§ § § -- October 15, 1991
Grady Harding, the attorney St. Anthony had retained on Roarke's recommendation, stood in the middle of Roarke's office at the main house, regarding the tiny gathering there. It consisted of only three persons: Roarke, Leslie Hamilton, and Maureen Tomai, the last-named of whom stared at nothing, her eyes dull and bloodshot, but dry. Roarke sat behind the desk; Leslie and Maureen each occupied a club chair.
"I realize Russell's death occurred only yesterday," Harding said, kneeling before Maureen and putting a hand on her arm, "but it was his specific request that I read his will before you, Miss Hamilton and Mr. Roarke here at the main house on the day after he died. So this is part of his last wishes, Miss Tomai."
Maureen nodded. "I understand, Mr. Harding," she said softly. "To be honest with you, I wouldn't have thought there'd be much to the will. When Russell first told me about his aneurysm, he said he was going to get rid of everything he possibly could before he got past the point where he could do it himself. Considering how stubborn and determined he was, and after that auction yesterday, I'm sure that's just what he did."
"Oh, but he didn't quite unload everything," Harding said gently, patting her arm and standing up again. "Mr. Roarke, if I might go ahead with the reading of the will?"
"By all means," Roarke said, nodding.
"All right. The document I hold here is the last will and testament of Russell Parks St. Anthony, dated September 30, 1991, signed, witnessed and duly notarized according to island and international law. To wit: 'I, Russell Parks St. Anthony, being of sound mind, do hereby declare this to be my final will, superseding any and all previous documents made by me. It is my wish that my attorney, Grady M. Harding, dispose of the following remaining properties in the stated manner.' " Harding paused, glanced over a couple of the items, then actually smiled. "Here's a surprise. 'Item One: penthouse apartment, 2510 5th Avenue, New York City, New York, United States of America, is hereby deeded to Miss Michiko Tokita, currently of the Kingdom of Arcolos, and her affianced husband, Prince Errico V, of the named principality. Use or disposal of same shall be theirs to decide as they see fit.' I see I'll have to contact the prince and Miss Tokita."
Leslie and Maureen looked at each other with identical dubious smiles; then Leslie aimed hers at Roarke, who smiled back serenely. "That shouldn't be difficult, Mr. Harding," he said. "My daughter knows the couple and can provide you with the means by which to get in touch with them. Please continue."
"Good, that'll simplify matters," Harding said. "Thank you, Mr. Roarke. 'Item Two: remaining artwork, consisting of the following: five paintings by Picasso; three paintings by Toulouse-Lautrec; two paintings by Edvard Munch; four paintings by Tattoo; one painting by Van Gogh. These are to be turned over to Mr. Roarke and Miss Leslie Hamilton of Fantasy Island for use or disposal as they see fit, in thanks for their gift of sanctuary in my final days.' "
"Well," said Roarke, very surprised and not bothering to conceal it.
"He had good taste, Mr. Roarke," Leslie said with a grin. "Did you hear?…he had four of Tattoo's works." They all laughed softly.
"I'll see they're delivered here within the week, Mr. Roarke," Harding said and put his attention back to the will. "And finally… 'Item Three: chateau, the Enclave, Fantasy Island, is hereby deeded to Miss Maureen Tomai, including all contents, the grounds, and any outbuildings within the retaining walls. Use or disposal of same is hers as she sees fit.' "
Maureen rocked back in her chair, stunned. "Good God," she said. "I own that huge house now? What on earth am I going to do with it?"
"Whatever you wish, Maureen," Roarke said with a whimsical smile, "precisely as stated in Mr. St. Anthony's will. In other words, you may let it stand as it is; you may move into it; you may even tear it down. As I recall, Mr. St. Anthony initially contemplated doing just that." The girls laughed and Harding shook his head, grinning. "You need not decide immediately. There is plenty of time to consider your options, and your first priority will be dealing with your feelings in the wake of Mr. St. Anthony's passing."
Maureen nodded slowly and thoughtfully, then sighed. "What surprises me is how much I miss him," she admitted. "When he first told me he had the aneurysm, I confessed that I'd had preconceived notions about him before I got to know him. I don't know why he let me get that close to him, but in any case, he turned out not to be so bad." She looked up. "He might still have been the Beast of Broadway, but with me he let his guard down. Maybe I'll never know why…"
Roarke and Leslie looked at each other, and Roarke nodded and extended his hand toward her, palm up, for a moment, indicating that she should go ahead and speak. Leslie turned to her friend and said, "Well, I can answer that for you. He came to see us just before he went to your place to tell you about the aneurysm, and to make a long story short, he said he was drawn to you because of your eyes. His mother had the same color eyes you do, and he told us she was the one person he had truly trusted as a small boy."
