§ § § - January 9, 2000 – Fantasy Island
It was a little past two in the afternoon and Leslie had gone off for a few errands. It gave Roarke a chance to check the business messages on the computer. He scrolled through a few nonessential ones, then stopped in surprise when he saw a most unexpected e-mail address.
A slow smile crossed Roarke's handsome features. "So," he murmured, very pleased. "Excellent!" He clicked on the message to open it and read it, his smile widening when he took in the sparse postscript. So his hunch had been right after all.
Roarke sat back in his chair, the smile fading, and considered his reply. There had been so much going on in the past year, between Paola's misdeeds, his illness and Leslie's ongoing separation from the man she loved, there was a lot for him to consider. Sometimes he had the impression that someone was trying to tell him something. It was a lot to think about, and he decided logically that the best thing to do was just to tackle one thing at a time, beginning with the easiest. And this was that item.
Before he had completed formulating a reply, though, there came a knock on the door, and Rogan Callaghan let himself in. "Hello, uncle," he said.
"Welcome back, Rogan," Roarke replied. "How was your trip?"
"Fruitful," said Rogan cheerfully. "I'm going to have a very good time with these plants, no doubt about it. I got some wonderful saffron plants to nurture, and Julie'll be thrilled. She's got some peculiar recipes that call for the stuff, and I thought at least this way she can find out if they're actually any good." Grinning at Roarke's amused look, he added, "I've got four or five other odd plants as well that I want to experiment with. I'll have them quarantined in the greenhouse so that they don't suddenly sprout wild all over the island."
"Very good," said Roarke. "I'm glad your journey was such a success. I assume you're planning to specialize in unusual plants in order to give your business a niche."
"Exactly," Rogan confirmed, "and I don't believe I'll have too much trouble getting started. I collected some soil from around Mount Tutumoa—volcanic soil is amazingly fertile. I should have that saffron going in no time." He happened to notice the grandfather clock. "Ach—I'd best get home to Julie and the lad. I'm sure Rory's grown two inches and five pounds since I left." He departed, whistling.
Smiling in farewell, Roarke returned his attention to the computer and the message that waited there. Very well, young man, let's see what sort of response this gets from you. He typed quickly, sent the message and chuckled to himself before investigating the possible urgency of the others in his inbox.
§ § § - Lilla Jordsö
The computer beeped softly and Christian sat up in surprise. It couldn't be…but yes, it was: a reply from Fantasy Island. It seemed Roarke, at least, was willing to communicate with him—or perhaps that's only his innate courtesy to everyone, even the idiot who dumped his daughter, Christian thought with black humor. He shrugged and opened the message. What he read made him gasp.
Good evening, Christian,
I see you are awake quite late—very diligent! I appreciate your inquiry regarding the website; as you mentioned, the "Y2K" phenomenon was a false alarm in general, and it has been so here also.
Leslie is as well as can be expected. In fact, this weekend she has been entertaining a childhood friend by the name of Spencer Gray—a very likeable young man who seems quite enamored of Leslie. I believe his visit has done her much good.
Once again, thank you for your concern.
Sincerely, Roarke
Christian cursed softly, almost unaware he'd spoken, a crazy series of hot-and-cold sensations engulfing his body in endless turns. Reason and logic fled him: he had meant for Leslie to find someone who was actually free to give her all the things she deserved, but now that it had actually happened, he couldn't accept it. Letting Leslie go had been a tremendous mistake—perhaps the worst and costliest he had ever made. Could she truly have fallen for another man so quickly? It didn't seem possible.
Well, he wasn't about to stand idly by and let it happen. Common sense and practicality be damned: Christian wanted his Leslie back, and he was not only willing but fully prepared to go to all necessary lengths to get her. To that end, there was only one option to take, and he took it without further ado. Swiftly he hit the reply button.
Dear Mr. Roarke,
I am returning to Fantasy Island. By the time you receive this I'll be on my way to the airport. It makes no difference to me where I sleep—whether there's an empty hotel room, a free bungalow, a cot on your veranda or a tent in the jungle, I don't care. No matter what, I'm coming back. I should be there sometime tomorrow.
Christian
He sent the message, signed out, shut his computer down and strode into his bedroom. There he flipped on the ceiling light, pulled his suitcase out from under the bed, and began to pack as quickly as he could move.
Within a minute Marina appeared in the doorway. "Where are you off to?" she asked him.
"Fantasy Island," said Christian tersely, "and I'll be gone indefinitely."
Marina stared at him, brightening with hope for the first time. Perhaps this royal fool she was married to was finally seeing the light, she thought. Watching him, she crossed her arms over her chest, leaned against the doorjamb and said casually, "I'll tell Arnulf you've gone around the bend and I had you committed."
"Yes, that's fine," mumbled Christian, his mind unable to focus on anything but his desperate purpose. "That should be enough clothing if I can make use of a laundry." He looked up then at Marina. "Arnulf will just have to accept my prolonged absence. Maybe I can try to set up a side business on the island, as insurance for the future, but in any case I've worked enough this week and I need my time off. And I'm going to appeal to Leslie and see if she can forgive me. I'll be in touch." He slammed the suitcase shut and yanked it off the bed, half running out of the room.
Marina smiled broadly. "I'll have Arnulf send you a monogrammed straitjacket," she called after his retreating form.
"Of course, anything," Christian's voice floated back from the living room. He paused only long enough to don his winter overcoat and the first pair of shoes he came across, then left the flat.
