A/N: Once again…thanks to Aaron Spelling, Leonard Goldberg and Gene Levitt for use of the characters they created, Mr. Roarke and Tattoo. I've also revisited the chateau that originally belonged to Claude Duncan from the 2/7/1981 episode's story arc "The Chateau", and have made mention of Helena Marsh from the episode "The Wedding", originally broadcast November 3, 1979. All other characters have sprung out of my overactive imagination. (smile)
§ § § -- August 11, 1991
Tattoo was waiting for them in the main house, and grinned when he saw Leslie and his former boss. "So another weekend is history, huh?"
"Yup," Leslie said, grinning back. "Have you had the grand tour of the island yet?"
"No," Tattoo said, looking quizzical. "Has it changed that much since I left?"
"Quite a bit, my friend, yes," Roarke said. "However, if you haven't eaten yet, I suggest we first have breakfast, then take a little sightseeing trip."
They did some more catching up while Roarke piloted the car around the eastern end of the island, showing Tattoo the new bungalows and some other changes. "What about the cottage I lived in?" Tattoo asked curiously.
"We converted that into a guest bungalow also," Roarke told him, "since Leslie lives with me in the main house, of course. Yet we still have a very long list of people waiting for reservations in the hotel and in Julie's bed-and-breakfast inn. I have been approached by the owners of at least two of the mansions in the Enclave, offering to put them into use as additional lodgings; and I must admit the idea is very appealing."
"You'll be running this island forever, boss," Tattoo said, chuckling. "It amazes me you don't have any competition. But then again, nobody else could do what you do."
Roarke glanced at him with a smile, but didn't comment. Leslie leaned forward from the back seat. "Which two, Mr. Roarke?"
"The Lightwood-Wynton mansion," he told her, "and the one that film director John Angus Walsh has decided to put up for sale. We met him last night at the prince's gala, do you remember?"
"Impossible not to," Leslie said and laughed. "He has the world's loudest voice." The eccentric Scottish-born director had a voice like a natural bullhorn; when Leslie had met Toni Karlsen, who had worked on two of his movies, Toni had told a couple of anecdotes on Walsh that had left Leslie laughing. "I didn't realize he owned a mansion here."
"It's not common knowledge," Roarke said. "I believe he is trying to liquidate some of his assets in order to bankroll an ambitious film project. I think this is even bigger than his magnum opus, Highlander Fair, a few years ago. It was that film that enabled him to buy the property in the first place." He turned left onto the Old Swamp Road. "Perhaps it's wise to make a quick check of the outer façade. I understand some of Prince Errico's guests rented it over the weekend."
"I don't suppose that's the one Russell St. Anthony wanted," Leslie said.
Tattoo twisted around in his seat and stared at her. "That actor who's so full of himself? Why on earth would he be interested in a place here?"
"Oh, he wasn't happy with the suite he had at the hotel, so he demanded to be given a mansion for his stay here," Leslie said. "And I suppose he wants to use it again when he comes back for his fantasy in a couple of weeks or so. Do you know him, Tattoo?"
"No, I've never met him," Tattoo said, "but Solange and I saw one of his plays in Paris not too long ago. He's very talented, I'll give him that…but he seems to think he's a notch below God on the scale of importance. Someday he's going to have a rude awakening."
"Indeed, my friend," Roarke remarked, "your words may well be prophetic. At any rate, no—he wasn't interested in Mr. Walsh's property. There's no need to worry about Mr. St. Anthony's affairs at this time. Your presence here, Tattoo, gives Leslie and me an excuse for a day off, so why don't we set business matters aside and enjoy it."
The following day Tattoo left on the late-morning charter, and Roarke and Leslie were strongly reminded of the day he had left with Solange. Leslie had tears in her eyes again, and there was a wistful gleam in Roarke's. "Don't cry, Leslie," he said. "I am sure Tattoo will be back again. Fantasy Island was a very large part of his life, and he could no more forget it than he could his artwork."
"I hope you're right," Leslie said. "But I want to see him at his own home someday too. It's a great excuse for a trip to Paris." Laughing, Roarke guided her toward the car.
§ § § -- August 23, 1991
The pending arrival of Russell St. Anthony had loomed like a gathering storm on the horizon ever since he'd demanded his fantasy be granted. On the afternoon of the day before he was due back on Fantasy Island, Roarke and Leslie drove out to the Enclave and up the two-mile lane leading to the old Claude Duncan chateau. Since the silent-film actor's death intestate, the chateau had spent more than eight years sitting idle and neglected while the lawyer who was executor of Duncan's estate tried to find some relative somewhere who could decide what should be done with the place. Just before Leslie had returned to the island the previous year, the lawyer had finally unearthed a second cousin twice removed who hadn't even realized he was related to Claude Duncan and didn't want the chateau. He had instructed the lawyer to sign the deed over to Roarke and let him decide its fate, which had been done; Roarke had paid the tidy little sum of one dollar to the cousin, taken delivery of the deed, and filed it away until he had some use for it.
Now the long-abandoned mansion had had life restored to it. The grounds had been manicured and the façade repaired, the rusting gate replaced, the stucco patched and the broken locks fixed. "What a change," Leslie said, staring at the place. "What's the occasion, Mr. Roarke?"
