§ § § -- December 22, 1996
His whole life seemed to have fallen apart in the space of one day. Kazuo Miyamoto found it very hard to believe that he had awakened Saturday morning full of cheer and optimism for the day ahead, happy for his prestigious and enlivening job, his friends and the girl he had been casually seeing for some time now. Now, the most damning part of his past had somehow managed to find him, and his world had been tipped askew.
He had mixed feelings about Yoriko—Katsumi, he corrected himself firmly. It was hard to think of her by her true name, when for so long he had known only the mysterious Yoriko. A geisha was a largely unknown and unknowable entity; her world and those of her clients were entirely separate, even alien, which curiously allowed for a surprising amount of emotional intimacy on the part of geisha and client. How well he remembered sharing his hopes and dreams with Yoriko, telling her what his goals were, all but laying open his soul—all because she was anonymous and unreachable. They could never really have a life together, but he had never felt freer with anyone else. She was denied any true knowledge of him, and he of her in turn. That had made her a sort of tangible fantasy. Now, he reflected ironically, he lived on an island that was famous for fantasies—and his geisha had become a very problematic reality!
Reiko had accused him of hiding his family from her, which puzzled him somewhat. She had leaped to several astonishing conclusions and broken off her relationship with him all in one heated moment; yet, when he examined her accusations, he wondered uneasily if there might not be a grain or two of truth in them. Apparently she had expected quite a bit more from this relationship than he'd known. To him it had been a light romance, but it seemed she had regarded it as something far more than that. With some shame he faced the realization that he wasn't especially upset over her breaking off their relationship, and found himself trying to avoid admitting the most obvious reason for that.
Shying away from the understanding he was rapidly reaching, he busied himself in cleanup work at the hotel before going home for the night and searching for refuge in sleep. But he didn't count on the dreams that began to rack him within an hour. They began in all innocence: once again he relived the walks along quiet riverbanks, under cherry blossoms, through tranquil woods, he talking and she listening. It wasn't long before they segued into something altogether more intimate and disturbing. It had taken eight meetings with her before they'd made love the first time, and in his dream he relived that night in such vivid detail that he woke with a violent start, sitting bolt upright in the tangled bedcovers and gasping, sweating, overheated, and drowning in need—both physical and emotional.
Emotional? Where had that come from? But even as he asked himself the question, he knew the answer. No matter how far away he ran, no matter how hard he tried to push those memories into the darkest dungeons of his mind, there was just no escaping the fact that he was, and always had been, in love with Katsumi.
Jarred by the stark admission, he sat in the dark, examining the revelation but knowing it was the inescapable truth. It was why he had never really bonded with Reiko beyond friendship and a romance so light it was practically platonic. It had always been Katsumi, even in the face of his knowledge that they were forbidden each other. He'd done the foolish thing and fallen for the geisha he could never have—except that now he could! And he'd seen in her eyes that she returned his feelings, even more openly than he'd shown his.
He knew he would never be able to sleep, not after those shocking dreams and his newly discovered emotions. Turning on the bedside lamp, he swung out of bed and hastily dressed in the first garments he found, noting in passing that it was barely five in the morning and he was operating on less than four hours of sleep. But he didn't care; he was high on adrenaline and hope, driven by the need to tell Katsumi everything. He rushed through the apartment, jammed on his shoes and grabbed his keys, and plunged out.
The barest hint of first light was just transforming the black eastern sky to a deep, inky indigo when he reached the bungalow where Katsumi and Haruko were staying. He reached up and banged on the door, then waited expectantly. After a long pause he pounded again, but there was still no answer.
Kazuo knocked insistently four more times before he came to the conclusion that no one was there. "No," he muttered aloud in protest. Where else could they be? Frustrated, he lunged off the step and made for the main house in a dead run. When he heard Roarke's voice respond from within to his knock, he rushed inside and stumbled to a halt in front of his very surprised employer.
"Chef Miyamoto! Surely you can't be that eager to begin work…you aren't due at the hotel for several hours yet," Roarke said with a touch of humor.
"Mr. Roarke, I need to know," Kazuo said intensely, planting his palms on the desktop and leaning forward. "Please, sir, where is Katsumi Nishimura? It's imperative that I speak with her immediately."
Roarke drew in a breath and straightened his spine in his chair. "I am terribly sorry, but Miss Nishimura came to us late last night and insisted that we put her on the first charter flight off the island this morning."
Horrified, Kazuo stared at him. "Has the plane left yet?"
Roarke frowned a little and took out his gold watch, checking the time. "No, but it's due to depart in only a few minutes. I am afraid you won't catch her in time."
"I have to," Kazuo burst out. "Mr. Roarke, I'm in love with her."
"Ah…I see," said Roarke softly, his dark eyes warming. After a few seconds' thought, he snapped the watch closed and stood up, replacing it. "Perhaps we can still get to the dock before takeoff. I'll drive you there myself; it's the only chance we have."
