§ § § -- February 11, 1999

Leslie moved as if in a fog the following morning, hardly noticing when Mariki set breakfast in front of her, eating mechanically without either tasting the food or remembering what she'd ingested. Mariki, worried again, went so far as to wave her hand in front of Leslie's blank stare to get her attention, but Leslie seemed not to notice anything around her. She only got up from the table and headed automatically across the porch toward the door, with Mariki staring after her and wondering uneasily what had happened.

As though drawn, Leslie crossed the study and climbed the stairs, going right to Roarke's room. Life finally flickered in her eyes when she realized he was stirring faintly, his eyelids fluttering. She flew to the side of the bed and dropped to her knees there, wrapping both her hands around one of his, alarmed at how cold it was. "Father? Father, it's me, Leslie," she whispered urgently. "Father, wake up, please…"

Slowly Roarke's eyes opened and she saw him focus on her. "Leslie," he said, though it came out in a thready whisper.

"I didn't give you the tonic yesterday," she remembered with wide-eyed horror. "Oh God!…" He didn't have the strength to protest or to reassure her, but simply watched as she measured out the five-milliliter dose with shaky hands and helped him take it. They waited in silence for a couple of minutes, till the tonic had a chance to circulate through Roarke's system and bolster what little strength he had.

"You needed to do what was necessary yesterday, Leslie," he finally told her when he was able to speak a little more normally. "You know this is only a stopgap solution."

"I don't care," said Leslie stubbornly. "I don't like it that I forgot." She compressed her lips and lowered her gaze to escape his amused expression, and then remembered. "Oh…I happen to know that good old H.R. was here visiting yesterday. He looked pretty disconcerted that you'd thrown him out."

"He told you?" Roarke asked.

"Actually, I heard you shout at him to go," Leslie said, grinning.

Roarke grinned back. "I see," he said. "I believe that is the largest single burst of energy I've had since I contracted this illness. I must admit that the man vexed me beyond endurance. Unfortunately, it completely drained me."

"So I hear," Leslie said. "I was going to check on you, but H.R. said not to bother since you were probably asleep. Judging from what I'd heard, I figured he must be right and let it go…but it slipped my mind altogether and I never did recall it again."

"It's all right, Leslie," Roarke assured her. "I slept the rest of yesterday and throughout the night, so it would have made no difference. Tell me what you know about what has been happening in the last few days."

Leslie blew out her breath and settled herself more comfortably on the edge of the bed. "Rogan scared me yesterday morning: apparently your cousin is friends, or something like it, with Mephistopheles." She told Roarke what Rogan had related to her, then went on to explain that Christian had returned home early from his around-the-world sojourn in part because of the news of Paola's death. "I wound up telling him everything after H.R. tried to tempt me…" she began and closed her eyes, her voice trailing off.

She felt Roarke's hand close around hers; his grip wasn't strong, but its warmth was reassuring. "Tell me, child," he coaxed quietly. "Don't keep it inside you."

When Leslie opened her eyes again, they carried a film of tears. Her voice was flat with the effort to control as she told him of H.R.'s observations regarding the cure. Roarke listened silently; when she finished, he sighed gently. "Have you heard from Christian since that time, sweetheart?" he asked.

"I haven't checked e-mail since I sent him that last message," she said. "I have no idea how he'll take it. All I know is, I can't bear the thought of losing you. Even having Christian in my life couldn't make up for your absence."

Roarke watched her; he knew there was plenty he could say, but her mood was too unstable for her to withstand any platitudes. "If you love him, Leslie, give him a chance," was all he said in the end. She looked at him, and he added, "Do you doubt him?"

"N-no," she said without conviction.

Roarke's regard became gently reproachful. "For shame, Leslie," he scolded lightly. "I will be awake for some time—go and see if he has replied, then come back and tell me what he said. Frankly, I find myself quite curious."

Leslie had to smile at that, and confessed, "I guess you've made me curious too. All right, I'll be back in a few minutes."

In her own room she woke the computer and logged onto her account, scanned the messages and found one from Christian. In spite of herself she held her breath while she opened it, then let it out in a gust as she read.

My darling Leslie,

What a terrible ordeal for you...these have been trying days for certain. I thought I was going to be sick from the shock of everything you told me. When Marina heard what Paola had done, she burst into tears. Then I read about the cure, and I think the bottom dropped out of my stomach. Marina cried harder than ever and claimed that she didn't deserve to know the cure, because of Paola's deeds. I had to explain to her that so far, this cousin of your father's refuses to divulge its secrets, so that she might be reacting prematurely. She simply went on crying. I think her emotions are fixed on this guilt by association to such a degree that it hasn't yet sunk in for her that she may not even get the cure in the first place.

