§ § § -- August 11, 1991
Russell St. Anthony stood in front of Roarke's desk, arms folded over his chest, a belligerent look on his face. "So—I've arrived on time, Roarke. Let's get down to business."
"By all means," said Roarke, gracious as always but very brisk. "Please sit down, Mr. St. Anthony."
"I don't have the time," St. Anthony said. "What I want is just to tell you my fantasy, find out what date to come here, and then get out of here. I'm supposed to perform a dialogue from my current show at this intolerable royal ball, and I have to have the time to prepare myself." He glanced around the room. "Where's your assistant?"
"Attending to one of the current fantasies," Roarke told him.
"Good. Oh, and by the way, what about my getting a mansion?"
Roarke eyed him stonily. "Before I continue, I want the answer to one question. Are you prepared to pay the asking price up front, in full? It's the only way you'll acquire what you want. If so, then I can accommodate you."
St. Anthony stared at him, astonished. "What the hell—?"
"I give you five seconds," Roarke warned expressionlessly.
"Up front? In full?" St. Anthony blurted.
Roarke's gaze never wavered. "Five, four, three—"
"All right, all right, damn you!" St. Anthony snapped, giving in very reluctantly and with extremely ill grace. Yet a grudging admiration glinted out of his pale-blue eyes. "You don't give a millimeter, do you. Yes, all right, I'll pay in full and up front. Now I want to know what I'm getting."
"Very well," said Roarke, and proceeded to tell him what he was buying. St. Anthony nodded after a moment, shrugged and drew a checkbook out of his back pocket, writing out a check for the full amount Roarke named. Then St. Anthony succinctly explained his fantasy to Roarke, who perused his date book, found an open weekend and made the arrangements with the actor. "We will see you on the twenty-fourth."
"Fine," said St. Anthony curtly. "Have my place ready for me." And with that, he got up and walked out. Roarke watched him go, eyes narrowing. St. Anthony's problem was worse than he had realized, if the man couldn't even spare a few seconds for the niceties.
‡ ‡ ‡
Prince Errico's grand engagement gala was to be held in the old opera house midway down the island, and by the time Leslie was able to stop in and see how the preparations were going, setup was more than half completed. She shot a glance at her watch and wondered if she might have time to do a little shopping; there was no question that she'd have to dress up, and she owned nothing suitable except for the long white dress Roarke had given her on her seventeenth birthday, which still fit her. But that was subdued; this occasion called for glamour.
In the corner, Tomai's Catering was setting up tables and putting out dishes and utensils; and sure enough, Maureen was with them. Leslie approached the tables and grinned at her friend. "Stuck working, huh?"
Maureen looked up and grinned back. "Hi, Leslie. I see you're in the same boat. How come you're here by yourself? I'd've thought Mr. Roarke would be here checking up on the preparations with you."
"I'm just supposed to report back," Leslie told her. "He had an appointment this morning with the Beast of Broadway, and I was thankfully elsewhere when that happened. But the fantasies are pretty much set and close to winding up for the weekend anyway, so I finally got a chance to slow down and swing by here."
"The Beast of…" Maureen hesitated, then snickered. "Oh, you mean that insufferable Russell St. Anthony. Yeah, his reputation definitely precedes him." She lowered her voice. "Michiko dropped by yesterday and admitted she'd been involved with him for awhile. I guess he deserves the accolades he gets for his acting, if he managed to completely fool someone as sensible as she is. I'd have expected Myeko to be more of a sucker for a line like that."
"Oh, I doubt that," Leslie bantered. "She's always had eyes only for Toki." They both laughed. "I didn't know Michiko told you. She talked to Mr. Roarke and me Friday afternoon, and she was too ashamed to tell her parents or anyone else in her family. Maybe talking to us made her decide she could confide in someone else."
"In that case, I'm flattered she picked me," said Maureen and casually tilted her wrist to check the time. "Oh wow…I can go now. I got an invitation to this shindig, do you believe it? I found it under my door this morning. Someone must've hand-delivered it, but heck if I can figure out who. So I guess that means I'd better go shopping for a proper dress."
