A/N: I had a great time writing this, especially since I got to scatter some hints for future stories. Because of the way I've set up my timeline for these stories, they are several months in the future at least, but they are definitely in the wings. Thanks again to my reviewers…you guys are good for this fragile ego. (grin) P.S. to Harry2: "welcome to Fantasy Island!"

§ § § - July 4, 1996

"Well," said Roarke, surveying the computer, "I think it's time we brought ourselves up to date with the times."

Fireworks, being set off for vacationing Americans at the plane dock, popped in the distance and burst in brilliant colors outside the windows. "How so?" Leslie asked without taking her eyes from the spectacle.

"I believe we need a website," said Roarke thoughtfully. "As it happens, there are not many people equipped to construct a good one; and it should be a good one, to uphold the image we have." He cast a vaguely interested glance at the next cascade of colorful sparks through the window. "Unfortunately, I am not certain who might be qualified."

"A website?" Leslie asked, still watching the fireworks. "You know, it's funny, but I was talking with Lauren and Brian the other day and they said they had to go practically around the world to find a really good site designer. But when they did, they hired him then and there, and it's my understanding he's at work on their site right now. Do you want me to get his name for you?"

Roarke nodded. "I'd appreciate that," he said. "Tomorrow is soon enough, though. The fireworks are quite spectacular this year, are they not?"

"They always are," said Leslie, giving him a quick grin. "After all, as you said, we have an image to uphold." Roarke chuckled and joined her at the window.

The following morning was a Friday and thus filled with the usual preliminary preparations for the approaching weekend. On her rounds to arrange for flowers, refreshments and other things for the bungalows, Leslie stopped at the marina and found the six-by-six-foot shack that Brian and Lauren used as the main office for their hydrofoil business. She tapped on the open door and stuck her head inside. "Anyone home?"

"Hi, Leslie," said Lauren, looking up from behind a counter that nearly bisected the little room. "What's up?"

"I've got a question for you," said Leslie. "Father was kind of thinking aloud last evening and mentioned that he thinks it's time Fantasy Island had a website. I remembered you and Brian had hired somebody to do yours, and thought I'd ask for his name."

Lauren's eyebrows shot up and she nodded. "That'll be a challenge, but I think he'll enjoy it. His name's Christian Enstad, and he's really good, Leslie. He comes from that little island country where Frida was born."

"Does he really!" Leslie exclaimed in surprise. "You and Brian had to go that far afield to get a good website designer?"

" 'Fraid so," Lauren said cheerfully. "He doesn't come cheap either, I might as well warn you now, but he's worth it. He had to go back home for a while to take care of some personal stuff, I think, but he left us his business card. Let me call Brian and pass the word along." She grabbed the phone and punched out her home number while Leslie waited, leaning casually over the counter. "Hi, honey, it's me. Listen…Leslie's here, and she says Mr. Roarke's decided Fantasy Island should have a website. Do you think Mr. Enstad would be willing to take on the job?" She listened for a moment. "Sure, no problem. Hold on a sec." She covered the mouthpiece and focused on Leslie. "How do you want to proceed here? Should we just have him call the main house, or what?"

"No...if I remember right, the time difference will be a pain in the butt. If you have his business card, maybe you or Brian could just send him a message asking him to call the main house, and let him know about the twelve hours between him and us."

"Gotcha," said Lauren and relayed this information to Brian. A minute or so later she hung up and rummaged around in a basket till she came up with a card, which she handed to Leslie. "He left us several of these, so you can keep this one." Leslie thanked her; she was looking forward to the whole idea of developing a website for the island.

On Sunday afternoon Roarke and Leslie met the plane that brought in the website designer. They shook hands and greeted one another; Christian Enstad was a surprisingly tall man, about six feet three inches, with well-groomed chestnut-colored hair, sharp, intelligent hazel eyes, and an infectious grin. He was dressed casually but expensively, and it was clear to both Roarke and Leslie that his hands were carefully manicured, as if perhaps he were a very visible actor or a hand model. Neither commented, however; there was likely to be more than enough time to get acquainted, at least on a superficial level. Roarke raised an eyebrow when Enstad lifted Leslie's hand and half bowed over it, though he didn't actually kiss it. The motion rang several bells in his mind and he tucked his observations away for later. For the moment, he wanted to concentrate on the business at hand.

"So," he said to Roarke as they strolled toward a waiting rover, "you are looking to provide Fantasy Island with a website, Mr. Roarke?"

"Yes, indeed, Mr. Enstad," Roarke began.

"Please call me Christian," the man broke in, flashing that engaging grin. "We will probably be working together for some time to come, and I hate such formality."

Roarke chuckled. "Very well, Christian…and I am sure my daughter will suggest that you call her Leslie." He fielded Leslie's dirty look and winked playfully at her, out of Christian's view. "Yes, I have noticed that the Internet has come into great prominence in the last year or two, and I believe that Fantasy Island should move in step with the times. One of Leslie's friends gave us your name, and it's my understanding you are from Lilla Jordsö."

