Michael sighed. ‘Well, I do,’ he said. ‘C’mon, I want to take some time to be with my girls. Life’s slower up there, Ali, remember?’

‘Yes, of course I remember – and anyway Stella and I were in Quorn not so long ago, to be fair.’

Michael waved his hand, as if Quorn was nothing. His childhood memories of the family sheep station were gilded and rosy, frame after frame of picture-perfect scenes. The elegant homestead itself, built for his ancestors in 1866: an expansive ‘English’ country house, coach house and stables, all of them heritage-listed now; the grounds, landscaped and tamed into lawns, knot garden, herbaceous borders and a sunken bower of roses, all of this maintained and manicured by four full-time gardeners; Michael and his two younger brothers, Rory and Robert, running wild, damming the creek, driving the ute from the age of nine, racing ducks and spitting cherry stones at the country fair, trapping rabbits and shooting roos. So Ali, sitting on the porch swing next to Michael, knew this discussion was purely cosmetic. A one-way street. His heart was set, the decision made.

‘Rob’ll be there by now, netting the vines,’ he said. ‘You like Rob.’

‘I know I like Rob.’

A pause, then: ‘Apart from anything else,’ Michael said, ‘I’m thinking of Gil and Alma. These past few weeks must’ve been a slog. It must’ve been hell, even with all the help. Fires up there’ve been terrible. You know what Gil’s like; he’s seen too many to ever relax …’

‘Yeah,’ Ali said, ‘I know.’ Gil Henderson, the big boss, the main man, and Alma, his wife, queen of the homestead; together they ran Lismore Station as if it were their own. Gil had been hired as a lowly jackeroo by James McCormack back in 1962; Alma had come in ’68, to help clean the house. They were in the weft and the weave of the McCormack world.

‘So,’ Michael said. ‘I think we need to go.’

Need to go. There it was, the subtle change of emphasis, from inclination to obligation. Ah, what the hell, thought Ali. They could all go to Lismore Creek, why not? Michael was probably right: Stella might well come back to them there, and Thea needed a change of scene too. She was moping about the place like she was under house arrest.

‘Fine,’ Ali said. ‘Give me a few days here. I need to square things up with the publishers, see to a few things.’