"I need to do the same thing," Leslie admitted. "Want some company? I'll take you—I have to stop in at the main house anyway and let Mr. Roarke know how things are going over here. Looks like everything's progressing right along."
"Sounds good," Maureen agreed and turned, looking for her mother. "Mom? It's time for me to go. I'm leaving with Leslie."
"All right," Mrs. Tomai called, and the two girls departed the building and headed for the main house, brainstorming ideas about what to wear. Roarke looked up as they came in and chuckled when he caught the gist of their discussion.
"You need not worry, Leslie," he said. "I have already arranged for formal evening wear, and it remains only for you to choose the dress you prefer. How are the preparations coming along?"
"Right on schedule," Leslie told him. "The fantasies are doing well and they should be winding up anytime. So it looks like everything's under control."
"Very good," Roarke said. "You'll have time to drop Maureen off in town, but then we must begin getting ready for the ball."
"I still can't believe I got an invitation," Maureen remarked. "I mean, all I am is the caterer, and I was the only employee who got one. I've been trying to figure it out all day."
"Oh, don't look a gift horse in the mouth," Leslie said, grinning. "Just enjoy it. Come on, I'll drop you off in Amberville."
A little more than an hour later, after she had returned and Roarke had brought an official end to the weekend's fantasies, Leslie found herself perusing an entire rack full of elegant gowns in Roarke's study. Roarke himself, about to go upstairs and don white tie and tails, paused long enough to regard the many choices she faced and smiled. "Try not to take too long in your decision, Leslie," he advised. "The ball begins at six."
"Well, I see a couple of things that look interesting," she mused and grinned at him. "This ought to be fun, what with a wardrobe person, a makeup artist and a hairdresser just for the occasion. My birthday was three months ago, so it can't be that. Did I need a heavy makeover or something?"
Roarke loosed a hearty laugh. "My dear daughter, surely you realize that I could never get you to change anything if your heart were set against it. I simply thought that, due to the occasion, you might enjoy being pampered this time. And since you, as a woman, would have insisted that attire alone would be insufficient to transform you into a glamorous-enough guest, I thought you would consider it a treat to take advantage of the services of hair and makeup artists. Does that answer your question?"
"Very nicely," Leslie said, grinning and hugging him. "Thank you, Mr. Roarke, I really appreciate it. They'll have a better chance of working the required miracle than I ever could have on my own, anyway." Roarke laughed again and retreated upstairs while Leslie went back to studying the assorted gowns.
At fifteen till six, two very elegant persons stepped out onto the porch of the main house and up to the limousine that waited near the fountain. Roarke looked particularly resplendent in a formal tuxedo, its pristine white broken only by a red rose in one buttonhole. The gown Leslie had chosen was emerald green silk embedded with silver threads; the skirt was slit up to the knee and the collar and elbow-length sleeves were lined with shimmering silver lamé. In her ears she wore subdued emerald-studded posts; fortuitously, her birthstone matched her gown.
In the limo, where no one else could hear her, she turned to Roarke and mumbled sheepishly, "I feel like a fraud. Like I'm occupying the body of a glamour girl for one night and she's stuck with mine. Invasion of the Body Snatchers or something."
Roarke chuckled. "Perhaps we should host formal parties a little more often," he said teasingly, "to get you more accustomed to dressing up." She made a face; he laughed, and proceeded to gently tease her all the way to the opera house. It had the desired effect; she relaxed and teased him back, and by the time they arrived, she was able to walk in on his arm with a sense of anticipation.
The place was already packed: people were mingling, talking, greeting one another in effusive tones, half hugging, bestowing "air kisses" on one another. For about an hour Roarke and Leslie made a couple of ponderous circuits of the room, stopping to chat with Edmond and Susan Lohmann Dumont at one point. Edmond, the songwriting half of the husband-and-wife team, was a tall handsome man with hair just beginning to gray; his singer wife was nearly as tall as he was and had a dazzling smile that charmed everyone. Though they had already greeted Roarke and Leslie the previous day, they had both been worn out from the long flights and had gone almost directly to the bungalow Roarke had reserved for them. Now they studied Leslie in amazement. "Didn't you grow up gorgeous!" Edmond remarked. (It's the makeup, Leslie thought in spite of herself.) "She's a real beauty, isn't she, Susan?"