Christian nodded. "Yes, I am. There's been a real explosion in the number of computer specialists and website designers nowadays, but I am still the only one in Lilla Jordsö, which places me in fairly high demand." He chuckled self-deprecatingly. "Of course, how could it do otherwise? Anyhow…I very much appreciate your following the recommendation you received. We can begin now if you have the time."

"Yes, we have enough free time at the moment that we can make out a rough sketch of my thoughts for the website's look," Roarke agreed. "Leslie is to have equal input, so we will all be contributing ideas and suggestions."

Christian glanced at Leslie, and that grin bloomed again, provoking a like response from her. "Excellent! I try to follow my clients' wishes as closely as possible. First of all, I need to take a look at your computer and find out what the system is capable of."

"We just bought the latest model," Leslie spoke up. "It's actually our third one, but the first two still work, so Father and I each have a personal computer now. I have to admit that mostly I just play games on mine, in my spare time." They all laughed.

"We should be able to network them and set things up so that you can each receive e-mail messages on your own computers, as well as accessing your accounts from the one you will be using for the business." At this point the rover rounded the bend in the Main House Lane and he took in the scene with wonder. "So this is the main house, then! It's stunning, Mr. Roarke. How you can concentrate on your work in a setting like this, I'll never know."

"It's not easy," Leslie kidded and they laughed again. "We've set aside a bungalow for you, since this is what passes for our slow season and they're not all full. Maybe you'd rather go there first and get a little rest before you start working."

Christian said, "As a matter of fact, since we are already putting forth some ideas, I think it better to continue now while our brains are focused on the subject, and I can relax later. But thank you for your consideration, Leslie." They smiled at each other. The rover came to a halt and everyone got out, crossing the lane to the porch.

Christian examined their business computer and grinned with anticipation. "This is wonderful. You're better equipped than almost any other client I've ever had, so this will be a truly enjoyable project. Why don't we start out by assessing what your needs are, and we'll work from there."

"Electronic mail accounts, as you mentioned, for both of us," Roarke mused, settling behind the desk while Christian and Leslie each took one of the chairs. "Although, to be perfectly honest, I have been debating whether these accounts should be strictly personal or used for business purposes. You see, we receive a very large volume of mail, most of which consists of fantasy-fulfillment requests; and ever since I began operations here, it has been my policy to accept only requests that are in written form. In this manner, should I decide to fulfill the fantasy in question, I have tangible proof of the request and the signature of the guest." Christian nodded understanding. "The system has worked so well that I find myself reluctant to give it up."

"It'd be a major change," Leslie put in. "We've actually talked about it a little bit before. I suggested that we could always print out the e-mailed requests, but that would mean we'd have the extra expenditure for printer paper; and there's no way to put a signature on an e-mail anyway. As it stands now, we go through quite enough paper printing acceptance letters to guests—and it's no ordinary paper either. We use letterhead with a special design that Father thought up years ago, and it costs enough to make that up for our outgoing mail without having to spring for regular paper just to print e-mail."

"I see," Christian said, considering it. "Well, as I see it, there will be a day in the near future when it will in fact be possible to 'sign' an e-mail request; but at the moment, as you said, it's not. There aren't many frills to electronic mail, but I suspect sooner or later it will be possible to choose fonts and append actual written signatures to messages." He focused then and smiled a little. "But, as I said, that's in the future, and you can always reconsider it when the time comes. For now, since your current system is so effective, I think we can make your e-mail accounts strictly personal. Actually, I can create two separate accounts for each of you if you wish, so that one is personal and you can restrict knowledge of it to your closest friends and each other; the other account can be for whatever business needs to be conducted. I'm sure you get business mail that doesn't deal with granting fantasies."

"True," said Leslie. "That sounds good to me. What do you think, Father?"

"I believe that's quite satisfactory," Roarke concurred. "I think we can consider that question settled for the moment, and if there are details to be worked out, we can do that later. Now…what else do you need to know?"

They spent another hour or so discussing details such as photographs of the bungalows and the various amenities, such as beaches and the swimming pool; whether to post photos of the hosts; providing hotel-room rates for those who were looking solely for a vacation on the island; geographical and climatological information; and even charter-plane schedules between the island and Honolulu International Airport. By the time they had wound up this discussion of preliminaries, they were all amazed at how much time had passed and how quickly it had gone. "Forgive us for taking so much of your time," Roarke said apologetically. "I'm sure you'd like to relax for a while, and it so happens that Leslie and I need to make the rounds and check on our other guests. However, you are very welcome to have dinner here at the house with us."

"Don't apologize, Mr. Roarke. It's been a very productive afternoon. And dinner sounds excellent, thank you," Christian said. "What time should I be here?"

"Drop by around five-thirty or so," Leslie said. "We'll look forward to it."

"So will I," he said, smiling at her again. Once more she smiled back; in fact, his contagious grin was enough to prompt her to offer to take him to his bungalow. He agreed and followed her out of the house, while Roarke watched, already sensing something in the air.