Kazuo's breath exploded out of him in a loud relieved gust. "I can't thank you enough, sir," he exclaimed, following Roarke out. "I'm more grateful than you can know."
"It's nothing, Chef Miyamoto, nothing at all," Roarke said dismissively, but he smiled to himself at his own minor folly. He'd never been able to resist an appeal when it involved a love story. He had once been accused of being an encourageable romantic, and that still held true many years later.
Roarke stopped the jeep beside the clearing in the half-light of a false dawn, and just as they got out, they heard the seaplane's engine sputter and whine to life. Kazuo instantly broke into an all-out race to the dock, shouting as he ran. The attendants, startled, gaped at him pounding towards them.
"Stop the plane! Please!" Kazuo roared frantically.
"Too late," one of the attendants said with a shrug. But by then Roarke was striding up the dock in Kazuo's wake, and the other attendant poked his companion.
"It's urgent," Roarke called out. "Tell the pilot to wait a moment."
The second attendant whirled and banged a fist on the outside of the plane as hard as he could; it took a minute or so, but the engine finally died and the hatch popped open, revealing the pilot, who looked more than a little put out. "What's the big idea?"
"I need to speak with one of your passengers," Kazuo blurted. "Please, it's extremely important. Her name is Katsumi Nishimura."
"It's all right," Roarke interjected. "Please have Miss Nishimura disembark."
"Oh…okay, Mr. Roarke, if you say so," the pilot said and ducked back inside. About thirty seconds elapsed before a bewildered Katsumi emerged; she stopped in the middle of climbing out and stared at Kazuo, who extended both hands to her in entreaty.
"Katsumi, I beg you for a few moments of your time," he said in Japanese. "There are things I must tell you, things you must know."
"But I'm leaving," Katsumi said, her voice flat with an effort to control emotions that were too close to the surface. "Haruko and I are returning to Japan."
"You can't go yet," Kazuo said. "Give me a chance, please. If you will at least wait for a later flight, you'll have time for breakfast at the hotel, and I can speak with you properly."
Katsumi waffled visibly, torn between wanting to believe him and needing to prevent any further hurt for either herself or Haruko. Her eyes darted from one thing to another till they lit on Roarke, who stood several feet away, watching with the slightest of smiles.
"If you wish," Roarke said, "you may return to the Plumeria Bungalow, so that you can have some privacy."
Katsumi struggled, clearly understanding only a few words, before unwillingly turning to Kazuo. He smiled and translated Roarke's words, adding a few of his own. "Poor Haruko, I think she would be happier sleeping in a bed," he said.
Mention of Haruko finally swayed her. "All right, we will stay a little longer," she said, "and I will hear what you wish to tell me."
Kazuo sagged in relief while Katsumi dipped back into the plane long enough to retrieve Haruko. The second attendant followed her in so he could get their luggage before it left without them. Kazuo turned to Roarke and earnestly shook his hand. "Mr. Roarke, I can't repay you enough for what you've done for me this weekend. First the raise, now helping me to reach out to Katsumi. You have my eternal gratitude, sir."
Roarke smiled and shook his head. "There's no need," he said. "I wish you the best of luck. Please excuse me." He headed back to the jeep; a few seconds later Katsumi and Haruko stepped out of the seaplane and the attendant emerged behind her with their suitcases. Kazuo promptly picked up the luggage and led the way off the dock, taking mother and child back to the bungalow they had deserted less than an hour before. Roarke had given him the key, which he now used to let them in; he waited in the main room while Katsumi settled an already-slumbering Haruko back into bed.
She looked apprehensive when she came back, and again Kazuo noted that he wasn't entirely comfortable seeing her in western dress. He'd better get used to it, he thought with an inward smile. "Katsumi, what made you try to leave so quickly?"
"You don't want us here," she said baldly, as if having decided to drop even the pretense of sticking to the endlessly self-deprecating façade that constituted Japanese good manners. "You're involved with another woman, and you're ashamed of us."
"No, no, that's not it at all," he exclaimed. "Please, Katsumi, hear me out. Reiko and I were a couple, this is true…but not now. I must admit that I was never really in love with her. I think she expected more of me than I knew." He went on to tell her about his dreams, skimming over the images that he still remembered all too well, and his revelations in their wake. Through it all, Katsumi stood watching him, her face inscrutable for the first time; even her black eyes gave nothing away.
Kazuo sputtered to a halt, sensing with alarm that he wasn't getting through to her. "Katsumi, do you believe me?"
She dropped her gaze and studied the carpet beneath her feet. "I want to. But you don't believe that Haruko is your daughter."
Kazuo winced. "Does this mean that you still plan to leave here?"
