She was going to take the fellowship, she realised. And she’d make the Edinburgh interview panel accept that a woman in a wheelchair could do brilliant things, just as the dean expected she would. She saw in Alex’s face that he knew she’d take it too. And Jed would encourage her, and hide that she’d be terrified for her, as would Nancy and Michael.

And William? She could not ask William to wait three years to be with her. Suddenly realised she didn’t want William to wait three years. Because the Scarlett Kelly-O’Hara who returned in three years’ time — who might even decide not to return, though she still could not imagine a life without blue bees and the land they belonged to — would not be the person she was now.

William had chosen Gibber’s Creek, after all, instead of staying in Sydney with her. She’d accepted that decision, even supported it, though she could admit now it had hurt, just a little, that he should choose work over living full time with her. And now she would choose her own career and make unimaginable discoveries in Edinburgh.

Alex scooped up the last of his lemon tart. ‘Going to see the dean?’

‘Yes,’ said Scarlett Kelly-O’Hara. And on the weekend she’d drive down to tell everyone the news, and to break her heart, just a little, no, a lot, over all she would miss for three long years, except for a few weeks back each year.

Her family, the river and, yes, the blue bees would still be there for her whenever she returned. But William, possibly, probably, would not.

Chapter 35

Chapter 35

Extraordinarily Delicious Chicken with Fresh Grape Juice

Leftover chicken, 300g fresh green grapes, 500mL fresh cream, 1tbsp finely chopped parsley, 1tbsp finely chopped chives

Press the juice out of the grapes. I do this by chopping the grapes and then pressing them through a strainer, but you can use a blender or juicer. Simmer the cream for 5 minutes. Add the grape juice and herbs and simmer for another 5 minutes. Add the chicken. Reheat and serve at once.

GIBBER’S CREEK, 1983

JED

The phone rang as Jed was halfway through a carefully plotted, deeply vital, tragic paragraph. Phones always chose the most impossible moment to ring.

She waited in case Sam answered it. But it seemed he and William — and Mattie, who had to be held up and her hand steadied to drive in a nail which must inevitably be replaced when she wasn’t looking — were still building the flying fox down the back behind what had gloriously become an orchard again since the drought broke, the plums so thick this year the branches had to be propped up.