§ § § -- August 10, 1990
It was quite plain that such a thought had never crossed Roarke's mind; he froze like a statue in the act of lifting a bite of beef Stroganoff and stared at her. This went on for a full ten seconds before he slowly lowered the fork, without ever taking his eyes off hers. Finally he said, "You, Leslie? Tell me, do you think you are up to it?"
"I don't see how you can refuse," she told him, feeling a sudden enthusiasm spring to life inside her. "You don't have an assistant right now, and you've been through more than a dozen since Tattoo left. I was secondary assistant for the last two years I was here and handled a lot of odds and ends for you in the three years before that, around my school hours. I know this island, I've seen you grant hundreds of fantasies, I've even helped out with a few of them. Everybody knows me and I know them. I love this place and I can't think of living anywhere else." She leaned forward across her forgotten plate. "I'll fill out an application form or whatever other formalities I have to go through, but please, Mr. Roarke, give me a chance."
Roarke saw, for the first time since she'd arrived that morning, an excited light gleaming in her eyes. Her face had acquired a touch of color and there was hope in her expression. This could be exactly what she needed to help her regain emotional stability after the horrors she had endured in the past month or so. And, after all, she did indeed have prior experience. Her being his daughter could be an advantage; unlike many of the other young women he had seen try the job and fail, she wouldn't be distracted by a silly crush on her boss. If anyone were to charge nepotism, Leslie had enough experience and knowledge that such a charge could be easily refuted.
He smiled and reached out to squeeze her hand. "All right, Leslie," he said, "this weekend will be your trial run. I'll tell Julie that she will be needed only in a secondary capacity, and we'll see how well you perform. On Monday morning I'll make the final decision."
He was rewarded by a genuinely delighted grin. "Thank you, Mr. Roarke…I can't wait to start!"
"There is, however, one prerequisite to your beginning the job," Roarke said, pointing at her plate. "Finish eating. You need something in your stomach, and you definitely must get a good night's rest. All right?"
She chuckled. "I think I can manage that." And with that, she began to tuck into her meal at last. Roarke watched her from time to time, keeping a benevolent eye on her, but he was glad she had come up with the idea. It would solve both her problems and his quite nicely.
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The plane vanished into the sky and Roarke turned to Leslie with a broad smile. "You performed admirably this weekend, Leslie. Don't you think so, Julie?"
Julie nodded. "Absolutely, uncle. It's like she never left. For heaven's sake, give her the job already, so you can quit hiring incompetent assistants and I can stop wondering whether I have to fill in again next weekend."
"I'm so sorry you found it such a trial, Julie," Roarke said overly sweetly, giving his thirty-year-old goddaughter a pointed look that made her shrug, grin and blush simultaneously. He raised an eyebrow at her before turning to Leslie. "Congratulations, my daughter, the job is yours."
Leslie lit up. "Oh, that's great! Thank you, thank you!" She hugged him hard. "I promise I'll be the best assistant I can possibly be. Maybe I'll even outdo Lawrence."
"Not Tattoo?" Julie teased her.
"I could never outdo Tattoo," Leslie said, taking her seriously. "Tattoo's one of a kind. I'm just going to do the very best I can. One thing's for sure – Mr. Roarke won't have to replace me in a couple of months. Not if I can help it, anyway." She tacked on this last phrase in a sudden fit of self-deprecation, glancing a bit sheepishly at Roarke.
"You'll be just fine," he told her and smiled. "Now, suppose we get back to the house and begin preparations for next weekend's fantasies."
"Off to the salt mines again," Julie wisecracked. "I just hired a new maid and she's still on probation. If I don't keep an eye on her, who knows what time my rooms'll be ready." She waved at them and hopped into her jeep, a ten-year-old model she had bought from Roarke when he replaced his fleet of vehicles with newer ones that had the same crimson paint and candy-striped canopy tops as the originals. Roarke and Leslie got into one of these now and returned to the main house, where they settled down to their respective tasks.
