Her Galahad (30 page)

Keith's face lifted, without a shadow of guilt. "No. His feelings where she was concerned were never—reasonable."

She nodded. "Thanks for that at least." She turned for the door as Joan brought up a tray of coffee, cakes and cookies. "Thanks, Joan, but no, thanks. We're leaving."

"Theresa, don't leave me."

The heartfelt plea touched even Jirrah. He turned to the man who'd always hated him, and saw a pitiful old man—one who truly loved his daughter. "I need you, baby." His shaking hand reached out to her. "You're the joy of my life. You have been since you were born. I've missed you so much since you left."

Tess looked at her father for a long moment. "Then you can imagine how I feel about Tani. Tani, my daughter, my baby, the child I'd never even seen when you took her from me. The child you told me was deformed and dead."

Keith's hand fell. "I retired because I have Parkinson's Disease." His voice trembled. "I may not have much time left."

Tess's lips quivered. "You know, five minutes ago, that would have made a difference. But not now. Not anymore. I've done my duty by you. If I stayed now, duty is all it would be, because love, like respect, has to be earned." She tucked the papers in her cotton-weave bag, then looked her father right in the eyes. "You want me to deny my daughter, my past, myself—my heritage from my mother, like Duncan does. You don't even know how much I hate being called Theresa." She stood beside Jirrah, taking his hand in a motion that held no defiance or anger: just a plain statement of support. "Jirrah always knew."

Jirrah looked at the man who was his father-in-law, and wondered how a man like Keith Earldon had ever produced such a pure and honest miracle as the woman beside him. "I feel sorry for you. It's not your wealth that blinds you, or your social position—it's your own prejudice. I know rich people who are nothing like you, high-society families who love their kids enough to let them find their own lives and happiness, their way. But not you. Your pride, the need to control those you love, has made you lose what matters most—your daughter's respect and trust. She loved you so much once, she'd have done anything for you and Duncan. And you betrayed her too many times to count. You even closed your eyes when Beller put her in hospital."

The old man closed his eyes. "No—Cameron wouldn't—"

"Doctors and nurses, strangers, knew what he did to her—but you never wanted to know the truth, Mr. Earldon. You still want to believe Tessa's lying. How do you think that makes her feel?"

Keith swallowed, but didn't reply.

Tess took his hand; he felt her need of his strength at that moment. He squeezed back in gentle encouragement. She drew a deep breath. "Something Duncan said yesterday made me wonder. Did my mother die? Where you're concerned I don't know what's true anymore. Is the memorial stone a sham, made up to cover your pride? Is my mother alive?"

Keith was a cold gray shade now. His breaths were shallow and gasping; but his eyes turned to Jirrah, narrowed in a strange fury reminiscent of Duncan's inexplicable rage yesterday. He wouldn't look at Tess. He made no answer.

Tess sighed, her face hard. "I should have known even that was a lie. I'll find the Beckwiths in Canada if you won't tell me—but I'll never forgive you if I have to do that. Tell me the truth for once, Dad. Give me that dignity. Is my mother alive? Have you and Duncan kept her away from me?"

Her father's head fell; his fists clenched and unclenched, in feeble pain. "I don't know if she's alive or dead now," he mumbled. "She left Australia that night with Bob Masters, the gardener. They had a landscape gardening business in Alberta last I heard." He looked out the window. "She tried to get access to you and Duncan. She wanted custody if she could. She told me she wanted to bury the past. She wanted to be
friends
with me!" His voice filled with quivering rage. "Duncan wouldn't speak to her. He hated her for what she did. I blocked her attempts at access visits and custody. I used every legal avenue to keep her away from you. I burned every letter she sent, changed the number to a private one so she couldn't call, but she wouldn't give up. She tried to see you for at least the next twelve years." His face, when it turned to her, was working with emotion. "She loved you and Duncan very much."

"I see," she said slowly. Finally she understood why her father, who'd married Rachel Beckwith, had become the man he was. "Your motive for hating Jirrah was never racism—it was because of my mother. You still love her. And, knowing you, you couldn't look at your own dominating nature for her leaving, so you took the easy way out, blaming her indigenous background. You cheated me of my mother's love, and warped Duncan's heart with your poison, to get revenge. You didn't care what it did to us. You allowed me to commit bigamy to keep yourself safe from reminders of my mother! You married me to a man just like you, to prove to yourself it wasn't your fault Mum was unhappy with you, that she left you! You
love
me? What sort of love is that?"

Her father lay back in the chair, looking old and tired. "Yes," he said, very quietly, as though shedding a burden. "Yes, you're right. I did all that." His gaze fell on her. "You don't understand, Theresa. You never could unless you've known the kind of love that blinds you to everything else. And she left me for the
gardener,
one of her damned low-class Aborigine mates she kept associating with! Then you grew more and more like her every day. So I obliterated everything that would remind you of her, including your name." He sighed, resting his head on the wing of the chair. "She's the reason you don't like being called Theresa. You couldn't pronounce it as a little girl—it came out Tai-sa. She called you Tessa after that. She said you named yourself better than we had." He sighed again. "I thought you'd have forgotten about it by now. I wanted you to forget I was afraid you'd end up like her."

"And leave you," she said, soft with meaning. "That's it, isn't it, Dad? That's why you did all this. You were afraid I'd leave you, just like my mother. That's why you married me off to Cameron—because he'd keep me in a cage, and close to you." She gave Jirrah a slow, crumpled smile. "Rut I left anyway. I'm just like her. I live like her. I married a man like her. And you know what, Dad? I'm forgiving, like her. I hope she's happy. I hope she found love with her humble gardener."

