§ § § -- February 4, 2002

It had been a long and difficult week for both Christian and Leslie. Their friends had immediately rallied around them, offering support and loyalty that they both appreciated deeply; Christian's employees, too, had declared their support in the face of the rumors going around. But it was different with many of Roarke's employees, mostly those who had little or no regular contact with either Leslie or Christian and who tended to read tabloids on a regular basis. The previous Wednesday when the couple had returned to work from their shared weekend—the entirety of which they'd spent holed up in their house—there had been many speculative glances at Christian, many pitying looks directed at Leslie, a lot of headshaking, and what appeared to be general censure. They'd met Roarke at the main house for lunch that day and had both admitted to having a great deal of trouble controlling their tempers at all the open reactions. It had prompted Roarke to send a blanket e-mail warning his employees to mind their own business and leave Christian and Leslie to theirs, to keep the peace around the island.

But Roarke had been doing some investigating of his own. Like Gordy the week before, he had read the complete article in the magazine that had employed Gordy's photos, and had been more than a little amazed at the idea that Christian might have given the singer the virus. It was even more absurd than the suggestion that Astrid Franzén had passed it to him. The sentence claiming that the magazine had attempted to contact Christian for comment had amazed him almost as much, and he had made a few phone calls to find out if anyone had, in fact, called looking to ask Christian for comments of any kind on the situation. Everyone told him no, making Roarke surmise the writer of the piece was simply trying to get away with laziness in not getting Christian's side of the tale.

It had even gone to their guests that weekend. Ever since that anonymous castle employee had told the true story of Christian's second marriage, his fame had grown, pulling the fame of the rest of the jordiska royals and their home country along with it; like it or not, he was more of a public figure now than he had been throughout his life till that point. This, of course, meant that people also knew that Leslie was his wife, and she'd had enough pitying or judgmental looks from even their fantasizing guests that she'd broken down in tears on Saturday evening and begged Roarke to let her out of luau duty that night. Roarke had called Christian, explained things, and had him take her home, so that she had spent her first-ever Saturday night sleeping in hers and Christian's shared home.

Now, on Monday morning, when they saw Christian waiting in front of the main house as always, Leslie threw herself into his arms and burst into tears again, so distraught that she couldn't even find the time to greet him. Christian had no need to ask what it was about; he sighed deeply and cradled her close, rocking her gently as she cried into his shoulder. "Was there another incident at the plane dock?" he asked.

Roarke nodded. "Unfortunately, yes. Our guests at least had the sense to withhold any further comments, but several of the native girls had no such grace about them."

Christian shook his head. "We can lie low for only so long," he said. "We both have to work, and there are various other reasons we have to go out in public. For me, it's mainly an annoyance—but Leslie isn't accustomed to this sort of thing, and my primary anger over this is that she's being hurt. I feel as if I need to apologize, Mr. Roarke."

Roarke said, "It's no more your fault than anyone else's, Christian, so there's no need for any such action on your part. However, before you and Leslie return home, I would ask for some of your time. There is a new article that I think you should both see."

Christian stilled, his expression going wary. "Is there?"

"Come in with me, both of you," Roarke said and started toward the house. Christian turned to Leslie and rested his head against hers.

"My Rose, please, don't cry," he pleaded, still slowly smoothing her hair as he'd been doing since she and Roarke came back. "I admit to some trepidation over whatever your father has to show us now, but perhaps it's something good. I'm so sorry you had to be dragged into my scandal."

"It's not your scandal," Leslie said fiercely through her tears, looking up at him. "It's Astrid Franzén's. You can tell me it's an annoyance all you want, but I know it's hurting you too, and that kills me. How can people be so cruel?"

"I don't know, my darling," Christian said softly. "I don't know. Well, come on, let's see what Mr. Roarke has waiting for us." Slowly they turned and, each with an arm around the other, climbed the steps and crossed the porch to join Roarke, who had paused at the door to wait for them. He gave them a sympathetic smile and ushered them in ahead of him.

Urging them to sit down, he took his own chair and picked up a British magazine from the desk. "This arrived by courier just before Leslie and I left for the plane dock," he told them, "and the pertinent page was marked with a handwritten note. As it happens, the note is in jordiska, so I am afraid I must ask you to translate it, Christian, if you would."

Looking very puzzled, Christian accepted the slip of paper Roarke handed to him and unfolded it. "There isn't much to it," he said, noting the scant few lines on the paper. He read it, his eyes widening when he reached the signature. "Herregud."

"What's it say?" Leslie asked.

