§ § § - January 10, 2000

Roarke watched Spencer and Leslie face each other at the plane dock Monday morning, both a little wistful, but smiling all the same. "You promise you'll keep in touch?" asked Spencer a little urgently.

"I promise," said Leslie softly. "No matter what." She deliberately stepped forward and hugged him. "Be safe, Spence, and be happy. I'll miss you."

Spencer grinned. "Aw, you'll hardly have time, between your job and your friends and just plain living here. You know, for a kid who had so much tragedy in her life, you sure came out on top. Your Mariki was right."

Roarke and Leslie looked at each other; Roarke raised an eyebrow with meaning, and she turned red, getting the message clearly. "Okay, okay," Leslie grumbled, "but for heaven's sake, don't tell Mariki, or she'll gloat till the moon turns blue."

Spencer joined in Roarke's laughter and shook hands with him. "Mr. Roarke, I thank you for everything—your generous hospitality, the chance to reconnect with Leslie, and your gracious tolerance of me and my desperate little request to recapture some of my childhood in the first place."

"You're very welcome, Spencer, and you are also welcome to return any time you wish," said Roarke warmly. Spencer smiled in reply, winked at Leslie, then headed for the plane, hands in his pockets, except for his final pause to wave at them. A moment later he disappeared through the seaplane's hatch.

"I am going to miss him, Father," said Leslie slowly, as if surprised. "I never thought anybody from that far back would remember me."

"Ah, but my child, you tend to make an impression on some people," remarked Roarke. "You certainly made one on Spencer." He smiled, his dark eyes aglow.

" 'Some people'?" echoed Leslie suspiciously.

Roarke merely held the smile. "We have quite a bit to do today," was all he said. "There's a large list of errands for you, and the sooner you start, the sooner you'll finish." Leslie made a halfhearted face and trailed him to the car. It was plain that her father had something up his sleeve, but that seemed to happen so often that she half took it for granted, no matter how much it tended to irritate her.

‡ ‡ ‡

Throughout the afternoon Leslie had an increasing sense that someone was watching her; that, coupled with the impression that Roarke had a secret, was beginning to distract her from the things she was supposed to be doing. Roarke hadn't been kidding when he'd said the list of errands he had for her was large: it had taken her most of the day to do them, and now near suppertime, she still had two left. She hadn't even been able to stop for lunch. Not that it had mattered much; her appetite, always dicey when she was emotional, hadn't returned even in Spencer's presence, with the exception of Mariki's lasagna dinner two nights before. Leslie was giving some tentative thought to supper as she trudged across the now-quiet clearing where the luaus were usually held, though she figured she probably wouldn't bother, when someone stepped out from behind a tree a few feet in front of her.

Sunset was just recent enough that the remaining light permitted her to see who it was, and she stopped short and gaped, stricken. I should've eaten after all, Leslie thought, vaguely horrified. I'm hallucinating. There really was something to all Mariki's harassment…

Christian read her expression and smiled wryly. "No, my Leslie Rose, I'm no ghost," he assured her before the smile vanished. "Just because you wish I were, even here, doesn't make it true. I'm going to follow you from here and make sure you break things off with this Spencer Gray person."

Leslie's stricken look went bewildered and slightly offended. "Break what things off?" she asked, still too startled to give him the blasting he had coming to him. "Spencer left here this morning, and we're friends, but that's it." Her senses suddenly snapped back into place and she began to see some red. "What's it to you anyway? You put an end to anything between us last weekend, remember?"

"All too well," said Christian and winced. "It was the most egregious error I ever committed. My life has been pure hell ever since then. Anna-Kristina hasn't spoken to me in over a week, and Marina has done nothing but shout at me and insult me by turns. I can't concentrate on anything I do, least of all my business. I spend all night, every night, dreaming about you…when I manage to sleep at all." He blew out his breath. "I seem to remember Marina mentioning committing me, or something like that, just before I left."

