§ § § -- August 9, 1990: Tampere, Finland
Staying awake till two in the morning wasn't hard; she hadn't been able to sleep much in the last month anyway. Now, moving as quietly as she could in her small room, she worked by the moonlight that streamed in through the window, packing all her clothes into two suitcases and stuffing an oversized duffel bag with anything else that wouldn't fit. Impatient to leave, she zipped the duffel shut with a rasp that sounded like a shriek in the silent room. She froze, waiting to see if the noise had awakened anyone. A full minute passed with no sound, and she finally shouldered the duffel, picked up a suitcase in each hand and turned toward the door.
As she did, she spotted the framed photo on the wall. As much as she wanted – needed – to escape, she simply couldn't bear to leave that behind. With a tiny sigh, she set the suitcases down, removed the photo from its hook, and wedged it into the duffel. She then left the room, suitcases in hands, and departed the house on cat feet, without looking back. She would catch the train at the downtown station. In less than half an hour, she had embarked on the two-hour train ride to Helsinki and the international airport. It was time to go home.
‡ ‡ ‡ -- August 10, 1990: Fantasy Island
Roarke felt unaccountably weary as he stared at the pale-faced young Italian woman who stood in front of his desk. She had desperately wanted the job and had bent so far backwards to please Roarke that she sometimes fell over, figuratively speaking. But it was clear that she simply didn't have the aptitude for the job. Moreover, Roarke knew she was running away from something or someone, and hiding on the island wouldn't help. She needed to face down her internal demons.
"I am terribly sorry," he said finally, as gently as he could.
He could see that those four words told her all she needed to know. The poor woman had known for some time that she wasn't quite up to par, and had redoubled her efforts in an attempt to keep her job. But she had known as well as anyone else that it wasn't working. "I did my best," she pleaded. "I tried so hard, Mr. Roarke."
"I know you did," he said. "But this just isn't the answer for you, and you know that as well as I." He leaned forward. "Fleeing won't solve your problems, Paola. You must find a way to resolve them; that is the only way you can free yourself of them once and for all."
Paola's face contorted and her jaw worked for a long moment, as if she were fighting some inner war with herself; then she let out a cry of frustration and defeat. "I can't," she wailed. "I just can't. I…" She lost the battle for composure, turned and fled the room even as she broke down into sobs.
The door slammed behind her, and Roarke sagged back in his chair, sighing deeply. Yet another assistant, gone. Never had he imagined it would come down to this. In the seven years since Tattoo's marriage he had gone through assistant after assistant, and for about two months in 1988 he had even tried working with no assistant at all. Needless to say, it had been exhausting. Julie had filled in on many occasions, but she had made it clear that she wasn't interested in the position on a permanent basis. The young woman he had just dismissed had been his fifteenth assistant since Tattoo's departure. The silence in the room was enough to lull Roarke into giving in to his weariness, something he rarely did, and he rested his aching head in his hands.
Rushing down the porch, Paola nearly collided with a sad-faced young woman bearing suitcases. "Scusi," she blurted in Italian and whirled away up the lane, leaving the new arrival staring after her in surprise and curiosity.
"Do you need any help, miss?" The question came from the young Polynesian man who had driven her to the main house. She shook her head quickly.
"No, that's all right," she said. "I can manage from here. Thank you anyway." The driver nodded and smiled politely, then got back in the car and drove away. She heaved her duffel bag over her shoulder again, hefted the suitcases and crossed the porch, letting herself in as quietly as possible. The elegant office was so still that she could hear the grandfather clock ticking serenely away, and as if warned to keep silent, she noiselessly rested the luggage on the foyer floor. But the duffel bag rolled off her shoulder and thudded to the floor, bringing her back to a standing position at the precise moment the figure at the desk lifted his head. The two stared at each other.
It took Roarke a moment to fully register the identity of the newcomer, and when he did, he stood up slowly, his eyes lighting. "Leslie," he exclaimed. "Why, it's you, my child!"
