Enid was the bossier of the two, but Louise held her own and refused to be bullied even under the sternest of glares. When not occupied at the hospital they tended their neat little cottage garden and took their fluffy lapdog, Sweety, for long walks in the bush. Most evenings they would sit on their porch and watch the world go by as they kept a wary eye open for Charley Sawyer’s disreputable old mongrel which had a nasty habit of trying to mate with their precious Sweety.

Tonight, however, they had stayed on to oversee the cooking of the patients’ evening meal so that Jane could have a few hours’ respite. It was their opinion that the native women who worked in the hospital kitchen could be a bit slapdash, their ideas of hygiene not always acceptable, and they aimed to make sure everything came up to their high standard.

Hugh saw that the meals were almost ready to serve and, after saying goodnight to everyone and thanking the Harpers, he left them to it and went home in search of a cup of tea and an early night.

It had been a long, very hot day, and as he crossed the yard to his house he could feel the electricity in the air which heralded one of those fierce dry storms that didn’t produce a drop of rain but made the earth tremble and cower with its ferocity.

Jane was standing at the kitchen window in her striped nurse’s dress, starched white cap and apron, a cup of tea in her hand, the smoke from her cigarette drifting out through the fly-screens. The fan was sluggishly stirring the humid air about, but at least it didn’t squeak any more; he’d had all the fans oiled this afternoon.

Hugh never ceased to be amazed at how cool and elegant Jane always looked, with her girlish figure and her fair hair rolled into a chignon. As he kissed her cheek he was once again reminded of what a beauty she was, and how lucky he’d been to meet her at medical school all those years ago and persuade her to be his wife. Most Outback women were quickly aged and lined by the dry heat and harsh conditions, but at fifty-five Jane had maintained the creamy complexion of her Nordic ancestors, and there were only a very few silver strands glinting amid the gold beneath her starched cap.

Her blue eyes regarded him with concern as she placed the plate of hot food on the table in front of him. ‘You look tired, Hugh. Why don’t you eat that and get to bed? Becky and I can cope tonight.’

He avoided her searching gaze, sat down, eyed the plate of roast mutton and potato without much relish and poured himself a cup of tea. ‘That’s exactly what I plan to do,’ he said wearily. ‘Has Danny turned up?’