‘I’ve just the job lined up then.’ Luke grinned evilly. ‘Ve haff vays to keep you varm, madame. We’re going to extend the cliff walk, and that means clearing scrub. I’ve brought the whipper snipper and the brush hook.’

‘Oh, goody,’ Tilly said. ‘Did you bring the lunches?’

‘Nope. I thought we’d go home. No need to finish it all today.’

When midday arrived, Tilly, remembering Luke’s words, doubted that the job could be finished within a month. There wasn’t much growth along the escarpment’s top, but what there was had no intention of yielding without a fight. Luckily Luke had put work gloves in with the tools or she hated to think what the wiry, deep-rooted shrubs would have done to her hands. Metre by metre, they grubbed a winding path through turkey and booran bush, and past the odd, stunted gum, rolling aside the larger rocks to clear the painted lines Luke had sprayed on either side of the proposed walking track.

‘I just hope our tourists appreciate what we do for them,’ Tilly panted, sinking onto the latest rock she had heaved aside. ‘I’ll have Mr Universe arms by the time we’re through.’

‘Take a break.’ Dropping down on his heels, Luke wiped a palm across his face. ‘About time we headed back anyway. But hey, on the plus side, you’re no longer cold, are you?’

‘Exhausted, hungry and my arms are dropping off, but cold? No. How did you guess.’

‘Ve haff strange powers, madame. Okay, let’s pack up for now. Tomorrow – no, I’ll be cooking, so the day after – will be soon enough to come back.’

‘Glad to hear it.’ Tilly rose with a groan to face the long trudge back to the vehicle; they had left it half a kilometre behind them at the foot of the cliff.

Back at the homestead, the table was still set despite it being an hour past their normal lunchtime. Sophie, looking pleased with herself, pulled a dish from the oven and presented it with a flourish.

‘We’re a bit low on bread,’ she said, ‘but I found this recipe and it seemed simple enough.’

‘Quiche? That’s nice,’ Tilly said, keeping her reservations about the pastry to herself. She glanced around. ‘Where’s Matt?’

‘He came back from the camp in a bit of a mood. I think he might’ve had a run-in with a camper – he muttered something about the river. There’s always some idiot who won’t listen to the safety regs. Anyway, he made himself a sandwich and left. That’s when I realised how low the bread supply was. I had some of the quiche,’ she said encouragingly. ‘It’s not that bad. And by the way, Luke, your professor rang from the roadhouse. He’s had fuel trouble and reckons he won’t get here before dark.’