Susan nodded agreement and winked one brown eye at Roarke. "Don't flatter her too much, Edmond," she cautioned cheerfully. "If she turns any more red in the face, her head might explode."
They all laughed, even Leslie. Roarke remarked, "She has always been desperately embarrassed by effuse compliments. As I recall, her late husband occasionally paid her an outrageous compliment just to watch her reaction."
Leslie's smile was a little crooked this time. "Teppo spent a lot of time teasing me about how red my face gets. I'm just not used to things like this. You can't imagine how much of a fish out of water I feel like."
"So you think of yourself as just an ordinary type, too," Edmond said, looking delighted. "I've always hated getting decked out like a Christmas tree myself. Of course, Susan thrives on it, so I've learned to tolerate it for her sake. Don't lose that girl-next-door aura, Leslie, dear. There's little enough of it left in this world."
Susan suddenly frowned and leaned to one side, peering over Roarke's shoulder. "Oh no. Edmond, I think I see that awful Russell St. Anthony."
"Well, well. I thought Prince Errico had better taste than that," Edmond muttered, eyeing the actor with great disapproval.
"I didn't realize you knew who was hosting this thing," Leslie said.
"It was necessary for the guests to know," Roarke explained. "With the caliber of celebrity he planned to invite, there was no chance of their accepting without his providing knowledge of his identity. At any rate, we must, of course, extend the same courtesy to Mr. St. Anthony as to any other guest."
She stared at him. "Do we really have to go over there and talk to him?" she demanded. "I'd rather swallow a lemon whole."
Before Roarke could reply, a voice boomed out over the sound system. "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the grand engagement gala of Prince Errico the Fifth of Arcolos. In a little while the prince himself will make the formal announcement; but for now we would like to acknowledge some special guests as soon as everyone finds their seats."
For a few minutes confusion reigned supreme while everyone hunted along tables for their designated places; Roarke seemed to know where he and Leslie were to sit and guided her directly there without so much as glancing around. Curiosity prompted her to check the place cards on either side of their seats; Maureen Tomai's name was printed in elegant script on the one next to her, but she couldn't see the one beside Roarke's place. Just as she was reaching for her chair to pull it out so she could sit down, Roarke did it for her; and she gave him an embarrassed smile of thanks, seating herself quickly. Looking amused, Roarke took his own chair and glanced at the empty seat to his right.
When most of the guests had managed to locate their seats, someone hove into view from Roarke's right, and a voice they had never expected to hear greeted them with an impish chuckle. "Hi, boss and Leslie!"
In precise unison Roarke and Leslie turned sharply in their seats; Leslie gasped aloud and Roarke exclaimed, "Tattoo! What a wonderful surprise to see you here, my friend!" He and Tattoo vigorously shook hands, and Leslie leaned forward and kissed his cheek.
"How do you know Prince Errico?" she asked, grinning so hard her face hurt.
"Oh, I get around," Tattoo said mysteriously, taking the seat at Roarke's right. Then he grinned. "Actually, Prince Errico travels a lot. My art gallery's been mentioned in some travel guides, and a couple of years ago he dropped in and bought half a dozen paintings. One of them turned out to be mine, and I guess he liked it. Ever since then he comes in about every three or four months and chooses another of my paintings."
"Excellent, my friend, excellent!" Roarke said warmly. "It's quite plain you are doing extremely well. How are Solange and the children?"
"Everyone's great," Tattoo said. "Patrick's almost seven and Antoinette's five, and we got a little surprise not too long ago. Solange is expecting another baby. The doctor's saying probably January. Poor Solange, she thought she was done with all that."
Roarke and Leslie laughed. "I'm so glad you're here," Leslie burst out. "It's been so long since we've seen you."
