Her Galahad

by Melissa James

  "Theresa Rachel Earldon."

  "Earldon … with an o or an e?"

  "O. E-a-r-l-d-o-n."

  The woman punched it in, and shook her head. "No, sorry. The only Theresa Rachel Earldon in New South Wales married Cameron James Beller on April 17, 1994." She frowned. "Beller—?"

  Tessa smiled, quick, insincere. "Thank you. We'll be back for the birth certificate in an hour."

  "Like hell. I'm not leaving it like this," Jirrah snarled softly, for her ears alone. He said aloud to the woman, "Does Emily Beller's birth certificate name her father?"

  The clerk checked. "No. It's marked 'father unknown.'"

  Jirrah looked at Tessa, his eyes narrowed in challenge. He was helpless to change this situation until he was declared alive. Only she could do this for him, and for Emily; and she couldn't leave it like this. "Is it possible to change that part of the birth certificate and name the father?"

  The woman blinked. "I don't know … I've never heard of anyone asking before. I'd have to see the Registrar."

  "Do so." She lifted her chin. "The birth certificate was incorrectly filled. The father is David Jirrah Oliveri."

  The woman stared at them, then started backing off, her face showing patent disbelief. "The dead man. Of course, Mrs. Beller. Mr.—um. Oliveri—yes. Sorry. Please take a seat. I'll be back in a moment. I'll call the Registrar to inquire about the matter. I'll just be, um. Yes." She walked to a desk behind her, picking up the phone. "Security?" she mumbled into the receiver, trying to cover the word by blocking it with her hand.

  "We'd better get out of here. She'll call security to throw us out. She thinks we're nuts," he murmured in her ear. "If the cops pick me up now, I'm gone. We'll see Rod. He can get it, and get things set in motion. We've done all we can here."

  "But—the certificate!"

  "Don't you get it, Tess? I blew it by asking you to change Emily's birth certificate now. I should have waited, kept this simple. I just can't afford the cops checking me out until we've talked to Rod, and given him all our evidence." He took her hand, his eyes anguished and furious. "As much as this stupid farce galls me, until I have a few legalities in motion to have myself declared alive, I have to lie low. It'd be a total debacle if the police pick me up now. With my record they'd suspect me of declaring myself dead to commit a felony—and Beller and Duncan would be right on top of it. They must be desperate to get me put back in the car by now. Let's go."

  They left the building quietly; but when they got out into the pale autumn sunshine, they broke into a run, dodging people traffic, Jirrah gripping her hand tight.

  As they rounded the corner, a courier on a bike cut onto the curb to avoid traffic, his speeding bike aimed tight at Tessa. She gave a high-pitched gasp of shock, but couldn't move.

  Jirrah quickly pulled her back against him. "I've got you." He held her close, caressing her hair until the tremors subsided. She rested her head on his shoulder, reveling in the rare sensation of just being held without demand, cared for without wanting a return. Wanting to he touched by the man holding her; loving the rippling muscle beneath warm skin, knowing he'd never use his strength against her.

  "Hey, you!"

  Their foreheads bumped when, as one, their faces jerked up. Two policemen in uniform were striding toward them.

  "I can't let them take me," Jirrah hissed in her ear. "They'll destroy me."

  He didn't mean the police. He meant Cameron, and her family. Without thought she stepped in front of him, but he pulled her back, facing the police with flat defiance in his eyes.

  "Yes, you. Come back here. You nearly hit this lady. If her friend hadn't pulled her back, you'd have knocked her down!"

  Tessa gasped again, almost choking on the manic laughter of relief. "It's the courier!"

  "You couriers don't own the road! Riding on the pedestrian curb to avoid traffic is an offence—"

  "Let's go," he murmured in her ear. "Rod's office is in Strawberry Hills. It's only a couple of minutes away. Once he's heard our story and has the photocopies of my evidence of their corruption, it doesn't matter who picks us up or why."

  They bolted for the car and safety as the policeman continued to lecture and then fine the sulky courier.

  * * *

  "This is unbelievable."

  After an hour of explanations, Jirrah's old friend was still in shock. "Let me get this straight. Your wife's family had you imprisoned, declared dead and had your child illegally adopted out?"