"The chateau has a new owner," Roarke told her, "namely Russell St. Anthony."
She stared at him. "Are you telling me he's going to take up residence on Fantasy Island?" She was so astonished that she forgot to watch where she was going, and tripped over a loose brick in the pathway to the double front doors. Roarke glanced down in surprise and frowned at the dislodged brick.
"Now how is it that that was overlooked?" he murmured idly. "Be careful, Leslie, I understand that the inside is still in the same condition it was when Mr. Duncan passed away. Yes, Mr. St. Anthony wished to purchase a secluded home where he could have some peace, and bought this chateau sight unseen two Sundays ago."
"The day of the engagement gala," Leslie said. "Hmm. Well, he did say he wanted a mansion—I just thought he was planning to rent one, not buy it outright. Does he know he's getting a neglected old wreck?"
Roarke produced a key from his jacket pocket and fit it into the new lock on the door. "It's entirely up to Mr. St. Anthony as to what to do with its contents."
"Terrific," muttered Leslie, reluctantly following Roarke inside. Her last memories of this place were not exactly happy ones, and she shivered involuntarily once she'd stepped over the threshold. "So now he's going to move here and lord it over everyone on the island, probably including us."
Roarke sighed gently and turned halfway to look directly at her. "Leslie, your prejudice is showing. Mr. St. Anthony is a very troubled man with a large problem, and though it undoubtedly cost him a great deal of pride to do so, he turned to me for help. He hides it well, but he is very disturbed."
Leslie shook her head, unable to completely conceal her skepticism. "I'm sorry, Mr. Roarke, but you'll just have to forgive my shortsightedness. I'm afraid I simply can't see how someone as vain and self-assured as he is could be bothered by anything."
Roarke shook his head slightly and gave up. Even Tattoo, who had always been very open towards their guests, had had strong private opinions about some of them. Besides, once Leslie learned more about Russell St. Anthony's fantasy, she would have a different perspective and might see fit to change her mind. He heard a faint groaning from the floorboards behind him and turned again to see Leslie gingerly testing each section of floor before she stepped fully onto it, rocking back and forth from her front foot to her back one with every step. After a moment she realized he had stopped and looked up at him, face turning pink. Roarke asked with some irony, "Are you afraid of falling through the floor and into that dungeon you so clearly recall?"
The pink in her cheeks deepened to red and she turned away then. "I'm sorry, Mr. Roarke," she said quietly, "but this wasn't my choice of places to spend the afternoon."
His demeanor softened and he went to her, smoothing her hair. "I know, my child, I know. We won't be here very long; I need only see what must be done to prepare the house for Mr. St. Anthony's arrival. It may show its neglect, but for all its cosmetic faults, it's a solidly-built house. What are you expecting?"
She slowly tilted her head back till she was staring at the dust-coated chandelier overhead, face pensive. Finally she admitted, "Frankly, I don't know." After a moment she lowered her gaze to meet his. "Please tell me, Mr. Roarke, what exactly does he want here? Why did he really buy the chateau, and what's his fantasy?"
Roarke dropped his hand from her shoulder where it had been resting and stepped back, scanning their surroundings. "Mr. St. Anthony has told me that he has come to an understanding with himself. He has had something of an epiphany, if you will."
"What about?" asked Leslie.
"The morning he bought the chateau and arranged for his fantasy to be granted, he told me that he has had some disturbing news—although he didn't seem to feel the need to explain it at that time—and wants to take some time away from the stage in order to think and to reassess his life. He wished complete seclusion in which to do so, and this chateau will afford him that." Roarke paused for a moment, thinking back, then continued, "Also, I believe his decision was reinforced when he discovered that Michiko is now engaged to marry the crown prince of Arcolos. You'll remember the sheer shock on his face when the announcement was first made." He smiled a little wryly. "In fact, as I recall, it was you who brought it to my attention."
"So I did," said Leslie. "But I still don't really understand. Why would he come to this…this crossroads in his life now? What's the catalyst? From what Michiko told us, he had nothing less than a love-'em-and-leave-'em attitude, and couldn't care less what became of the poor women he threw aside. Nothing Michiko said indicated that he treated her any differently. So why should he suddenly be so affected by discovering her engagement to another man? There's more to this than you're telling me, Mr. Roarke."
"I am not sure even he himself is fully aware of the true reason, Leslie," Roarke said. "Therefore, I am not at liberty to explain further. You will know more in due time. I apologize that it's necessary for me to be so secretive with you; but unless I know that Mr. St. Anthony is fully cognizant of his own condition, I have no other choice."
She nodded understanding. "Okay, Mr. Roarke. But if you don't mind a little stark honesty, I have to tell you that I think this is going to be the biggest challenge you've had in quite a lot of years."
To her complete surprise, Roarke responded with a decidedly impish smile. "My dear Leslie," he said, his dark eyes sparkling, "I have no doubt that I will find this a most stimulating encounter indeed. I shall certainly enjoy the challenge."
She shook her head, snickering. "You're incorrigible!" she teased him.
Roarke leaned toward her and placed one finger against his lips. "Shh," he cautioned playfully, "don't tell anyone." Leslie let out a shout of laughter, and Roarke responded in kind—although, of course, with considerably more decorum—as they resumed their tour of inspection.