‘It’s a godsend, I know,’ she interrupted. ‘But you’re here – on the ground – and year by year the number of patients is growing. It’s too much for one man.’

Hugh silently agreed with her, but wasn’t about to admit it. ‘Perhaps Terence will change his mind and take over,’ he suggested.

‘Our son has never shown the slightest inclination to come home and practise here. And after being away at sea during the war, I expect he just wants to settle back down with Sandra and try to pick up the pieces.’ Her expression saddened. ‘It can’t be easy for either of them after what happened, and I suspect he’s having a bit of a hard time of it with Sandra. She always was brittle.’

Hugh finished the cup of tea and shrugged off the white coat, slinging it over the back of the chair. ‘You’re probably right,’ he sighed. ‘You usually are.’

‘Just promise me you’ll think about retiring,’ she said urgently, reaching for his hand. ‘I love you, Hugh, and I can’t bear the thought of you working yourself into the ground.’

He looked into her lovely blue eyes and tried not to show how reluctant he was to make yet another promise he doubted he could keep. This was his home and his life’s work, and although it would probably be the death of him, the prospect of leaving it all behind for some anonymous retirement bungalow by the sea was unbearable.

‘I’ll think about it,’ he hedged as he kissed her cheek. ‘Now let me go to bed, or I’ll be fit for nothing tomorrow.’

It was too hot to sleep indoors, and after he’d washed and changed into pyjama trousers and singlet Hugh headed for the back veranda. The daybed was beneath a canopy of mosquito netting, the veranda shaded by the drooping branches of a pepper tree, and he sank on to the rather moth-eaten mattress with a sigh of relief.

Jane was right, he admitted silently. He was deathly tired and beginning to find every day a trial. He’d been up most of the previous night with a drover whose horse had kicked out and shattered his leg. The Flying Doctor had been busy on an even more remote property and it had been almost dawn before he could hand his patient over and begin the long drive home.

Hugh turned on his side and stared beyond the mosquito netting into the cool shadows of the pepper tree his father had planted so many years ago. The angina was a warning, but how could he heed it when so many people relied on him? There were times when he really envied Sal Davenport – for how nice it would be to get in the ute and drive away, to find some spot far from the cares of Morgan’s Reach and to just be.