§ § § -- October 19, 1993
After calculating the time difference, Leslie called Fantasy Island around seven the next morning, having spent the bulk of the previous afternoon making changes in her itinerary. A thought had occurred to her on her way back to her hotel and she had decided to make a short detour on her way home. Now she waited in the dim morning light for the ringing phone to be answered.
"Yes," she heard Roarke's voice.
"Oh good, you're there," said Leslie with some relief. "I didn't know if you'd be out of the house or not."
"It's only Tuesday, Leslie," Roarke said, sounding a little confused. "Has something gone wrong? You aren't due home for another week."
"I know," she said, "but there's been a change in plans. I'm flying out of here in about an hour, and from Copenhagen I'm flying to New York City and renting a car for an overnight stay. I need to check on my grandmother's grave; I haven't seen it since I was eight years old and we moved to California."
"But you could have spent your full planned ten days in your current locale and still done that," Roarke pointed out. "Why are you changing things now?"
"I've had some astounding news," Leslie told him. "It's too big to tell you over the phone. I'll explain everything when I get home, but you should expect me on the last charter on Thursday. Please don't tell anyone else—I'm probably going to be too tired to want to deal with an entire welcoming committee."
Roarke chuckled. "All right, Leslie, but I must say, you've aroused a great deal of curiosity in me," he confessed readily. "How are you feeling? I will warn you now—Friday morning, we are going to see Dr. Lambert so that she can assess your condition, since I know all too well you will want to resume working this very weekend."
"You have me pegged," Leslie admitted ruefully, sighing. "I suppose you're going to forbid me."
"That depends on the doctor's verdict," Roarke said. "At any rate, I look forward to hearing whatever it is you've found out. I'll meet the last charter two days from now, and I will see you then, my child, all right?"
"I'm looking forward to coming home," Leslie said, "as much as I've enjoyed my trip. I think the best part was my visit with Tattoo and Solange and their kids. But it's going to be so good to come home and sleep in my own bed again."
"I'm sure of that," Roarke agreed. She could imagine him smiling as he spoke. "For the moment, you had better get to the airport; we wouldn't want you to miss your plane."
§ § § -- October 22, 1993
It was a singular relief to land in the lagoon and taxi toward the familiar plane dock; Leslie leaned eagerly forward in her seat and searched what little she could see of the clearing through the A-frame-shaped landing ramp. But sunset had already come and gone and she couldn't see very much. It was all she could do to let the arriving passengers, of whom there were mercifully few, file off the charter before her; but once she was off, she all but ran down the dock, spying Roarke waiting beside a car whose headlights were still on.
He brightened when she rushed off the dock and across the clearing, and they met in a long, hard hug. "Hello, Leslie, and welcome home!" Roarke greeted her.
"Hi, Father…it's wonderful to be back and to see you again!" she exclaimed happily, squeezing him and then stepping back. "Boy, you really are a sight for sore eyes."
"Indeed!" Roarke said, eyebrows popping up with interest. "I don't doubt for one moment that you're full of stories and can't wait to tell them, but first things first. Have you eaten anything? Mariki somehow found out about the change in your itinerary and has a veritable feast waiting for you."
"Then she's extremely fortunate that I haven't had a chance to eat since I took off from LaGuardia this morning," Leslie said dryly, evoking a laugh from Roarke. "I guess in that case, we'd better get home so she can serve it. And I can tell you some of those stories you mentioned while we're eating." She stopped and frowned. "Didn't you eat?"
"I decided to wait for you," Roarke said, lifting her suitcase and laying it into the middle seat of the car. "Hurry, it's growing dark very quickly."
They settled into the car and Roarke drove back along the Ring Road to the main house, which seemed to welcome Leslie with golden light warming the windows and the table on the porch spotlighted by the lit ceiling fan that turned lazily there. Roarke noticed his daughter drinking in the sight as he stopped the car just past the walkway to the porch, and smiled. "Tell me again how long you were gone?" he teased her.
