Terence concentrated as the utility bounced and jolted along the rutted track that was as hard as iron. The homestead and station buildings were a low huddle on the horizon now. They were almost there. ‘If he was living like a hermit in the bush, how on earth did he meet Sal Davenport?’

Gwyneth chuckled softly. ‘Sal has always confided in me, and I knew she needed to find the same sort of peace as Max so, without telling her that he was my son, I sort of pointed her in the vague direction of his cabin and let Fate do the rest. She’s an artist too, you see – and a gentle soul under all that make-up and tough attitude.’

‘Strewth, Gran. I’m learning things tonight I would never have imagined.’

‘Yes, well, you can’t always tell a book by its cover, Terence,’ she said with some asperity. ‘People are complex beings, and what you see doesn’t always tell the full story. Start unravelling the layers and you might often be surprised by what you find.’

She fell silent for a moment. ‘Take Sandra for instance,’ she continued. ‘I’ve misjudged her completely,’ she admitted. ‘She’s clearly a troubled young woman who has lost her way – but after today I do believe she has some good qualities – and they need to be nurtured, Terence.’

He smiled at her wearily and patted her hand. ‘I’m glad you feel that way, Gran. I’ve always loved Sandra, you know, and of course I’ll do all the nurturing she needs.’ He climbed out of the utility to open the heavy five-bar iron gate.

As they drove through it they could see the windmill silhouetted against the sky – and as they got nearer they could see two ponies cropping the grass in the deep shadows beneath the trees.

Gwyneth had always been blessed with excellent vision and, as the headlights illuminated the scene, the dread returned. Sal was lying on the ground next to the still figure wrapped in blankets, and the red setter’s muzzle was resting on Max’s chest.

Terence kept the lights on as he drew the utility to a halt, grabbed his medical bag and climbed out. ‘Stay there, Gran. I’ll be back for you in a minute.’

Gwyneth opened the door and struggled down as Terence hurried off. She winced as she jolted her knee and had to lean heavily on her walking stick as she tried hard to calm her racing heart and dispel the fear that they might be too late.

But as she slowly approached the small gathering and looked down at her beloved, troubled son, she knew it was over.

Sal’s wan little face was streaked with tears as she got to her feet. ‘He’s gone, Gwyneth. He’s left us.’