"Oh," Maureen said, thinking this over. After a moment the eyes that had so captivated Russell St. Anthony filled with tears, and she smiled faintly. "Thank you for telling me that." She pushed herself to her feet and bit her lip. "I don't want to seem like I'm running out, but I have some thinking to do."
"Of course," Roarke said. "Completely understandable."
"If you need to talk, I'm always here," Leslie added.
Maureen smiled wanly at her. "I know, and thanks," she said, turning to leave through the foyer door. Grady Harding stepped forward.
"At the risk of seeming presumptuous and forward…can I drop you off somewhere?" he asked. She stopped and eyed the lawyer curiously.
"I'd appreciate that," she said and smiled at him. "Thank you."
When they had departed together, Leslie blew out a long sigh and slumped back in her chair, reviewing the last twenty minutes or so in her mind. "I admit to wondering just what she's going to do with that place," she finally remarked to Roarke.
"I'm sure she will let you in on her plans," Roarke said. "Meantime, there are still a few hours in which it will be necessary to complete a few errands before dinner, and now that we have discovered we are the inheritors of fifteen paintings, you might additionally give some thought to exactly what we are to do with them when they arrive here."
Leslie grinned. "I'm sure I can manage that. Well, then, I'll see you at supper."
‡ ‡ ‡
Two days later she met Maureen by chance in Amberville while she was dropping off a stack of outgoing letters at the post office. "How're you getting on?" she asked.
"Not as bad as you might think," Maureen said and smiled. "A lot more good has come out of all this than I expected. Remember how Russell's lawyer offered to drop me off somewhere the other day? Well, we started talking, and the next thing you know he was asking me out to dinner. For a lawyer, he's not a bad guy."
Leslie laughed. "Grady Harding is a rarity in the legal world," she remarked. "He's a good, honest, ethical lawyer with his priorities in the right place. It's my understanding that he came to the island about fifteen years ago to defend someone in the fishing village who was suspected of some serious crime, and it so happened that Mr. Roarke was called as a witness to testify, because the accused person was one of his employees. He was impressed by Mr. Harding's professionalism and expertise, and asked him to stay on and set up a practice here once the trial was over. In fact, it was Mr. Harding's very first case, fresh out of law school. The thing is, he'd actually had a fantasy: he wanted to prove to himself and his father, who was a hotshot lawyer who used every sneaky tactic in the book to win his cases, that he could successfully defend a case without resorting to underhanded methods. He did, and he's been here ever since."
"Wow," said Maureen. "Thanks for telling me that, Leslie. Now I'm really interested in this guy, even if he is noticeably older than I am."
"Aw, don't let that bother you," Leslie said. "What're you doing out and about?"
Maureen assumed an air of overdone dignity and announced, "I am about to purchase a mallet. Care to help me choose one?"
"A what?" blurted Leslie through a startled laugh.
"A mallet," Maureen said and then snickered. "You'll see why. Come on."
"I wouldn't miss this for anything," Leslie said. "You've got my curiosity at an all-time high here. Lead on, MacDuff."
About half an hour later, having secured the item she was after, Maureen climbed into the station wagon with Leslie and told her friend to head for St. Anthony's chateau. Leslie gave her a sidelong glance of perplexity, but shrugged and acquiesced, wondering all the way to the Enclave just what was going on.
At the chateau Maureen unlocked the gate and swung it wide, then made a sweeping gesture indicating that Leslie should precede her inside. Once in, Leslie watched Maureen close the gate and then lean on the mallet, grinning wickedly. "Come on, Tomai, give over," she said finally. "What's this all about?"
"I'm about to destroy something in Russell's name," Maureen told her. "See that ugly statue in the fountain? Russell couldn't stand the thing, and nobody would take it. So I decided the only thing left to do is put it out of its misery." Leslie followed her gaze to the statue of Pan in the fountain and snickered.
"If you had another mallet, I'd help," she remarked, and the girls both chortled before Maureen hefted the tool in both hands, went to the edge of the little fountain and took a mighty swing. The mallet connected with the statue's head in a very satisfying manner; Leslie leaped back, exploding with laughter, as the head blew apart with some force and cement chunks of all sizes showered into the fountain.
"This is for you, Russell," Maureen yelled merrily at the sky, heaving the mallet again and taking out nearly half the statue's upper torso. "Enjoy!" And as Leslie watched, rocking with mirth, she was sure that somewhere, on some plane, Russell St. Anthony was looking on and laughing with approval.