She turned to him and grinned. "Say what you will," she said good-naturedly, "but to quote a certain fictional Kansas farm girl, 'there's no place like home.' "
"Indeed," Roarke concurred. "Very well, then, suppose you take your things inside and we'll have the evening meal. Just leave your bags in the foyer, and you can unpack after we have finished."
Mariki welcomed Leslie with a hug and promptly began loading the table with dishes while she and Roarke watched. Finally Leslie held up her hands. "Father was right—you've got enough food here to feed ten times as many of us as there are! Gosh, Mariki, are you planning to feed the entire fishing village with the leftovers?"
Mariki shrugged and grinned at her. "I simply thought you'd like to take your pick of all your favorites," she said. "Go ahead and take as much as you want. I'll be back out in about half an hour to see if you're interested in dessert." She wheeled her cart back toward the kitchen, and Roarke and Leslie began to peer under serving-dish covers to see what looked appealing.
About ten minutes later they were well into their repast and Leslie was telling Roarke about her experience on Lilla Jordsö. Roarke listened in attentive silence, nodding encouragement now and then, until she finally wound up her tale. She reached for the pitcher of mango juice that Mariki had left behind, poured a glassful and indulged in a long draft while Roarke mulled over what she had told him.
Finally he nodded slowly and focused on Leslie, who by this time had recovered and was watching him expectantly. "First of all, you did some very good detective work," he commended her, "accidental and serendipitous though it may have been. But as you told the young man…what was his name again?"
Leslie reached into her jeans pocket and tugged out the much-folded napkin. "This is the contact information he gave me," she said, handing it to Roarke.
He unfolded it and read what was printed on it. "Lukas Dannegård," he said. "Is he the one with whom you spoke, or was it Kristofer Dannegård?"
"Lukas," Leslie said. "Kristofer is his father—and probably Frida's, too."
"As you told Lukas Dannegård," Roarke said, handing the napkin back to Leslie, "Frida may never wish to find her birth parents or explore her ancestry. You were wise to advise him not to tell his father. Unless we hear from Frida herself, we are powerless to do anything more to help the Dannegård family." He sat back in his chair and gazed somewhere into the gathering darkness that hid the duck pond. "It's quite unfortunate, but the decision is Frida's to make."
"She never wrote to any of us," Leslie said, shaking her head. "I don't understand why not. It's as if she wanted to forget her life before she moved out on her own. I hope nothing happened to her…an accident, amnesia…"
"Until and unless she does contact us, there is no way to find out," Roarke said. He cleared his throat and turned his attention back to his meal. "For the moment, you may as well finish. We're having a late meal as it is, and I want to be sure you get the proper amount of sleep."
Leslie smiled tolerantly and resumed eating as well. She felt a little let down despite herself, but she had known Roarke would deliver just the verdict he had on her revelations, and quietly resigned herself to filing the information away indefinitely.
Upstairs, while she was unpacking and putting her clothing away, she showed Roarke the assorted keepsakes she'd picked up from her visits and layovers. Eventually she unearthed a small box from the bottom of her duffel and presented it to him. "I got this for you," she said a little bashfully, clasping her hands behind her back and watching him as he opened the box and lifted out a gleaming silver paperweight set with a rainbow gem, which she had bought him in Santi Arcuros while shopping with Michiko.
"An excellent choice, Leslie!" Roarke said appreciatively, examining the paperweight with interest. "Thank you very much, my child; this will come in quite handy."
"I hoped you'd like it," she said with a self-deprecating shrug, glancing away from him and noting the time purely in passing. "Wow, no wonder I'm feeling so run-down all of a sudden. It's almost nine-thirty. I hope you don't mind if I call it a night."
"On the contrary, I think it's a very wise idea," Roarke said with an affectionate, paternal smile. "Sleep as long as you wish tomorrow morning, sweetheart, and when you're awake and have had something to eat, we'll pay Dr. Lambert a visit."
She nodded. "Okay, if you insist. But if she thinks I'm still worn out, I'll just have to tell her she needs to factor in jet lag."
Roarke grinned at that. "I'll keep that in mind." His gaze softened and he patted her shoulder. "Don't give up hope in this case of yours, Leslie. Time and experience have taught me that strange and wonderful things often happen in this life."