‘No, that came later, further north.’

It had been at the Cairns markets. She could see herself now, legs bare in her pencil-strap sundress and floppy yellow hat, gazing at the piles of exotic fruit. She’d bought feijoa, guava, rambutan and two mangoes, not even knowing which part of them you ate but determined to find out. As she turned from the stall, the bottom of her calico hold-all had parted, spilling its cargo onto the ground. She’d tutted crossly and a voice behind her had said, ‘Whoops! I’ve got it,’ and its owner helped her pick it up. ‘I’m Gerry,’ he’d announced, before masterfully inverting the bag and fixing the hole with a length of twine from his pocket.

‘It’ll pull out,’ she had demurred, stunningly aware of his extreme good looks and lithe, suntanned body.

‘Not if we eat a couple first,’ he’d replied. So they had done so, sitting at a picnic table under the palms amid the flowering hibiscus and bird of paradise bushes, with the blue heave of the sea beyond. He carried a stock knife in a pouch on a plaited belt and had sliced the cheeks from a mango: her first taste of the golden ambrosia known as the queen of fruits, and the first incipient stirrings of attraction. She had never been in love before . . .

Tilly blinked, mourning for that lighthearted younger girl in her weightless summer frock with life’s promise still unfilled before her. ‘Well,’ she said, pushing the memories away, ‘thanks muchly, Connor. Now I’d better let you get on. Don’t worry about them,’ she said as he bent to retrieve the tools and leftover wire. ‘I’ll put them back.’

‘It’s fine. I’m going that way anyhow. And it was a pleasure, Tilly.’ He headed for the shed and finally she was free to retreat indoors. Her sense of shock had lessened and her heart had quietened, because of course she was mistaken. Half a second, maybe less, wasn’t long enough to identify anyone, especially someone whose face had been in profile and turning away at the time. Still, rooted before the basin, repetitively washing her hands, Tilly couldn’t forget the unpleasant sensation in her chest as the vehicle had sped off before she could address the passenger – whose half-averted profile, she had to admit, had been a dead ringer for Gerry’s.

Chapter Eight

The following day, contrary to Sophie’s expectations, Luke didn’t return to the homestead until late afternoon. Tilly, occupied with her own thoughts, failed to notice his absence until she was sitting down to her sandwich lunch. Due to the nature of their work, the rangers were often late so she thought no more about it, and when he eventually turned up just on sunset, she greeted him with a question. ‘I expect you must be starving?’