"I heard you got around a little bit too," Tattoo remarked, "since you apparently lived in Finland for several years. I'm very sorry about Teppo. You two should have come to Paris and visited us for awhile."
"We wanted to, but money was always tight," Leslie admitted. "And he and his brothers and sisters were having problems with his mother. But that's another story. It's just so great to see you…it feels like the old days again. How long are you staying?"
"Just till Tuesday," Tattoo said with a sigh. "All those exhausting flights to get out here and I can't even stay more than a couple of days. But that's enough time for us to have a good visit and get caught up. Not much has changed around here…except maybe you, Leslie Susan Hamilton." His tone acquired an accusing note. "What happened to you? You were supposed to be my little honorary niece. Now you're all grown up…and worse than that, you're the boss's assistant now. You weren't supposed to change."
Leslie grinned unrepentantly at him; she could see the teasing twinkle in his dark eyes. "Aw, come on, Tattoo, if I didn't change, you couldn't exclaim about how I'm all grown up and reminisce about all the stupid mistakes I made when I first got here."
The three of them burst out laughing, and it was then that the voice boomed out of the sound system again. "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you His Highness, Prince Errico V of Arcolos!" Applause welled up; Maureen slipped into the chair beside Leslie just as it did so and blew out her breath with overt relief.
"Finally," she muttered, leaning to Leslie and joining in the clapping. "I thought I'd never find my chair. Hey…oh my God, is that Tattoo sitting there?"
"Yup! Prince Errico apparently loves his artwork," Leslie said happily.
"Wow, that's great!" Maureen murmured. "Gotta find a chance to say hi."
"Thank you, thank you all," Errico's voice echoed across the room then, and they all sat up and directed their attention to him. The applause died out and the room fell mostly silent. "Welcome to my grand engagement gala. Of course you all know the reason for the festivities this evening; but before we commence with the entertainment, I'd like to intro-duce those who will be performing, and also to thank some special people. Firstly, dinner will be served; I shall then make my formal announcement. Then we will be serenaded by several esteemed musicians. In order of their appearance: first, I present Edmond Dumont and Susan Lohmann, who will perform a selection from the maestro's lovely Rainbow Lake."
In the midst of the applause, something caught Leslie's eye and she glanced down; there was something glinting beneath her place card. Curious, she reached for it and withdrew a familiar-looking piece of jewelry. Roarke noticed her motion and watched. "What's that, Leslie?"
"It's the rainbow-gem bracelet the prince gave me that night he ate with me at the hotel," she said, eyes wide. She detached a small card from it which bore, in the prince's flourish-riddled handwriting, the following message: Please accept this one small gift as a token of both my thanks and my apologies. You have been a most gracious and charming hostess, and you have my everlasting gratitude. Yours sincerely, Prince Errico V.
"A very nice gesture," Roarke said, smiling. "It should match your dress."
She had just clipped the bracelet on when Errico continued, "Secondly, we will hear from the very talented Elin Kristel Granath, all the way from Sweden." In response to the summons, the prettiest young woman Leslie had ever seen rose gracefully to her feet and smiled, dipping her head a few times in acknowledgment of the applause. Leslie recalled vaguely that the singer had risen to fame as part of a pop group before breaking away from them and launching a stellar solo career. Errico introduced two more musicians and a very hot rock band; then said, "And last but not least, we shall witness a fine performance by two of the most talented actors of our time. We shall hear a dialogue from the current Broadway play Bridging the Waters, performed by the gifted Miss Toni Karlsen and the distinguished Russell St. Anthony." The two personages in question stood up; Toni Karlsen, a well-known Hollywood film actress whose roles had so far run the gamut from comedy to romance to drama, smiled and nodded before resuming her seat. But St. Anthony bowed once and then stood waiting, gazing somewhere into the distance with a haughty look on his face, reminding Leslie of old Roman statues she'd seen photos of. She stopped clapping and made a point of folding her hands in her lap. Roarke and Tattoo both glanced at her, but neither of them commented; Maureen snickered and followed her example.
