you shall simply love."

Adam cleared his throat. "Y'could be right, Lawrence, that y'could. Frankly, if ye'd told me Mr. Roarke's daughter was such a pretty colleen, I might've been persuaded all the easier." He studied Leslie, who blushed deeply and let her head fall so that her hair curtained her face. She looked as if she were trying to shrink herself into invisibility.

Roarke, who had been relaxed in his chair, now sat up, a businesslike aura about him. "I believe it's time for the formal interview," he said. That was all it took for Leslie to jump out of her chair and rush gratefully from the room. Lawrence got up and clapped Adam on the shoulder.

"I'd wish you good luck, Adam, but you hardly need that," he said cheerfully. "I must be about my duties. When you're ready, sir, you can send him to my cottage, and I'll take care of him. Excuse me." He left the room, whistling as he went, something Roarke had never heard him do. He concealed his surprise and focused his attention on Adam.

"Shall we commence with the interview?" he suggested. Adam nodded and sat up straight, and Roarke began to ask questions, listening carefully to the answers. But he didn't forget that mental note he'd made earlier, nor did he dismiss Adam's apparent interest in Leslie. Only time would tell whether Adam would fit in, as Lawrence seemed so confident he would.