He cast her an amazed glance, swept it across Roarke, then read aloud, translating the words. "Dear Christian, I should have said something before, but there has been so much trouble with the media lately that I have been trying to keep as low a profile as possible. But when this was brought to my attention, I knew it was necessary for me to right a terrible wrong. You will see what I mean in the article I have marked here. I don't know exactly how to reach you, so I am sending this to Mr. Roarke. I wish you and your wife Leslie all the happiness in the world—you both deserve it. In friendship, Astrid Franzén."

Roarke and Leslie looked at each other; Leslie's mouth fell open and Roarke smiled. Since Christian had the note, he gave Leslie the magazine. "Go ahead and read the article aloud, child," he suggested gently.

He had opened it to the page in question and folded back the preceding pages so that Leslie could easily see the article. She stared in surprise at the title, which read, "HIV-afflicted singer sets record straight." Reading this aloud, she looked up at her father and husband and remarked, "I don't know whether that's meant to be a pun or not."

They both laughed. "Read it, my darling," Christian urged.

Leslie took a breath and read: "Singer and Lilla Jordsö native Astrid Franzén, 41, knew her life would be changed forever when she discovered she had the virus that causes AIDS—but she never imagined that this revelation would adversely affect other lives as well. She contacted this magazine just after the explosive headlines circulated around the world and asked us to print the following statement, explaining that she wanted it to appear in an English-language magazine in order that the greatest number of people would see and understand her intent. Says Franzén: 'It has come to my attention that a large reason for the enormous publicity about my illness is that I was briefly involved with Prince Christian of my home country's royal family. Before any further damage is done to him or his wife, I want it known that he is completely innocent of all speculation in the matter. I did not pass the virus to him, and he most certainly didn't give it to me. Christian and I were friends in 1989 for several months, and in all that time we never once did anything more than hold hands. We parted amicably in the autumn of that year and have not been in contact since then. We never slept together, never even kissed each other. It's my hope that this will take the pressure off Christian and his wife—pressure they never deserved.' " Leslie looked up then; Roarke was smiling slightly, and Christian looked amazed. "And here's the kicker," she said softly. "Listen to this. 'I wish to thank Gordy Strassner for calling this to my attention so that I was able to make things right.' "

Christian stared at her. "Gordy?" he said, flabbergasted.

"That's what it says here," said Leslie. "I'm just as amazed as you are, my love."

"Perhaps it's not so surprising," Roarke said. "You'll recall that he maintained his innocence from the beginning. After you two left for home last Monday, he insisted that the magazine had told him they meant to use his photographs for something in note of your first wedding anniversary, and that he would never play such a trick on his friends—or indeed on anyone at all. Since then he has shown me some material in support of his claim, and while I am afraid it will do little to help him, I must tell you both that I find this action on his part very commendable. He did it knowing that it would help the two of you without easing any of the burden on him."

Christian and Leslie looked at each other in a stunned silence for a long minute or so; then Leslie bit her lip and said hesitantly, "Christian, my darling, I think maybe we misjudged Gordy…I mean, a thing like that…it just wasn't like him at all."

Christian broke his gaze and looked at the floor, sighing. "No, I think you're right. He and I had become friends across the past year, what with all the times Anton and I had to go to the newspaper to fix computer problems, and he always struck me as a very unassuming person, very amiable and easygoing. It occurs to me now that if he had really known what that rag was going to do with his photos of us, he wouldn't even have bothered asking our permission to take them." He looked up again in time to see Leslie's nod, and he reached out for her hand, which she grasped immediately. They both turned then to Roarke, and Christian concluded, "Do you suppose he would be willing to listen to our apology?"

"Of that," said Roarke, "I have no doubt whatsoever. Let me call him and ask him to come over here." He did so, and Christian and Leslie settled back to wait, both looking rueful and wistful. After a couple of minutes Leslie got up and knelt beside Christian's chair, handing him the magazine she held so that he could see the text and the accompanying photo of Astrid Franzén, which appeared to have been taken recently.

"Mr. Roarke?" They all turned at the sound of Gordy's tentative voice, and Leslie stood up, still clutching Christian's hand. Gordy seemed startled to see them there, and had a look about him as if he were going to shy away at any moment.

"Welcome, Gordy," Roarke said, "and do come in…please, have a seat."

Gordy hesitated. "I don't know if…if your daughter and son-in-law would—"

Christian and Leslie looked at each other with regret, and he stood up beside her, with the magazine in one hand, his other arm around her. "I don't blame you for being leery after our last confrontation," Christian said. "But…well, Mr. Roarke showed us something that made us think. Perhaps you've seen it?" He offered Gordy the magazine.