  Jirrah nodded again. "That's about it."

  Rod turned to Tess. "The adoption was under duress?"

  "If being persuaded to sign papers when under a hallucinogenic sedative is duress. We have the midwife's affidavit. She knew I'd signed no papers before the sedative was administered."

  The lawyer blew out a sigh. "That's legal duress, all right—and with the affidavit, easily proven in court. And you say Cameron Beller married you, knowing Jirrah was alive?"

  Yes He was an original witness in Jirrah's indictment, and star witness in his court case three months after the marriage."

  And he's chasing you around the state, fire-bombing trucks and burning houses down."

  They both nodded.

  We are talking Cameron Beller, the barrister, aren't we?" he asked, almost pleading for them to deny it. "I mean, this guy's stinking rich, a top gun in the legal profession, and seriously high society. He's the acme of respectability."

  Tessa's chin lifted. "Yes. That Cameron Beller."

  "Whew." Rod blew out a sigh. "Man, I've heard some crazy stories in my time, but this takes the blue ribbon. No one will believe this story without a great deal of compelling evidence."

  Tess handed him the death certificate she'd been given six years before and, by some strange miracle, neither Earldon nor Beller had ever taken from her. "See? My brother gave me this. It's dated six years ago."

  Jirrah handed his over, as well. "And here's the second one, dated over two years ago. This one's legal. I checked with the Register of Births, Deaths and Marriages."

  Rod's eyebrows slammed together. "Guni," he muttered in hard anger—a word Jirrah thought better left untranslated to a bewildered Tess. "And you had this before your case? Why the hell didn't you tell me? I could've won for you with this evidence!"

  Jirrah flicked a quick glance at Tess. "I didn't have most of this evidence back then."

  Rod must have seen the guarded look on Jirrah's face; with a swift look of comprehension, he nodded. "Well, the fake death cert's easily fixed. Hunt out the doctor on the certificate, see if he's real and paid off, or they used the name and practitioner number of a doctor who's dead. I bet the latter … hang on," he muttered in excitement, looking at the papers. "Look at the signature, guys. What did Beller's dad do for a living?" Tess frowned. "He was a doctor—one of Australia's first specialist plastic surgeons. Dr. Beller died about a year before I left Cameron." Her eyes widened. You mean—?"

  Rod grinned. "Oh, yeah, baby, that says Michael Samuel

  Beller, all right. Is that the right name?"

  Looking dazed, Tess nodded.

  "Then his signature's on the second death certificate—more than a year after his own death."

  Jirrah felt his grin almost split his face. "As they say in the classics, Mr. Beller—gotcha!"

  "Oh, yeah—we got 'em good. That's a felony, using a dead practitioner's name and number—and it don't matter what they hatch up to prove you did it. This screams conflict of interest big time since Beller married your wife within weeks. Even if he maintains Dr. Beller cooked up the scheme, the second certificate tells the tale." Rod laughed. "So we just take you to the cops and have you fingerprinted to prove you're alive, and get Dr. Beller's death certificate. That'll be easy enough." He frowned. "And you say they managed to wipe your marriage from the records, as well?"

  "Yep. We just checked. But I've kept my copy of our marriage certificate in a safe place since our wedding day. Here's a copy. And there's this." Jirrah pulled out
two folded pieces of paper from his wallet. "Photocopies of cheques I took out of my safe-deposit box this morning. One from Beller, one from Earldon. Fifty thousand dollars each. Both made out to me. Both dated the day of my initial arrest, the same day as the first death certificate, but before my conviction in court. I think this is why Beller had me declared dead a second time, and why he blew up my car and house. He has too much to lose—his reputation as a cleanskin, his right to practice, his reputation in society—not to mention his freedom. I have evidence to put him in lockup for a long time, and Earldon for at least a year or two; but with my record the cops will arrest me first and ask questions later. Especially if Earldon and Beller lead the cheer squad."

  Rod shook his head. "This is the weirdest case I've worked on, and that's saying something in this job. You should call the TV networks—they'd make bids on turning it into a miniseries."

