Like all bullies, Reverend Algernon Baker had no stomach for his own medicine. His pomposity and rage withered beneath her glare. ‘What business is it of yours where my sons have gone?’

‘They seem to be missing – along with my grandson’s car. With two cans of petrol in the boot, I suspect they’re already miles away. Jake has been informed about the car, but not about your boys. I will leave that up to you. But if they were my sons, I would be very worried about them. Car thieves or not, they’re out there somewhere, and this weather isn’t fit for a dog, let alone two fourteen-year-olds.’

Frances burst into tears and her husband grimaced in disgust. ‘My sons are not thieves,’ he said evenly. ‘They’re probably hiding out in the caves out of rebelliousness. I expect them to return in due course.’

‘Let us hope they do,’ said Gwyneth. She patted Frances’s arm in sympathy. ‘Come and have a cup of tea with me later,’ she murmured.

‘My wife has parish duties to attend to today,’ Algernon said pompously. ‘She does not have time for cups of tea.’

Gwyneth eyed him with loathing and reached for the door handle. She had nothing else to say to this cold-hearted man. She stepped out into the hazy orange light of that dusty dawn and headed for Jake’s police house. She would leave a note telling him about the boys’ disappearance; she could bet a penny on the pound that the reverend wouldn’t do it.

*

After Terence and Hugh had left for the hospital, Jane went to bed and Sandra locked herself in the bathroom.

Becky dressed quickly. She should have been on the ward twenty minutes ago, and the spinsters would no doubt give her a ticking-off. She saw that Danny was settled at the table with cereal and toast, distractedly kissed the top of his head and raced out of the door. The dust was everywhere, which meant the day would be spent cleaning.

Her father came out on to the veranda as she approached the hospital. ‘We’ve got eight men with food poisoning,’ he said, ‘and I suspect there’ll be more before the day’s out. Every one of them ate at the pub last night and, as Bert’s doing the cooking, he’s probably infected half the Aborigine camp as well.’

‘That’s all we need.’ She sighed.

‘Indeed,’ he agreed as he glanced up the dusty road towards the vicarage. ‘No sign of Ma, I suppose.’

Becky shook her head. ‘I would have liked to be a fly on the wall during that conversation,’ she said with a wry smile.