Greeted by the wonderful smells of turpentine and oils, she gathered up everything she would need and then clambered barefoot up the rocks to settle down and watch the storm rolling in.

When she had watched her fill, she began to mix the paint on her palette. Imbued by the majesty and power of those cloud formations, she was soon lost in a world of her own – a world where nothing mattered but the colour and energy she needed to translate that sky on to the canvas.

Down in the clearing, Max picked up his sketchbook and a piece of charcoal. Sal was perched above the waterfall, her skirts fluttering to reveal long tanned legs, the blouse slipping from one sweetly curved shoulder where her dark curls lay ruffled by the wind. His heart thudded painfully as he noted how the sun gilded her skin and winked fire in her earrings and bracelets. In that moment he loved her more than ever, for she was as beautiful and as untamed as her surroundings.

His hand trembled a little as he tried to capture her on the paper, for he knew in his heart that this Gypsy girl who’d come into his life so unexpectedly was unattainable to a man such as he, and must never know his true feelings.

*

Night had fallen swiftly, but there was no let-up in the heat, and the whine of mosquitoes accompanied the soft battering of moths against the screens that protected the back veranda. The house was silent; everyone else had gone to bed, but Becky knew that her grandmother would be on her own porch, watching and waiting for the storm to arrive.

She sat beside her brother as she smoked her one cigarette of the day and watched the lightning flash in the distance. ‘I still can’t believe you’re here,’ she said. ‘It’s been so long since we did this.’

‘Too long really,’ he sighed. ‘I didn’t realise until today just how much I’ve missed this place.’ His smile was wry in the shadows cast by the kerosene lamp. ‘We all come home eventually though, don’t we?’

‘It’s our healing place,’ she murmured in agreement. She looked at her brother’s profile, so handsome in the soft light, and yet so weary. She reached for his hand. ‘Sandra will get better,’ she assured him. ‘Just give her time to adjust.’

He squeezed her fingers. ‘As long as everyone keeps her away from the booze she’ll be fine,’ he said. ‘I’ll go and have a word with Sal in the morning – she is still at the pub, isn’t she? Only I didn’t see her at the party this afternoon.’

‘Sal’s gone off for a while to lick her wounds and find some peace. Bert’s in charge at the moment.’