In her new role as Roarke's assistant, Leslie was kept too busy to dwell for very long on thoughts of the husband she sorely missed. The dark circles beneath her eyes disappeared and she looked healthier; Mariki all but stood over her at meals for the first few days, until Leslie told her to find someone else to feed and kindly let her be. Mariki blustered, but Roarke backed Leslie up, and the cook finally gave in.
On Wednesday evening, August 15, the pace slowed enough that Leslie had some free time at her disposal, and she used it to finally unpack her bags and fully settle back into her familiar dormer bedroom. She was standing in the middle of the room holding a wooden frame, gazing critically at the walls, when Roarke paused in the doorway.
"Are you all right?" he asked her.
She turned with a start and then relaxed at sight of him. "Actually, I was thinking how tired I am of yellow walls," she said, her gaze straying around the sunshine-hued room. "Sky blue might be just what this room needs. It's so much more restful."
Roarke smiled. "Perhaps your friends can help you decide," he offered, and stepped aside to allow four familiar faces to crowd into the doorway. Leslie gasped, recognizing Camille Ichino, Lauren McCormick, Myeko Sensei and Maureen Tomai.
"How did you guys know I was home?" she cried happily. "It's so great to see you again!"
"Hi, Leslie!" they chorused and surrounded her, hugging her and laughing, bringing a sparkle to Leslie's eyes that Roarke was truly gratified to see. He left the five friends chattering a mile a second and retreated downstairs.
The girls scattered around the room, sitting on the floor, the bed, the window seat or the rocking chair, updating Leslie on their lives. Camille was married with an infant son; Maureen, still single, continued to work for her mother's catering service and had her own small apartment. Lauren, also single, had an office job that required her to commute via ferry to Coral Island; and Myeko had recently gotten engaged to Michiko's older brother, Hachiro "Toki" Tokita.
"Speaking of Michiko, where's she?" Leslie asked.
"Trying to get her big break as a singer," Maureen said. "She's in New York City right now, and every time one of us talks to her, we keep reminding her not to get herself mugged." The girls all laughed, then shifted the focus to Leslie. "So," Maureen continued, "what's that picture you're hanging onto for dear life?"
Leslie's mood faded into gray as she tilted the frame back and stared at the photo inside for a moment. "It was the last thing I packed before I left Tampere," she said softly. "I thought I needed to get away from everything, but I just couldn't leave this." She turned the frame around to display to her friends the formal wedding portrait that she and Teppo had had taken the first week after arriving in Tampere.
As one, Leslie's friends inhaled sharply, staring at the picture. "I forgot how gorgeous he was," Camille said and peered at Leslie. "Hey, don't tell me you're going to cry now. I mean, I know you'll never forget him, but you're home now, and you're Mr. Roarke's assistant. Time to move forward. I bet he'd want you to do that too."
Lauren shot her cousin a stern glare, but Leslie only smiled faintly. Camille wasn't as abrasive and prickly as she had once been; rather, these traits had mellowed after a fashion, into a straightforwardness that could sometimes be painfully blunt.
"You look different," Lauren ventured after a short but awkward silence. "I mean, the changes are good. You got all that hair cut off." Leslie's hair had fallen three-quarters of the way to her waist when she'd married Teppo; now it was an inch or two past shoulder length, but still dark gold with reddish highlights and ruler-straight.
"Easier to take care of," Leslie said, turning the portrait back around to face her. Myeko got to her feet and surveyed the walls, then removed the frame from Leslie's hands and held it up to the wall just left of the window seat where Leslie sat.
"You should hang this right here," Myeko said firmly. "It looks just right in this spot. I'm glad you didn't leave this in Finland. It's such a beautiful picture and a great way to remember him."
For a moment the room was still; then Leslie slid out of the window and hugged her friend. "I think you're right," she said, her voice thickening with emotion. "Thanks for saying that." The others gathered around and shared a moment of comfort for Leslie; then someone giggled nervously and broke the tension.
Leslie took the cue. "Listen, you guys could help me paint in here," she said. "This room needs a makeover, and I think sky blue would be perfect for these walls, don't you?"
"Does Mr. Roarke know you're redecorating his house?" Lauren bantered, and everyone laughed. Downstairs, Roarke heard the merriment and smiled to himself. Leslie's friends would help her work her way through her grief.