Her Galahad. Melissa James
Queensland to the Victorian border.
“Miss Honeycutt. Oh, Miss Honeycutt!”
She turned to her breathless, birdlike landlady coming in from the kitchen. Her flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes proclaimed she had fresh gossip to pass on. Tessa schooled her features into a smile of polite interest. Don’t give her a reason to wonder about you. Don’t leave her with any doubts or fear. “Yes, Mrs. Savage?”
Mrs. Savage straightened her teased mess of gray hair, with her usual mixture of quick curiosity and cringing apologetic smiles. “I do hope you’re not wanting to take a shower, Miss Honeycutt. I know how you like to rinse off after a hard day, but the water’s off again, and won’t be back on until tomorrow. I phoned the company for you—I know how much you like to—”
“It’s all right, Mrs. Savage. I’m used to country ways now.” While she smiled she mentally tallied what she could pack in ten minutes.
The old lady gave her a little, knowing smile. “Oh, but you must be wanting to freshen up and get yourself pretty—what with your date tonight with that nice man—”
Nine minutes—Tessa’s hand froze on the banister. “What man?” she asked, very quietly.
Mrs. Savage’s face creased with ingratiating innuendo. “Oh, my stars, you’re a lucky girl. He came to see you today. I said you wouldn’t be home till five-thirty, being one of your training days for young Matthew—heavens, you’re early today, it’s only one forty-five! Oh, of course, it’s the Easter break. You let the children leave at lunchtime! Anyway, he said he’d come back at five. Oh, and he asked me not to tell you! He wanted to surprise you. Silly me—! You won’t tell him, will you? What a handsome, charming man he is! That lovely hair—so wavy and tawny, like a lion’s mane—and his eyes, like caramel toffee! He’s so tall, so debonair! Just like Cary Grant on An Affair to Remember—”
Tessa reeled back. Cameron’s here. Oh, God, it’s too late, too late…. Then she came at her landlady like a drunken woman. He can’t find me. I can’t let him take me!
“…and he was so kind to an old lady—”
Tessa grabbed Mrs. Savage by the arms, her hold deliberately gentle. Seven minutes. “You didn’t see me. I never came home.”
Mrs. Savage let out a squeaking gasp. “M-Miss Honeycutt?!”
Tessa pulled the old lady closer, eye to eye, not realizing she was all the more frightening because her hold was so very gentle. “You didn’t see me,” she whispered right in her face. “I never came home.”
The landlady’s rheumy eyes goggled. “But—Miss Honeycutt—!”
You’re scaring her. Tessa closed her eyes. Think, think! You need time to get away, and Edna Savage can provide it! With a lightning change of plan, she released her, and gave Mrs. Savage a deliberately pleading look. “Please, I need your help. Can you help me?”
Mrs. Savage nodded, looking doubtful but willing. “Of course, Miss Honeycutt. Anything at all.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Savage. I knew I could rely on you.” Six minutes. “Keep him waiting here as long as you can. Don’t tell him I came home, that you saw me, or told me he came here. Do you understand?”
The elderly lady blinked. “But—he’s such a nice man! Why would you want him to think badly of you?”
Tessa nearly screamed in frustration. Five minutes. “Please, I’m begging you. I never came home!”
Mrs. Savage gave a doubtful nod. “All right, Miss Honeycutt.”
She sagged in relief. “Thank you.”
Run, Tessa. Now.
She tore up the stairs and shoved everything she’d need into an Indian-weave sack, throwing unwanted stuff on the floor in a frenzy of fear. “Shoes.” Cameron’s here.
“Underwear.” North last time. Southwest before that. I’ll have to head east or south—just nowhere near Sydney.
“Jacket—jeans—”
Oh, dear God, that man probably knows I came home. He must know where I live. If he tells Cameron—
“T-shirts. Windcheater.”
Cameron’s already been here, you idiot! Run!
“Toothbrush. Soap. Toothpaste.”
What if he’s outside now watching me? Or calling Cameron? What if he follows me? What if he makes sure I can’t get away?
“Pyjamas.”
If Cameron gets me—
“Hairbrush. Socks!” She flung them into the sack.
I’ll kill myself before I’ll go back.
She threw the sack over her shoulder, grabbed her wallet and keys and bolted back down the stairs, leaving a small, pitiful mess. The only visible sign of her time in sweet Lynch Hill.
A wailing voice halted her flight at the base of the stairs. “Miss Honeycutt! Please! What can I say to him to keep him here? I’m not clever, like you. I can’t think what to say, and I—”
One minute. She turned on the babbling woman, holding her skinny shoulders. Human contact is nice to elderly people. She’s scared. Reassure her. “Just act normal, Mrs. Savage. Give him coffee. Talk about your life. Tell him I’ll be home soon. Tell him I’ve gone to one of my pupils’ houses after school, or there’s a Neighborhood Watch meeting you forgot about, or Amy’s day changed for art lessons. Make up something. Anything to keep him looking for me in Lynch Hill until tomorrow. Just don’t tell him I came home, or you told me he was here!” She released the woman, hoping to God she could trust her. She picked up her sack. “Please. I’m begging you. Tell him nothing.”
“Y-es.” Mrs. Savage nodded, her eyes still bewildered. “I—I—y-yes. I understand. I’ll do what I can to keep him here.”
Tessa kissed her soft, wrinkled cheek, inhaling her violet-scented powder. Another memory to store, another scent to conjure regret. Another unwanted goodbye. “Thank you.”
“He—won’t hurt me, will he?”
She swung back, realizing with a pang what the dear old lady was willing to go through for her. “No. I swear to you he won’t.” He’ll save that for me.
She pressed a fifty-dollar note into her landlady’s hand. Do the drill fast. “Can you clean up my room before he comes back? Make it look like I’m still here? Keep my things for a week. If you don’t hear from me by next weekend put it all in a charity bin. And please, please don’t talk to anyone about this.”
She threw open the screen door, burst through the open space to the verandah and cannoned straight into a hard male body.
She looked up, saw the face belonging to it, and screamed.
Chapter 2
He was about to force his way inside the faded gray frame house when she bolted out the door and slammed into him.
He staggered back under the twin impact of her body crashing against him and the bag she carried thumping into his gut. The echoes of her first scream still rang in his ears; her second, riding on its wave, hit a new note in piercing pitch.
“Be quiet! I won’t hurt you.” He grabbed her shoulders to steady them both. “Where’s your car?”
She blinked and stared at him; her shrill cry stopped with shocking suddenness. Laughter replaced it, a wild sound of disbelief—but even the cynical twisting of her lips lit her exotic face with all its crooked charm. “You’re really something, aren’t you. ‘Hi, Tessa. Long time, no see. Where’s your car?’”
He grabbed her arm, pulling her with him through the door to the verandah. “Where is it? We’ve