§ § § -- April 16, 1994
"This is definitely paradise," said Victoria Elliott, pushing her sister along in the wheelchair she herself had so recently occupied. "Just look at all these flowers, and the color of the sky…and take a breath! Even the air smells exotic."
Samantha giggled. "Yeah, I agree with you there. Imagine what it must be like to live here and take this place for granted all the time." She twisted halfway around in the chair to look up at her younger sister. "It's kind of a long way to the pool. How're those muscles holding up?"
"They feel wonderful," Toria said, beaming. "It's such a miracle, Sammie. I'm going to swim laps till I practically drown, and then I'll go and take a stroll along the beach…"
"Don't overdo it!" Samantha said through a laugh. "Even working muscles run out of energy and need rest. And brother, let me tell you, I'm going to enjoy the heck out of mine. I don't even mind being confined to the wheelchair. If it means I don't have to move for the next couple days, then I'm happy enough to give up walking for the weekend."
They chattered happily on till they reached the pool, which typically was quite crowded. The sisters managed to find an empty table, and Toria settled Samantha there and dropped a beach bag on the table. "Want me to get you anything?"
Samantha peered across the cement perimeter at the bar and grinned. "Well, for starters, how about a drinks menu, if they have one? That way I can try something new and tropical and totally unheard-of." Toria laughed and went to check into it.
Halfway to the bar, she heard a loud gasp and a cry of, "Toria Elliott?" She stopped in surprise and turned to see a face she hadn't encountered since before her car accident.
"Gabi Wickham?" Toria burst out, stunned. "Is that really you?"
"Yes, it is me!" bubbled the petite redhead who leaped forward and hugged Toria hard. Astonished, Toria hugged her back; she and Gabrielle Wickham had been the best of friends from their first day of school at age six till the day the Wickhams had moved out-of-province when the girls were fifteen. They had fallen out of touch before a full year had passed, and had not seen or heard from each other since then. "Gosh, I never expected to see you here on Fantasy Island! What're you doing here?"
"Oh, Sammie and I are on vacation," Toria said, still quite stunned. "How about you, what're you doing here?"
"I'm on my honeymoon," Gabi said brightly. "Dean and I are having the best time—it makes such a great change from that frozen weather in New Brunswick. I met Dean in my last year of school, and we've been together ever since. My last name's Josephson now. Oh my gosh, we really should sit down and catch up. This is fabulous."
"Well, I was just headed for the bar to get a menu of drinks," Toria said limply, trying to figure out what she was going to tell Gabi about her accident and the fact that she was normally wheelchair-bound. Of all the times and places to meet her long-lost best friend!
"I'll come too," Gabi volunteered eagerly and fell in beside Toria. "You know, the timing is just amazing. I heard all about the reunion this weekend from this morning's paper, and you know, it'd be great to go and see all the old gang again." She missed Toria's wince. "Are they all still there?"
"Oh…most of them," Toria mumbled, "but I don't keep in touch." She squeezed between two occupied barstools and managed to catch the attention of the overworked bartender. "Um…do you happen to have a drinks menu?"
"Sure, miss, here you go." The man handed her a sheet of paper, and she thanked him and turned to make her way back to hers and Samantha's table. Gabi stuck by her side, chattering nonstop. Toria was still trying to come to terms with the fact that her high-school reunion was this weekend, and here on the island too. Was it just coincidence, or was it calculated? If I don't watch out, this could ruin my fantasy, she thought. She wondered how she'd missed hearing about it.
Samantha recognized Gabi right away, and Gabi stared in amazement as she sat in one of the other chairs. "Gosh, Sam, how did…I mean, is it okay if I ask?"
Samantha glanced at Toria and said, "Well, it hasn't been all that long…"
"It's a long story, Gabi," Toria put in, hoping to change the subject. "Tell me what you know about this reunion. I had no idea they were here, especially this weekend."
"What reunion?" Samantha asked, taking the menu from Toria.
"My high-school reunion," Toria said shortly, sitting down. "Apparently they decided to have it here on Fantasy Island…and on the same weekend we came here. Isn't that just too convenient?" Samantha and Gabi looked at each other, and Toria realized her bitterness had been audible. Samantha cleared her throat and intently studied the menu.
Gabi peered narrowly at Toria across the table. "I know it's been a long time, Toria, but we used to tell each other everything. We never had any secrets. Is there something going on that I ought to know about?"
Samantha looked up from her menu in time to see Toria start to reply and catch herself. After a moment she said, "Something happened in senior year, and I'd really rather not talk about it. It's the reason I don't stay in touch with the gang."
Gabi watched Toria, looking hurt, but said nothing for a long moment. Finally she nodded. "Okay, Toria, it's your prerogative." But her voice was cool, and her demeanor was noticeably more distant. "Anyway, I understand the reunion's supposed to be at tonight's luau. I guess you're not planning to go."
"Oh, we're going," Samantha said, shooting Toria a sharp, deliberate look. "There's no way I'm missing that luau, and believe me, Toria Elliott, you're taking me there."
‡ ‡ ‡
"Okay," said Leslie, leaning over the desk, "so yesterday was Dr. Wayne's last day, and Tabitha called me this morning to let me know she's meeting Fernando's flight this afternoon. Then, in regard to the hotel, Jimmy tells me the new permanent chef starts tonight. He's straight from Tokyo and I understand he's the best available; his name's Kazuo Miyamoto. And Jimmy told me to reassure you especially that he never, ever, prepares fugu."
Roarke raised an eyebrow, half amused. "I'm happy to hear it. What else?"