  A tiny sound made Jirrah turn. Tess sat like a statue carved in marble, all life and color drained from her face. She didn't move, didn't speak. He couldn't even see her breathe; yet somehow he knew, he could feel the anguish tearing her heart apart. "Will you help us, Rod?" he asked quietly.

  Rod grinned. "You betcha, mate. I'd help even if you weren't an old school friend. This case will make my career! Bringing top-line banisters down on at least three charges each."

  But with Tess sitting beside him like a gentle creature stricken a death blow, Jirrah could not celebrate with Rod. He could only feel the relief that now, with Rod on their side and the banister he'd no doubt bring in, Beller and the Earldons couldn't stop the tide of justice. "Thanks, Rod."

  "What about our daughter?" Tess asked, through stiff lips. "Is there anything you can do to help us find her?"

  Rod looked up from his rapt contemplation of the papers. "With this pile of evidence? You bet. Closed files should open with proof of duress on the adoption and easily proved complicity by Beller and your brother on the bigamy. I'll chase up the JP that married you, and find out how the record went missing."

  Tess smiled, a small, cold touch of frosted lips. "Thank you."

  Rod turned to Jirrah, frowning. "There's one thing I don't get about the setup to put you inside. How'd your prints get in Beller's house in the first place?"

  Jirrah slanted another quick look at Tess's set face before he replied. "A woman set it up. She asked for shelving in her living room, a week before I married Tess. I took the job, but it ended up being Beller's place. Beller denied knowing about the job. All my records, including the quote for that job, disappeared when they did the plant in my truck. The back cab tray was always open—I needed to come in and out freely for equipment."

  "How did they plant the jewelry, CD player and VCR inside your truck without you noticing it?"

  He shrugged. "It was in the corner of the tray behind the driver's seat, beneath the rubbish from the last job I hadn't taken to the local dump. I only took the cover for the tray off once or twice a week to empty the stuff."

  "They seemed to know your movements pretty well. How long did they have you followed?"

  "Excuse me." Tess walked out of the room.

  Rod looked after her. "Is she all right?"

  Jirrah's mouth quirked. "I'd better go after her. Thanks for everything, Rod. Keep the photocopies. I've got the originals stored where they can't get at them."

  Rod grinned. "Smart move. Where are you staying? I'll need to keep in contact before we head to the police with this."

  Jirrah gave him the phone and room numbers of the hotel and his mobile number. Then he bolted downstairs to find her.

  She wasn't beside the car.

  He started running. If Beller or Earldon had her—

  He found her at a park a few blocks down. She sat on a swing, her head resting against the painted chain, rocking slowly back and forth. Her loose braid tumbled over her shoulder and breast in careless loveliness; but her white face, the desolation in her eyes, dull, cold and lifeless, chilled his heart.

  He dropped to his haunches before her, hoping to God he hadn't lost her with his thoughtless act. "I'm sorry, Tess. I should have warned you about the stuff I had on Duncan. Then it wouldn't have been so hard to face all at once."

  Her voice came to him from far away, as if filtered through an icy lake—an echo of the past. "I didn't want to know."

  "But I should have told you about the cheques earlier. Finding out in a legal office before a stranger—"

  "Don't blame yourself." She spoke as if she were a million miles away, a lifetime apart from him. "I deserved to hear it like that. I knew you must have had something really strong against Duncan, but I was too much of a coward to ask."

  Pain twisted his gut; it was what he'd always thought of her. "No, Tess, you didn't deserve it! You didn't know I was alive, or Emily had been adopted. You're the only one in this whole mess except Emily who was innocent, whose intentions were pure!"

  "Cowardice is pure?" she mocked gently, her gaze following a flock of galahs in screeching flight across a crystalline sky. "Was I innocent? Perhaps, but an innocent fool. I knew Duncan. He's always been so obsessed with our social position he said our mother was an Indian princess, not a Native Canadian. He'd have done anything to stop us being together. Yet when he gave me your death certificate I accepted it without question. No, cowardice and eyes closed to the truth deserves its ugly reward. I played the star part in what happened to you and Emily. That fact that it was a passive role only shows how stupid and naive I was … and still am, to ever want to believe all this is a lie."