"Now," Errico said, "before we begin the festivities, I must extend my deepest and most sincere gratitude to the two people who have made all this possible. If it were not for them, none of this would be happening and none of us would be here. My eternal and heartfelt thanks hereby go to the esteemed owner and operator of Fantasy Island, Mr. Roarke, and his assistant and daughter, Miss Leslie Hamilton."
Leslie stared wide-eyed at her adoptive father, who was already rising to his feet. Maureen poked her none too gently in the back, and Tattoo leaned over and said with a big grin, "Come on, Leslie, this is no time for your overblown modesty. Get up!" She shot him a look that promised repercussions and hastily stood up beside Roarke, grinning foolishly at the assemblage and feeling her face turn its usual bright red. Behind her back, Maureen and Tattoo looked at each other and traded grins and thumbs-up signs.
Finally Roarke and Leslie were allowed to resume their seats, and Leslie shot a black look at Maureen. "You'll get yours later," she promised. Maureen just grinned.
Dinner was served then, and for about an hour everyone was busily eating the excellent food and chatting. Roarke, Tattoo and Leslie used the time to get caught up on one another's lives in the past several years, although Leslie skipped over the details of Teppo's death and simply said she was relieved to have had Fantasy Island to come home to. "I just bet," Tattoo agreed, eyes full of sympathy. "Look, Leslie, you don't need to tell me the story—I can tell it still upsets you. But you know, there'll be a day when you can smile at your memories of him more often than you cry. It really will happen, I promise."
Servers began to make their way around the room collecting dishes, and a restless stirring and murmuring gradually arose. "I can't wait to find out who he picked," Leslie said to Maureen, who nodded.
Tattoo overheard and stared at her. "You mean you don't know?"
"Even I don't know, my friend," Roarke admitted with a chuckle. "The prince didn't see fit to let either Leslie or me in on the secret, so it will be as much of a surprise for us as for everyone else here."
The buzzing reached a crescendo when Prince Errico stepped back up to the microphone at the podium; from where Roarke, Tattoo and Leslie sat, he was very near their table, so they had a good view of the nervous expression on his face. He glanced around the room, turned to someone sitting nearby and said something, then stood up and tapped an index finger on the mike. The resulting noise reverberated through the opera house and brought down a hush so sudden and complete that Errico yanked his hand back from the mike and evoked a healthy round of laughter.
"I see everyone is breathlessly anticipating my announcement," he said, recovering nicely and shining a high-wattage grin at his large audience. "In that case, I shall not keep you in suspense. Tonight I formally announce my engagement to a truly lovely lady whom I shall always cherish. I present to you my affianced wife, future queen of Arcolos, soon to become princess: Miss Michiko Tokita!"
Roarke and Tattoo raised surprised eyebrows at each other; Leslie and Maureen stared at Michiko as she stepped up to the dais and joined Errico there. He put an arm around her, and they both grinned foolishly as applause and even some cheering arose from the assemblage. Finally the two friends looked at each other. "Did you even imagine?" Maureen exclaimed.
"I didn't have the slightest clue," Leslie said, still stunned. She took one more look, ascertained that it really was Michiko up there with the prince, and then remembered something ominous. Like a rubbernecker gaping at a car wreck, she searched the crowd till she spotted Russell St. Anthony and was astonished all over again. Though he sat across the room and halfway down from her vantage point, she could not mistake the shocked look on his features; he would have had the same expression had someone hit him over the head with a shovel. She turned to Roarke. "Mr. Roarke, look at Russell St. Anthony," she urged him under her breath. "Would you have expected that reaction from him?"
Roarke found St. Anthony in the crowd and took in the man's poleaxed face, once more raising an eyebrow. "I see your meaning," he murmured. "Perhaps Mr. St. Anthony had more feeling for Michiko than even he may have been aware of."
"If you ask me, it serves him right," Leslie muttered.
"Beware of snap judgments, my daughter," Roarke cautioned gently before sitting back. Leslie frowned slightly, but kept her own counsel from then on. She wondered for the first time that day what had become of Roarke's meeting with the arrogant actor that morning, and couldn't quite decide if she really wanted to know or dreaded finding out.