"You should be committed, all right," Leslie agreed sardonically, surveying him, "at the very least for wearing that overcoat in a tropical climate like this."

"Tell me," said Christian, his voice flat and devoid of hope, "would you be worried if I suffered heatstroke while wearing this, or would you just shrug and walk away and say it's only what I deserve?"

Stung, Leslie exploded at last. "It might be what you deserve all right, Christian Carl Tobias Enstad, but that was still a pretty cruel thing to say! You think your life's been hell? I can't eat, and Mariki's probably warning Father that she's going to tie me to my chair and force-feed me my next meal. My sleep's been shot right to hell—are you so blind you don't see these dark circles? My friend Tabitha asked me the other day if someone had given me two black eyes. I'm lucky I'm still performing my job with any degree of competence. You really had some nerve, Christian, dropping that bomb on me last Sunday and walking off without even looking back! Who do you think you are to just throw all this away, expect me to accept it, then come back here and lay claim on me the second you think I've got a new man in my life?"

"Your father told me—" Christian began.

"Yeah, I'm sure Father mentioned Spence to you, although for the life of me I don't see why. Damn it, Christian, you never answered me that day. Why? And I don't mean why did you break it off: I mean, why did you lose faith?"

Christian, looking defeated, half turned away and hung his head. "Because of your father's reasons for banning amakarna from Fantasy Island."

Leslie stared at him, uncomprehending. "Want to embellish on that a little?"

"Not so much that it killed his parents, though I can understand his reaction in the wake of that," Christian said in a very weary voice. "More that he discovered it's impossible to grow the miserable stuff in the soil here. Leslie, please, consider my point of view for just one moment, never mind the madness that drove me to act upon it. Tell me how on earth one is to defeat Mother Nature? Something's in this dirt that prevents amakarna from taking root. Even the most dedicated green thumb can't circumvent that, and if your father can't do it either, then it's impossible. It was as if the very last chance for us had been sealed off. It so discouraged me that I began to think the unthinkable—to lose faith, as you said. To give up hope."

"Well, I didn't," said Leslie stonily.

Christian whirled on her, swaying slightly on his feet. "Are you that much of a saint, Leslie? Don't tell me you've never entertained the thought yourself!"

She fell silent, looking guiltily away. After a long tense moment or two she admitted, "The thought did cross my mind on a few occasions. But," she flared up again, "I never acted on it—I couldn't bear to!"

"So that gives you the right to be self-righteous about it?" Christian demanded. "Well enough, Leslie, if you're trying to tell me I came back here for nothing, why don't you just come right out and tell me?"

"I'm not trying to tell you that!" Leslie shouted, her leftover guilt making her overly self-defensive. "All I wanted were some answers!"

"And I gave them to you," Christian shot back. "What else do you want, my blood?"

Leslie wished she had something to throw. "Are you sorry you came here, since I'm apparently being so difficult?"

Christian gave his head a couple of violent shakes; his swaying was growing more pronounced. "No, I'm not—I'd be sorry only if I gave up again and just left. I promised myself I'd stay till I could win you back, and longer if I had to…for that matter, I told Marina…" His gaze shifted momentarily from hers and he blinked exaggeratedly a couple of times, as if dazed, while Leslie stared at him. Frowning with effort, he doggedly continued on. "…I told Marina to let Arnulf know I'd be here indefinitely. Might set up an offshoot of my business here…if Mr. Roarke says okay…could sleep in the jungle…" His voice grew faint and trailed off, and all at once he staggered aside and fell to the ground in a heap. Leslie shrieked.

"Christian, oh my God! Are you awake?" she cried, dropping to her knees and trying to unbutton his overcoat. "You really are getting heatstroke, aren't you? Oh God, I didn't mean it! Say something, Christian, are you awake?"