Only then did Marina give full voice to her mirth. Not only had he paid no attention at all to anything she had said, he'd left the apartment in his pajamas! Wheezing with mirth, she made a note to give Anna-Kristina a phone call in the morning and let her know what was afoot, and returned to her bed, confident that he would win his woman back. She'd never seen a love quite like Christian's for Leslie Hamilton.
§ § § - Fantasy Island
The reply from Christian surprised Roarke; the prince must have been hovering over his computer. He read the message, then dropped back in his seat, laughing. Just on a whim, he decided not to tell Leslie. Whatever her reaction at first sight of him, it was bound to be more volatile for its spontaneity; and besides, he thought Christian could benefit from having to deal with Leslie in anger. As much as he liked the prince, he felt Leslie deserved the chance to vent on him. He didn't bother sending a reply; instead he deleted the missive and carefully controlled his amusement to answer the ringing telephone.
‡ ‡ ‡
By the time Leslie completed her errands, she felt about as ready as she could ever hope to be to explain things to Spencer. The thought of hurting him upset her; she didn't want to lose touch with her old friend, and at the moment she really needed an impartial party. Her friends here on the island were semi-aware of her lingering unhappiness; but they thought it was because of Christian's departure. She simply hadn't been able to bring herself to explain what he'd done before leaving: she'd had more than enough of their well-intentioned outrage and avowals of revenge when they'd found out he was married, and atop that, Mariki was still full of black-voiced mutterings about what she was going to do to him if he ever came within range of her fists.
But she did need to tell someone, and Spencer was the perfect one. She would have had to tell him anyway; if he hadn't changed from the protective best friend she remembered, he'd certainly be outraged on her behalf, and he might judge, but he'd be a source of comfort first and foremost.
So she drove to Spencer's bungalow and knocked on the door, mustering up a small smile when he opened it. He grinned. "Hi, Leslie, come on in."
She slipped past him into the interior, settling uneasily into a chair in the main room and trying to figure out how to begin. Spencer followed her and took a chair nearby. "Are you okay?" he asked, finally really seeing her pensive expression.
Leslie looked up and drew in a deep breath that shuddered only a little. "Spence, about our little talk at the pool…" she began hesitantly.
Spencer lifted a hand; her demeanor told him all he needed to know. "You just want to be friends," he said.
Leslie nodded. "It sounds so stupid and clichéd, but I'm afraid it's true. You see…it's not so much because of you. If your timing had been different, maybe the situation would've been different too. But I'm…well, I mean, there's someone else. Or there was someone else, but he's still got my heart."
"Who…wait a minute," Spencer said, something coming back to him. "Is this that Christian guy that your cook mentioned yesterday?"
"Yup," Leslie murmured unhappily, her head falling and her hair sliding forward like curtains around her face. "Spence, I hate doing this to you. I feel awful."
"It's not your fault," Spencer said promptly, wrapping a hand over her forearm. "You're not over this guy, and I was only half listening yesterday when you told me I'm your friend, with all that emphasis. Tell me about him, Leslie. How long's it been since it ended?"
"Only a week," Leslie said and ducked her head farther still, but not before Spencer caught the liquid sparkle in her eyes and leaned sharply forward.
"Leslie, are you crying?" he asked, shocked. "You never cried, not that I remember. It wasn't allowed."
She shook her head and lifted her gaze to meet his. "Michael Hamilton thought tears were a stupid female weakness, and his girls weren't going to be allowed to shed any. Just to reinforce the point, he'd hit us if we ever started to cry. It made Kelly rebellious and Kristy a terminal scaredy-cat, and I just learned to internalize my emotions." Her tears spilled over. "That's how I was when I first came here, and Father had to teach me to let those feelings out so they wouldn't make me sick."
"Mr. Roarke really saved your life, in a way, didn't he," Spencer said softly. "For that, if nothing else, I'm grateful to him. Aw, Leslie, it's okay. Come here." He stood up and pulled her to her feet, then drew her into a hug that she was more than grateful to return. It broke through her fragile control and she began to cry into his shoulder; he stood patiently and absorbed her tears, patting her back.
When the worst of the storm was past, he stepped back a pace and studied her. "Tell me about him."
She swiped at her face, with little effect, and began, "Well, you better hold onto your hat. Christian isn't just any ordinary guy—he's Prince Christian of Lilla Jordsö. We met a few years ago when he came here to design and set up the island website." And she told him the whole story, with Spencer injecting an astonished question here and there, until she finally concluded, "So that's why he told me what he did last weekend. I understand what he was trying to do, but he forgot to ask me how I felt about it." She gave him a shaky smile, and he chuckled.
"Brother, Leslie, you run in some pretty lofty circles. Listen, it makes no difference if I think Prince Christian is a fool or what. I can see where he must've been coming from, but I do have one question for you. Do you regret his making love to you?"
"No," Leslie said decisively. "I wanted it as much as he did, and I refuse to regret it. I just wish he hadn't decided it was time to give up. See, Spence, the thing that really gets me is that he lost faith. I'd give him hell for it, but right now I'm not really ready to contact him, even over e-mail. Maybe someday I'll ask him why, but for the moment…"
Spencer nodded understanding. "It's okay, Leslie." He cleared his throat and smiled at her. "Okay, so maybe my crush on you ended up going nowhere, but I'm glad we're still friends. Someday I'll bring Daniel and Lesley here to meet you, so they can hear goofy stories of do-you-remember-when." They both laughed and hugged each other again. "If you ever need anything, Leslie, no matter what or when, just give me a yell, and I'll do anything it's in my power to do."
"You're the greatest," Leslie said softly. "Thanks, Spence, and I'm so glad we reconnected." Her smile when she left the bungalow a few minutes later was genuine and reminiscent.