It was mid-afternoon when Keely heard a sharp crack resonate through the air. She looked up from the table in the studio, where she had all her beadwork laid out. There was quite a bit to take up to the cellar door and they still hadn’t worked out how they were going to display it. The last two days had been a frenzy of finishing off pieces in readiness for the weekend.

Another crack split the air and she went outside to investigate. Over on the ridge among the cab sauv vines, she could see Jack giving his whip a workout. She watched him until he looked in her direction and she waved. He folded his whip and came to meet her.

“Hello, Keely. I’ve come to collect the last of the temporary fencing I put up for the sheep. Couldn’t resist giving the whip a workout.”

She smiled at the old man and noticed the string around his trouser legs again. She couldn’t help flicking her gaze around the grass at her feet. It was a warm afternoon.

“You’ve moved house since I was here last,” he said. “It’s good for the old place to be used again.”

“I’ve done some work on your sketch. Would you like to see it?” She didn’t usually show people her sketches but if Flynn did want to use Jack’s portrait for his red label, it was important to her that Jack liked it.

“I would.”

He followed her to the door and bent to undo his laces.

“Don’t worry, Jack. The floor in here is very basic.”

He hesitated, then took off his hat and stepped inside. Keely turned from her sketchbook as he let out a long low whistle. He was standing by the table. “You have been busy. These look very pretty. I’m not an expert on ladies’ things but I reckon there’s a few who’d like these.”

“We’re going to have them for sale at the cellar door over the weekend. I was just trying to work out how I could display them.” She opened her sketchbook and held it up for Jack to see. “Here you are.”

He turned from the table and looked at the sketch. She held her breath, waiting for his response. His old weathered face studied the portrait for a moment, then he let out another low whistle.

“You’ve made me look quite distinguished. Not bad for an old man. Thank you, Keely. You’ve even got the whip just right.”

She looked down at her sketch. It was of Jack’s head and shoulders and she had deliberated over how to include the whip. In the end, she had drawn it clutched in one hand and draped over his shoulder.