‘Always,’ he said definitely. ‘Never take a vehicle out unless the tank’s full. You dunno where you might end up, and you don’t wanna walk the last twenty kay. And watch yourself at the river. Remember the big salty’s still in there.’

‘I will,’ she promised. ‘Good luck with your babies, Luke. Don’t forget to feed the little glider, will you? I’ll see you tonight.’

By now Tilly was practised at the domestic part of the job. She parked beside the ablution block and began methodically on the chores, scrubbing the concrete floors with a stiff brush, cleaning toilets, heaving the day’s allocation of wood off the vehicle’s tray and spading yesterday’s ash into the bucket, before starting a modest fire beneath the donkey. She replaced the shovel and broom in their simple cabinet, slid the padlock closed and turned to heft the bucket of ash onto the vehicle. Movement behind her caught the corner of her eye, and she swung quickly around to see Connor approaching.

‘Here, let me get that,’ he said. He swung the receptacle into the circle of the spare tyre. ‘Morning, Tilly. Where’s Luke today?’

‘Busy.’ Dusting her hands off on her jeans, she eyed him, her dislike palpable. ‘So who are you really, Connor Doyle?’

His gaze flickered for an instant, the easy smile momentarily frozen in place. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I mean, seeing that you aren’t a botanist and there isn’t a research grant, we’d really like to know who exactly the WPA has been housing and feeding. And by the way, there are camp fees due before you push off.’

Connor held still with only that betraying flicker of the eyes; she could almost sense his mind scrambling for a plausible explanation. ‘Listen, there’s some mistake—’ he began, but she cut him off contemptuously.

‘Don’t bother. I’ve spoken to the uni who, you won’t be surprised to learn, have never heard of you – or your research. It was a nice touch, I must say, carrying an orchid handbook in the glove box. Very professional! You lied to us, wormed your way into our lives and you searched our rooms. You even went through the sheds, Matt said. For all I know, Doyle’s not even your real name.’

‘Well, it is,’ he said flatly. ‘And I did study botany, though I admit I didn’t come away with a degree. And I’m sorry about going through your things, Tilly. I felt bad about that. I had no right but it was necessary at the time. I—’

‘You certainly hadn’t,’ she said fiercely. ‘What are you, some sort of pervert that gets off on sneaking into women’s panty drawers? I should—’

He raised his hands. ‘Please! It wasn’t like that. I would never . . . If you’d just give me five minutes to explain.’