"Mariki says they're going to need more food for the luau. There's a class reunion for Wildwood High School out of Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, and they're holding the actual reunion at the luau, so there's not enough food to go around. Kiko and Lono said they'll expand the dancing area a little bit if they can. Other than that, everything's going as well as we can expect it to. And the new sliding mats have arrived for the water slide at the amusement park, so Mateo's making the delivery from the dock."
"Excellent," said Roarke, and at that moment the door opened and Maureen Harding entered, cradling a tiny baby in her arms. "Good afternoon, Maureen!"
"Hi, Maureen, what brings you here? Did you name that poor baby yet?" Leslie asked playfully, straightening up.
Maureen rolled her eyes. "Hi, Mr. Roarke and Leslie. Actually, that's mostly why I'm here. Grady and I can't seem to agree on anything. We were pretty sure we'd get a boy, and I had a couple of names picked out. So when we got a girl, we were totally unprepared. Do you happen to have a name book, Leslie?"
Leslie shook her head. "Sorry, I don't. Did you check the library?"
"Grady's looking into it," Maureen said. "The folks at the hospital are getting a little impatient with us because of the birth certificate and other paperwork. I think we're going to need that help Lauren mentioned last weekend. Grady told me she said she and the rest of you would be happy to help out."
"Well, we will," Leslie said, nodding. "Just yell when you're ready to do some brainstorming. Why don't you bring the baby to the luau tonight, too. Might as well initiate her early on." She grinned.
"As long as you have a few minutes to spare," Maureen said questioningly, glancing at Roarke. "I don't want to get you fired."
Leslie followed her gaze and grinned at her adoptive father. "If things go as usual, I don't guess it'll be much of a problem, will it, Father?"
"I see no reason why it should be," Roarke said. "As a matter of fact, everything is running very smoothly today. Maureen, I understand your friend Tabitha is meeting her young doctor friend, Fernando Ordoñez, on the afternoon plane; you and Leslie might like to accompany her there and help her welcome him to the island."
"Oh, that sounds like fun," Maureen agreed. "Besides, Tabitha hasn't seen the baby yet. Can't blame her—she's been so excited all month about Fernando finally coming and taking over Dr. Wayne's practice."
"So I hear," said Roarke, smiling. "Very well, Leslie, since all is well in hand at the moment, why don't you take some time for lunch before you deal with Mariki in regard to the food supply for the luau. I'll make a few calls in the meantime."
"Call my mother," Maureen put in. "She'll be thrilled—she has nothing booked for this weekend, and she's at loose ends. Dad told her to quit hovering over me and the baby, so she's going stir-crazy at home. Mom'll provide all the food you need and then some."
"Thank you, Maureen, for a very welcome suggestion," Roarke said with appreciation and picked up the phone. "I'll see you in about an hour, Leslie."
"Okay, I'll be back then," she said and left the house with Maureen. The two young women had just descended the porch steps when a jeep careened around the bend in the lane and ground to a halt near the fountain, raising a cloud of dust that made Maureen frantically shield her tiny daughter and set off coughing fits in both her and Leslie.
Kurt Jensen jumped out of the vehicle and pelted across the lane to meet Leslie, stopping when he realized what had happened. "Oh, sorry," he said. "I, uh…just wanted to ask you for another check, if you don't mind."
Leslie waved ineffectually at the dusty air and squinted at him in surprise. "I gave you your first check less than two hours ago," she pointed out.
"Yeah, well…I spent it already," Jensen said sheepishly. "I need more."
She shrugged, while Maureen watched with great interest, and acquiesced. "Okay. Maureen, I'll be right back." She preceded Jensen back into the house, where Roarke was just concluding his phone call. He watched curiously while Leslie unlocked the desk drawer and extracted the checkbook.
"Another check so quickly, Mr. Jensen?" Roarke asked.
Jensen shrugged, his face going ruddy. "Ran out of money."
"He did win two hundred million, after all," Leslie observed, making out a check.
"Indeed," Roarke said, regarding Jensen with a touch of irony. "And, as I recall, you had every intention of spending your entire first check."
"Which I did," Jensen agreed with a grin, "but not necessarily the way I expected. I've been sharing some of the wealth, Mr. Roarke. Bought some dolls for some little girls, gave some ladies money to take their kids to the amusement park, helped out a guy who's been down on his luck…"
"And fended off three amorous young ladies," Roarke concluded, letting the irony shine through in his voice.
"Aw, they didn't mean any harm," Jensen said, chuckling. He accepted the check Leslie held out to him. "Thanks again. Well, anyway, gotta get back to my bungalow. Jeff's there getting cleaned up, and once he's ready we're getting him some new clothes so he can apply for some jobs."
"I see," said Roarke slowly, studying Jensen with an unreadable expression.
"Who's Jeff?" Leslie asked.
"The guy who's down on his luck," said Jensen. "Just helping him out, y'know. Well, like I said, thanks. See you later on." He bolted out of the house.
Roarke and Leslie stared after him for a very long thirty seconds, both awash in doubt and concern. Finally Leslie said, borrowing Roarke's irony, "Well, as Mr. Jensen said this morning, 'hazards, schmazards'. I see he wasn't kidding."
"No, indeed," Roarke murmured, frowning. "Which all but guarantees that he will find himself in danger before his fantasy is over."
"How can anybody have that trusting a nature?" Leslie wondered.
Roarke smiled ever so faintly. "He's a generous man, Leslie," he said, "if decidedly naïve. It appears he's made little, if any, secret that he has quite a lot of money now. Sooner or later, someone with malicious intent will set sights on him, and I am afraid he is very ill-prepared for such an eventuality."