Katsumi's eyes met his once more. Slowly she said, "I think we should. All I can do is return to Japan. I can barely speak English, and I'm not educated, nor trained to do anything except the duties of a geisha. I can see no other choice."
Kazuo stepped forward and grasped her hands, too quickly to give her time to move out of his reach. "The next charter won't leave until eight o'clock, Katsumi, but if I have anything to say about it, you won't be on that one either. Don't you understand? Anata o aishite imasu. I love you."
The direct statement seemed to hit Katsumi right between the eyes and she gawked at him. Her expression was difficult to interpret, as if she were caught between astonishment, delight, disbelief and wariness all at once. She stood there searching his face, perhaps looking for some obvious sign of prevarication, but he knew she wouldn't find it. He had just given her his heart, after all.
"I never dreamed to hear you say those words to me," she admitted at last.
"They're the truth, pure and simple," he assured her. "After those dreams last night, I realized there's never been anyone except you. I must have fallen in love with you within the first few meetings in Kyoto, and I've been in love with you ever since then. I had to shut those feelings away because I was certain I would never see you again. Now that you're here and I have a second chance, I won't be so foolish as to let you get away from me."
Just for a moment she looked uncertain, as though she still had questions, but he could tell from her shining eyes that he'd finally convinced her. When she let him enfold her into his embrace, he got the satisfying feeling that his heart had come home at last.
‡ ‡ ‡
Just before seven, there was a tapping on the door and Roarke looked up; by now Leslie was up, answering an e-mail from Christian. "Come in," he called.
In walked Reiko Tokita, dressed for traveling and carrying two suitcases. Leslie, forgetting the computer, jumped to her feet. "Reiko, where are you going?"
"To Arcolos to visit Michiko for awhile," Reiko said, her voice crisp. "Mr. Roarke, when does the next charter leave?"
"Eight o'clock," said Roarke. "You have enough time to let your sister know you're on the way, if you'd like to use the computer."
Reiko shook her head. "No thank you," she said. "If you want to alert her, Leslie, you can, but…I don't feel like trying to explain things." Her businesslike veneer cracked and she bit her lip. "Michiko thinks that sooner or later, she'll be called back here for a wedding, and I hate to think how wrong she was."
"I'm sorry, Reiko," Leslie said gently. "I really wish you hadn't been hurt in the course of all this."
Reiko shrugged, trying without success to look unconcerned. "Well, as my father said last night, I'm young and I'll get over it. Besides, it's my understanding that my brother-in-law the prince has two brothers who're still single." She gave Leslie a crooked little smile. "Don't worry about me, okay? I know this is kind of drastic, but Fantasy Island's too small for me not to run into Kazuo all the time, and I just can't bear that."
"Believe me, I can understand perfectly," Leslie told her, then glanced at Roarke and bit her lip. "It's just that I feel like we're to blame for this…"
"Oh, Leslie, come on," Reiko said. "You and Mr. Roarke didn't bring Katsumi Nishimura here—she came on her own initiative, and you two were just granting her fantasy. At any rate, now that I've had some time to look back, I can see that Kazuo's heart wasn't really into our relationship. I guess I just wasn't the right girl for him."
Roarke regarded her with a smile. "Your attitude is very commendable, Reiko," he said warmly. "Like Leslie, I regret that you were hurt in the course of Miss Nishimura's having her fantasy granted, and I wish you luck and success in whatever venture you embark upon next. Have a safe journey to Arcolos and an enjoyable visit with your sister."
"And tell Michiko I said hi," added Leslie with a grin that faded quickly. "Do you want me to tell her anything, Reiko? I don't mind sending her an e-mail to let her know you're coming, but I won't tell her any more than you want me to."
"You can say anything you want," Reiko said and shrugged again. "It'll save me the trouble of having to tell her the whole miserable story when I get there, so if you want to spill the whole can of beans, go right ahead. You can even tell her I said you could."
Roarke and Leslie laughed, and Reiko grinned in reply. "Okay, I'll give Michiko a heads-up," Leslie promised. "Do you think you'll be coming back?"
"I dunno," Reiko said. "I guess that depends on a lot of things." She picked up her suitcases. "I think I'll go to the plane dock and wait there. Thanks, to both of you."
"Take care of yourself, Reiko," Leslie said, and Reiko smiled at her, then left quietly. Leslie watched her go, then studied Roarke curiously. "You say Chef Miyamoto managed to catch Katsumi just as the plane was about to leave?"
Roarke nodded. "She seemed willing to talk, but I recall your mention to me last night of the fact that the chef doesn't believe that Haruko is his child. Until they can find some manner of resolving that issue, they will never be able to forge a life together, no matter what sort of understanding they come to."
"No, they won't," said Leslie, "but short of a DNA test, how can they find an answer that'll convince Chef Miyamoto?" She didn't really expect a reply, and when Roarke only shook his head and returned his attention to his accounting, she took the cue and focused once more on her message to Christian.