Keith stared at her. "You've changed. You're harder on me. On your brother."

"Maybe." She shrugged. "Maybe I am hard. Like you were when you didn't tell me my daughter was alone and needed me, after her adoptive parents died. You left your own granddaughter alone and suffering, so you could feel comfortable with the way you wanted me to live." She turned to Jirrah. "She's an orphan," she told him, biting her lip, her eyes glowing in vivid happiness. "Tani lost her adoptive parents eighteen months ago in a car accident. She lives with her grandparents, who love her dearly, but they're old and sick—and Tani…" She swallowed tears. "She can barely remember her other parents. Her grandparents find it difficult to cope with her. She asked me if I'd play pretend with her the other week. I was her mummy. My poor baby's been so lonely." She gulped again. "I know it's selfish of me to feel so glad she's lost her adoptive parents, when she's been alone—"

He cupped her face in his hands, smiling. "But it's the miracle we never expected to happen. Our daughter needs us. She needs her mother."

"She needs her daddy, too," she whispered. "Let's go to her." She grabbed his hand again, started to the door.

"Just a second, Tess." He turned to Keith. "I want you to stop the surveillance of Tessa and Tani. Call off your watchdogs. Is that clear enough, Mr. Earldon?"

"Or what?" Keith asked, his eyes glittering with hate. "You'll have me sharing a cell with my son?"

"No. I have too much respect for Tessa to do that." He sighed. "Just do it, Mr. Earldon—for your daughter's sake, for your granddaughter's—and maybe yours, too. Maybe one day you'll get Tessa's trust back … maybe even her respect."

Keith Earldon looked at his daughter's face: high, proud, trying to hide the tears of shame—and, slowly, he nodded. "Call me sometimes—Tessa? Let me know how you and Tani are?"

His voice wobbled; he suddenly sounded very old.

Tessa nodded, her glowing eyes glazing over with sudden sadness. "I'll try." She touched her father's hand for a brief moment. "Goodbye, Dad." They held hands as they left the house she'd grown up in, without looking back.

Chapter 17

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T
essa's continued silence as they drove toward the northern freeway out of
Sydney
made Jirrah nervous. "Are you all right?"

She sighed and nodded, her eyes clouded, detached. "Do you know, I am? I don't understand—I thought I'd be a mess. But, though it hurts—though I know he'll never change, and I'll probably grieve later for that—I feel somehow free, as well."

"Free to find your own future?" he suggested, uncertain of what she'd say to that … unsure if he really wanted to know.

"Maybe." She shook her hair from its plait, rebraiding it over her shoulder and down her breast. He almost careened into oncoming traffic, watching her. Such a simple act—so exotic and sensual under her tapering fingers, her golden, slanted face incandescent in the half-dark glow of the stormy morning light. "Maybe," she finally said again. "At the moment I just feel free. Peaceful. Finally alone to think for myself without guilt. Like the chains they put on my heart have been broken." She shrugged. "I'd like to meet my mother. I'd like to get to know her."

She was staring straight ahead, as if she spoke to herself … as if he didn't exist.

He didn't know what he should say to her quiet, emotionless assertion. Should he call it for a lie, or believe her? Maybe she didn't know; he sure as bell didn't. The only thing he knew right now was Tess was slipping away from him. He felt it growing stronger in every word she spoke. She'd walked out on her brother and father without a backward glance. She'd told him time after time their daughter was all she wanted. What if the things she'd said about feeling free were just plain truth?

"We can't go back to the hotel." He pulled over to the roadside next to a park, got out a card from the hotel, and punched numbers into the mobile. "I'll get the manager to pack our things up and send them to the pub in Lynch Hill."

"Good idea," she murmured absently. "Cameron's bound to have someone watching Mrs. Savage's place, in case."

"He won't be there himself. I reckon he'll have others watching for him, now he knows the police want to talk to him—but we won't take any chances." He talked into the phone. "Hi, it's Mr. McLaren from room 106. I'd like our things packed up, held for one week, then sent on. I'm prepared to give you an extra five hundred above what anyone else offers for your absolute discretion on this matter. Yes. Talk to no one but the police. You know nothing about us except we stayed two nights, and you don't know where we went." He gave the proprietor the contact number. "Thank you. I'll send a thousand now for your good faith. I'll call you with the address when I want the bags sent on."

She smiled at him after he disconnected. "Good thinking, 99. You covered all the bases."

"You have to, to outsmart them. I've made my life a maze of conflicting information and half-truths, so they never know where they are, or exactly what I'm doing."

"Do
you
know?"

He grinned at her knowing little half smile. "Most of the time. I fly blind sometimes, for the hell of it. Like when I landed at Marshall's Creek." His mouth twitched. "It's going to be a hell of a mess, putting my life back together once all this is over. Just being me again is going to feel weird."

She was silent for a minute, looking as though she was trying to find the right words to say. He held his breath, waiting—then the phone bleeped again. "Yeah," he snapped into it.

Rod's voice crackled over the line, sounding ecstatic. "Good news, Jirrah! We haven't found Beller yet, but Duncan Earldon suddenly offered to turn State's evidence against him, and led us to Aladdin's Cave! He gave the police more information than we could ever have hoped for on the creep."