Looking very surprised, Gordy came in and accepted it, peering at the article that Christian and Leslie had been reading. His eyes went very wide when he read the final line, and he looked up at Roarke. "When did you get this?"

"Just this morning," Roarke replied. "I believe the magazine will be in stores later today, but this particular issue came directly from Miss Franzén herself, addressed to Christian in care of me, and with a note to him from her."

"I never figured she'd give me credit," Gordy said. "I just thought she oughta know what was going on, that's all."

"It seems to me that Miss Franzén corrected two wrongs," Roarke observed. "The first was the rumor that surrounded Christian; and the second was the misunderstanding between you about those photographs."

Leslie nodded. "I think you're right, Father." She turned to Gordy and said softly, "We both want to apologize, Gordy. We jumped to conclusions…the only ones we could, but they were wrong anyway, and we never let that cross our minds."

"We can't do anything about the photos," Christian said with an apologetic smile, "but if you decide you want to take some sort of action against that magazine, you'll have our support." He started to say something, thought better of it, then cleared his throat and went ahead anyway. "If I'm prying, tell me…but what did they offer to pay you?"

"Doesn't matter," Gordy said and shrugged. "I still haven't gotten a check from them. Of course, if I did, I'd just tear it up. No amount of money is worth having friends think I sold them down the river." He handed the magazine back to Christian. "The Chronicle officially fired me last Wednesday. Maybe that's just as well. I still have offers from those newspapers in Canada. Maybe I'll move there for a few years and have the chance to experience four seasons again."

"You aren't leaving on our account, are you?" Leslie asked with alarm.

For the first time Gordy really looked at her, saw her expression, then Christian's, and smiled. "Aw, c'mon, Leslie, it's not that bad. I was kind of stagnating here anyway, just taking fluff shots for celebrity news. I mean, heck, Christian, you were the one who couldn't figure out why I'd want to make a career out of that."

Christian grinned sheepishly and admitted, "That's true—but I don't like the thought that it was our reaction to that magazine's use of your photographs that made you decide to leave Fantasy Island. Look…if Leslie and I speak for you, would you stay?"

Gordy stared at him, and Leslie said quickly, "It's really up to you…I mean, if you truly want to try something different, we're glad for you. I just…we…" She swallowed hard, and Christian squeezed her in reassurance. "I just feel guilty now," Leslie finally concluded in a small voice. "Like we drove you away."

"I feel the same," Christian confessed. "If you decided this before all this mess began, that's one thing…but if your decision came about because of us…"

Gordy smiled again and shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels and toes. "Well, to tell you the truth, it was kind of a big part of it. But before you say anything, I just want you guys to know—you don't need to feel guilty, or responsible, or anything else. I'm glad we've got everything straightened out, and that I have your friendship again…that's the best part of this. But it's gonna be hard for me to live down what happened here. You two could talk till you got laryngitis and some people would still just believe whatever they wanted to. I've already contacted one of the Canadian papers and accepted their offer, and I'll be leaving the end of the week."

"But you'll come back, won't you?" Leslie asked hopefully.

"Hey," Gordy said, "as long as I know I have friends here, I'll be back. I feel better about all this, knowing that Astrid Franzén made the truth public." He paused then and his face grew curious. "Uh, Christian, I was wondering…what's 'e-mail' in jordiska?"

Surprised, Christian said, "We call it elektropost. Why?"

Gordy grinned. "That's what I thought. When I sent Astrid Franzén that message, I did it by going on her website and clicking on that word at the bottom of the main page. I didn't know what it was and just clicked to see what it'd do." He snickered at the look that Christian and Leslie exchanged. "I just learned my first word in another language. Thanks, friend." He stuck his hand out at Christian, who let Leslie go long enough to shake it; Leslie, for her part, gave Gordy a swift hug.

"We'll miss you, Strassner," she said. "Keep in touch."

"Good luck," said Christian, and Gordy thanked them and Roarke before turning and departing. They stood silent for a moment; then Christian suddenly said, "You know, I just thought of something…we'd better warn Canada to plant extra crops so they'll be able to feed him when he gets there."

"I dare you to tell Gordy you said that!" Leslie exclaimed playfully amid the laughter, and Christian shrugged, chortling.
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Yup, Gordy will return eventually. Meanwhile, having filled in so darn much backstory for Christian in the last few tales, I've decided it's Leslie's turn. Watch for some of her history in the next story.