You must have been tormented when that despicable man suggested sacrificing Mr. Roarke so that you and I could be together at last. Leslie, my beautiful girl, if you had responded any other way than you did, you wouldn't be the Leslie Hamilton I love so deeply. I wouldn't have expected anything different from you. You told H.R. exactly what you should have told him, and I love you all the more for it. Yes, it will indefinitely delay the day when we can finally forge a life together, but neither of us could ever be truly happy if we'd bought that life with your father's death. My only regret is that I can't be there for you now. Please tell me if you want me to call you –- I will in a heartbeat, you know that, my darling.

I love you very much, my Leslie Rose, and I'll never stop loving you. Take comfort in that.

Always, Christian

The tears were flowing freely down her cheeks when she returned to Roarke's room; his dark eyes lit with sympathy and he gripped her hand with all the meager strength he could call forth. "And the verdict?" he prodded.

Leslie tried to compose herself. "He s-said that he didn't expect anything else of me than what I actually did, and loves me that much more for it."

Roarke smiled broadly and said, "There, now, you see?" She hiccupped and started to really cry, and he chuckled. "It's all right, sweetheart, go ahead and work it out of your system. Frankly, I admit to amazement that you haven't had a total breakdown before this. You've been under a great deal of strain, and I am very proud of you for bearing up so well under the load you've had over these last few weeks. How many times have I said in the past that you're stronger than you give yourself credit for?" Caught up in her crying, she could only shake her head, and he squeezed her hand.

"Good heavens, did something else terrible happen?" exclaimed Julie's voice from the doorway. Roarke glanced behind his weeping daughter and smiled at sight of Julie and Rogan peering quizzically around the half-open door.

"Leslie's merely reacting to the stresses of late," Roarke said. "Come in, both of you. From the glow on your faces, I presume you have news to tell."

"That we do, uncle," Rogan said, following Julie into the room. "I wish it had something to do with Da and his little secret, but maybe this will be of some interest to you anyway. I've proposed to Julie, and she's done me the honor of accepting."

"And you've gotta let him stay, uncle, because otherwise I'll take my B&B and defect to Hawaii or Tahiti or someplace," Julie added with mock threat, plucking a few tissues from a box on Roarke's nightstand and handing them to Leslie. "If you throw Rogan off the island, then I'm going with him."

Roarke laughed, his voice almost too low to hear now. "Have no fear, Julie! What sort of godfather do you think I am, now? I could no more have your future husband deported than I could my own daughter." He squeezed Leslie's hand again. "Congratulations to you both! Have you decided on a wedding date?"

"No…everything's on hold for the moment," Rogan said, sobering. "What with the current circumstances, for now it's enough that we're going to be married." He pulled the chair out from the desk and offered it to Julie, who sat down with a smile of thanks at him, and he stood behind it and clasped her hand over her shoulder. "I'm glad to hear you can see past my parentage, uncle. I only wish Da could get over his petty jealousy and take some joy in the news. As it is, I don't think he deserves to know."

"Don't you think that would be stooping to his level?" Roarke asked.

Rogan and Julie looked at each other, while Leslie blotted at her wet face with the tissues Julie had given her and tried to calm herself down. "I don't think so," Julie said candidly. "I mean, I haven't seen the guy all that much, but I know enough to draw the conclusion that he's afflicted with a terminal case of schadenfreude."

"To be sure," Rogan agreed heavily. "Even though Julie and I are happy in our love for each other and our plans for the future, there's that damned shadow overhanging everything. I can see it all over the place—Julie has occasion to see quite a few of your employees, and there's a pall hanging over the island. Sometimes the sadness is too thick to cut with an axe. And here…here, I think, is Sadness Central. Look at poor Leslie there."

Leslie looked up at him with some surprise, even as his sympathy tore a hole in her fragile composure and another tear fell out of her eye. "Is this ever going to be over?" she asked, her voice still distorted by emotion.

"I can tell you this much," Rogan said, looking away, studying the lovely Persian rug that covered most of the wood floor. "The end will come one way or another tomorrow at midnight. That's when Mephistopheles wants Da to make his final decision."

Silence fell then, and Julie reached over and patted Leslie's arm, while Roarke and Leslie clutched each other's hands, neither able to think of anything to say.