"Barely," Christian mumbled, stubbornly trying to sit up, without much success. "Left Lilla Jordsö…middle of the night yesterday morning. Couldn't sleep. Didn't sleep…noisy airports…bytta' flygplan sju gånger…ville bara se dig…" While he lapsed into slurred jordiska, Leslie finally got the last button undone and threw aside the coat panels. She fell back on her heels and stared at him again while Christian concluded, almost clearly, "Måste sova…must sleep, I mean…"

"Well, you're dressed for it," Leslie said dryly, studying Christian's rumpled pajamas. "I don't think I believe this. You left Lilla Jordsö when, again?"

"Two-thirty yesterday morning. Hate all airports," muttered Christian, half in a stupor. "Haven't slept in…"

"Thirty hours!" shouted Leslie incredulously, doing the chronological conversions in her head. "Are you completely insane?"

Christian squinted blearily up at her. "Must be, everyone keeps asking me that," he remarked hazily.

Leslie, unable to take her eyes off him, slowly began to shake her head, grinning, then snickering, then laughing—and then bursting into tears. "You idiot," she wailed. "You're making me as crazy as you are. You practically killed yourself to get here because of me?"

Christian looked confused, quite like a child who hasn't yet completely awakened from a nap. "Course I did, I love you," he said in bewilderment. "Tried to live without you, but I can't. I love you, y'know." Leslie broke down entirely, and he forced his exhausted body into a crouched position that matched hers, enfolding her into a snug embrace. "Grött inte, älskling min, allt är nu rätt med världen," he assured her, completely unaware in his sleep-deprived fog that he'd relapsed into his native tongue. Not that it mattered to Leslie; just the sound of his voice was enough for her.

But when Christian began to droop, she sat up in teary alarm. "I need to get you to a bed somewhere," she said, her mind racing. "Oh God…and everything's full!"

"Sleep in the jungle," mumbled Christian.

"In the jungle? Well, that proves your insanity at any rate," said Leslie only half jokingly. Christian shook his head again and she grew serious. "I left the jeep on the Ring Road. Come on, Christian, my love, it's not far, but I can't carry you. You've got to walk."

"Walked two hours today looking for you," said Christian in a dreamy, faraway voice while Leslie climbed to her feet and gave him a hand in regaining his. "You always drive away in your car. Cannot catch you. You see me never, and I believe I am in…in-viss…you not see me."

Leslie rolled her eyes, her heart full, her emotions oddly triggered anew by his thickening accent and deteriorating English. "Stop babbling and let's go. I've got you." But Christian continued murmuring as though to himself, first in English with jordisk syntax, then in jordiska itself. By the time they reached the main house he'd fallen silent, and she cast him an anxious glance. His head had fallen back against the headrest of his seat, and his eyes were closed, his head lolling. "Christian?" she ventured.

He came back to life with a violent jerk that made her flinch in her own turn, and looked wildly around, eyes blank. "Va' hender? Var är jag?"

"Oh you," Leslie said softly, smiling despite herself. "Come on, my love, into the house with you." She more or less walked him across the porch and inside.

Roarke looked up when they entered, then rose slowly from his chair and stared in amazement at Christian, who moved like a rusted-out automaton. "Leslie," he exclaimed, "what happened?"

"He found me, Father, in the luau clearing. He's dead on his feet," Leslie explained in a breathless rush. "I just remembered we have no vacancies—all these winter vacationers, you know—but he says he hasn't slept since he left home, and he mentioned sleeping in the jungle twice, and I really think this overcoat of his is giving him heatstroke—he's been delirious and falling down and—"

Roarke held up his hands. "Wait, Leslie, wait. He hasn't slept since leaving home, you say?"

Christian's half-closed eyes fluttered and he said unexpectedly, "Hate all airports. Too noisy. Plane change seven times—told Leslie before. Oh, is that a jungle out there? Said I'd sleep there…" He began to lurch toward the open French shutters.