  Beneath the thin veneer of the ice maiden, unbearable grief crouched inside her heart, like a hideous monster waiting to tear her apart from within. He'd never wanted anything more than to hold her in his arms, kiss her pain away, give her the comfort she so desperately needed; but she'd only retreat, so immersed in self-recrimination she believed she didn't deserve his care.

  So he mocked, "Well pardon me, Your Highness, if I see things from a different perspective. But we humble carpenters don't have the advantage of the lofty heights from which the high and mighty Earldons view things."

  Tess blinked. Her golden gaze moved from the cold purity of the late afternoon sky and shadowed buildings to gaze at him, in puzzled wonder. Still a million miles away, watching him as if from another galaxy—but she was listening.

  He couldn't stop now. He'd break down those damn barriers of hers if it killed him. "You've got the whole Ice Princess routine down pat—the cool, don't-touch-me style's so perfectly majestic. Pity it don't impress me." He pulled her down toward him; with a high-pitched gasp she fell beside him onto the mess of grass and dirt. "This is you," he said fiercely. "You're nobody's princess, and you sure ain't Theresa Earldon-Beller. You're Tess McLaren, wife of a carpenter and carver, woman of fire and earth and sky."

  The cold shell encasing her heart cracked; the woman he'd longed to see finally emerged from the remote chrysalis. Soft wild-rose color touched her cheek; rushes of warm air panted through her parted lips. Her glorious eyes, warm like melted honey, fixed on him as if he preached words of salvation to her condemned soul, offering her damaged spirit a vision of Paradise.

  He leaned forward, kissing those parted lips with hard male need. "If you want to fly, mulgu, then go—do what you were born for, my lovely black-haired wild swan. I won't hold you back. But I won't let you freeze yourself out of the life you were meant to live. You will be a woman. You'll live and love and find joy. You'll find your belonging place, flying to the sky when you will it, coming home to those who love you. But you won't die cheated of everything life has to give if I can do anything to stop you!"

  The shards of self-blame distancing them fell at his feet. Her arms flew around him; her trembling body pushed against his. She buried her face in his neck, gulping air in, sending it out in gentle quivering rhythm over his skin. "Don't make me your Guinevere, my Galahad, my shining knight in dark armor." Her words shivered into his soul. "I'm not worthy of the honor."

  I
t's seven years too late to tell me that. He smiled wryly, caressing her back and shoulders, less to soothe her than because he had to touch her. "You were never a Guinevere to me, Tess." My goddess, my dreaming, my reality—my wild swan—my heart and soul. Never the queenly Earldon heiress, never just a maiden in distress to save. "And I'm no one's shining knight. I didn't rescue you. I couldn't even save myself from them."

  "You could have," she murmured. "We both know that. Why didn't you give them the marriage papers and cash the cheques, take the money and rim? Why suffer needlessly all those years?"

  She needed the truth; but the man he'd been then, his actions, motivations and desires weren't of the heroic mould she expected of him. He shrugged. "They'd have put me inside no matter what I did. I never even considered giving them the stuff. I don't know why. Defiance maybe, or potential for revenge. Most probably it was one of my symbolic gestures. I was always big on symbolism," he admitted with a wry twist to his lips. "A kid's challenge to the Titan. A pitiful David with his little rocks fighting the mighty Goliath, hoping to bring down the giant against all odds."

  "David killed Goliath with his little rocks," she said quietly.

  And those words, the faith they implied, did something to him. As a tiny candle held to an ice sculpture, the slow melt of the walls around his heart began. She still held the faith. Somehow, even through all she'd lost, she believed in him. Lost in the shadows of yesterday, living only for today, seeing no tomorrow, she was healing him from within, giving him a belief in himself he hadn't known since they locked him away.

  And within the depth of suffering she tried so hard to overcome, she was so indescribably lovely he ached just looking at her, holding her against his heart—

  The heart he'd denied having anymore, until this moment.

  Oh, God, the ice was melting, and there was no way to build up the barricades again, not with Tess near him. He knew he was falling for her again, and falling hard—but she didn't want to know. He had to stop this, for the sake of his own sanity. Yet he rasped into her hair, "I couldn't let go of us, Tess. If I gave them what they wanted, it would have felt like we never existed. I couldn't leave our love behind. I couldn't betray us, and the love we had, like that."