She edged around the suitcases and smiled hopefully. "I'm home, Mr. Roarke."
"Indeed you are!" he agreed, and with that he came out from behind the desk to greet her. He made it no more than halfway across the room before she met him headlong, rushing down the steps and hugging him for all she was worth. He returned the embrace in kind, feeling oddly relieved, as if some weighty burden had been lifted.
After a long moment she lifted her head and stepped back, then studied the entire room with wide, appreciative eyes. "Nothing's changed," she said with a curious relief and satisfaction in her voice. "I'm so glad."
Roarke gestured to one of the two club chairs in front of the desk, and sat opposite her when she had taken her seat. "So what brings you back to Fantasy Island so unexpectedly? Did you and Teppo finally find the time and money for a vacation?…" Then something registered. "Where is Teppo?"
Leslie took a long breath, but her face had paled and her eyes flooded with tears. Roarke got the same sense of time pausing briefly that he'd experienced at his daughter's wedding five years before, and foreboding and knowledge slammed into him a split second before she said it. "Teppo died last month."
"Oh, Leslie…" he murmured, unable to react any other way. It was enough; she broke down, falling forward in her chair and rocking with her grief. Roarke reacted instinctively, rising and pulling her up as well so he could hold her and try to ease her pain. Words were so inadequate and out of place that he didn't bother with them; he simply held and rocked her as if she were a little girl, giving comfort in the best way he could.
Some ten minutes passed before she lifted her head and stared at him, her face filled with agony. "It's been a nightmare. He was my only reason for staying there, and he wouldn't leave his mother, but no one else…" Leslie stopped and choked back more sobs. "I had to get away. I just…I had to come home."
Roarke smoothed her tangled hair. "It's all right, Leslie, it's all right." There were a great many questions, but he knew she had just ended a very long journey. Leslie's grief seemed to have eaten away at her: she was too thin, her face was almost colorless, and her blue eyes had dark circles beneath them, a testimony to too little sleep and too much crying. She lifted one hand to sweep back some wayward hair, and Roarke saw how it trembled. She still wore the gold-and-diamond wedding band that Teppo had given her. "Don't try to explain anything now, child. You've endured too much, and what you need now is a good meal and some rest."
"I can't eat," Leslie mumbled dully, her head falling forward. "I haven't been hungry in five weeks."
Roarke didn't press the issue. "At the very least, you need sleep," he said. He slipped two fingers under her chin and lifted her head till she met his gaze again. "Your room is still the same as you left it." He smiled at her. "You're home to stay, aren't you?"
Tears pooled in her eyes again and she nodded vigorously. "I didn't dare ask…" she began, her voice wobbly and thick with pending sobs.
Once more Roarke gathered her into his protective embrace and kissed the top of her head. "Never think for a moment that you need ask," he assured her. "This is your home, and if you want to remain permanently, you know you are welcome." He chuckled softly and rocked her a little. "I would like nothing better than to have you back in that dormer bedroom where you belong. I suspect you'll feel a little better after a shower and some sleep, and when you've rested, then we'll talk. Sleep for you is the first thing on the agenda. I need to call Julie so that she will have time to arrange her business affairs."
For the first time, she evinced an emotion other than grief. "Why? What happened?"
Roarke sighed. "I had to let another assistant go," he said. "It happened just before you arrived here. But that's for later. I'll help you take your luggage upstairs, and then you are to take a long, hot shower and sleep for the rest of the day. I don't want to see you down here before suppertime, do you understand?" Beneath the mock sternness, she could see his concern and affection, and she managed a tiny smile.
"All right," she said, bit her lip and hugged him hard again. "Oh, Mr. Roarke, I don't know what I'd do if it weren't for you and this island…thank you for letting me come home again."
"You will always, always have a home here," Roarke promised firmly. "Rest assured that that will never change. Now…" He stepped back and smiled at her again. "Let's get your belongings up to your room."