An uncontrollable grin broke out on Roarke's features while Leslie lunged after Christian and caught him by the coat collar, only to have him walk right out of the garment and proceed to the terrace. "Christian!" she exclaimed and grabbed his arm impatiently. When Roarke started to laugh, she threw him a scolding look and admonished, "Father, this isn't funny!" Meantime Christian, still walking and apparently unaware he was attached to Leslie, swung in a drunken circle and stumbled to a halt, blinking again and once more shaking his head hard.

"It'll seem funny later, sweetheart," Roarke said with a reassuring grin. "Christian's problem is sleep deprivation, not heatstroke. Just put him in the spare room upstairs—I'll have Mariki prepare the futon in there. Try to keep him awake a little longer." He hastened out from behind the desk and hurried off to the kitchen.

Christian yawned so widely his jaw cracked. "Leslie? Is that you?" He squinted at her and shook his head. "Oh, no, I'm dreaming again…"

"No you're not," Leslie said, "and I'll prove it to you." She pulled his head down and kissed him. As if by reflex, Christian's arms closed around her and he responded, so ardently that by the time Roarke came back with Mariki, he and Leslie seemed glued together.

"Well, well, well. I apologize for doubting you, sir, but I still say that young man has plenty to answer for," Mariki announced tartly.

Leslie broke the kiss and awarded Mariki a black stare. "I'm well aware you'd like to see him dead, but—"

"Hey, come back," Christian protested then, like a little boy, his unfocused eyes searching for something. Leslie turned back to give him another surprised look, then again to the cook, whose expression was censorious.

"He's about to pass out," Leslie said urgently. "Save it for later, Mariki, all right?"

"Hah," the cook grumbled. "Just for you, Miss Leslie." She headed up the stairs, complaining the whole way.

Christian said brightly, "She wants to shoot me."

"She's gonna have to get in line," said Leslie, but her heart really wasn't in it. He was curiously appealing in his sleep-deprived mania, and she had to laugh at herself. "But I won't let her. At least not till tomorrow morning."

Roarke couldn't keep back his laughter. "Leslie Susan, I daresay Christian has been punished quite enough," he suggested. "I think, in his current condition, that by the time we get him upstairs, Mariki will have long since had the futon ready. It's very fortunate he's already dressed for bed." This dry observation drew a giggle from Leslie before she realized something.

"Father, he must have come with luggage," she exclaimed. "Where is it?"

"Oh, it's here," Roarke told her, taking one of Christian's arms and, with Leslie, leading the delirious prince to the stairs. "He came here first, looking for you, and it wasn't until he had left that I realized there wasn't a vacant structure anywhere on the island. So his things are already upstairs waiting for him."

They got Christian up the steps and to the spare room, enduring the occasional sleepy comment in jordiska all the way there, and found Mariki just turning back the covers. "Well," the cook said sourly as they came in, "it's all ready for that young fool, though I really don't think he deserves—"

"Mariki," said Roarke and Leslie warningly, in perfect synchrony.

"Shut up," Christian grunted in the startled silence that followed, and Leslie began to laugh helplessly. Mariki threw her hands in the air, gave up and departed without another word, and amid their chortling Roarke and Leslie guided Christian to the futon and sat him down on it.

"There," said Roarke, "I'll let you handle the rest, Leslie. When you're finished, come down for dinner." She nodded, and he left the room.

"Shut up," Christian said again, this time pleadingly. "Trying to sleep."

"I know, my love," Leslie said soothingly and threw back the covers. "Come on, lie down now." Obediently he stretched out on the mattress and smiled faintly before releasing a small contented sigh and falling instantly into a very deep sleep. Leslie shook her head indulgently, wearily amused, and pressed a soft kiss onto his lips before covering him and leaving the room.

Final chapter this week, I promise! Maybe by the time I have a new story ready to go, my ridiculous computer problems will be solved. Again, thanks to everybody for bearing with me all this time…