She cupped her hand to the window in the chimney end of the building and looked in. The room beyond appeared quite large. She could see a big wooden table, chairs and a couch. Glancing around once more, she moved to the door and tried the handle. It opened easily to her touch and she stepped quickly into the room.

The floor was polished wood. She walked past the big table to the end of the room where an old wood stove and kitchen bench took up most of the wall. An even more archaic-looking rounded cream fridge and little low sink were the only other kitchen facilities. She turned back to the room. A couple of small patchwork pieces hung on the walls. It was furnished with an assortment of chairs and throw rugs and there was a cosy feel to it.

The door leading to the back was shut but opposite her the door to the bedroom was open and through it she could see an old wrought-iron bed. It was stripped, and the patchwork quilt draped over the bed end reached the floor. Another large patchwork wall hanging covered the wall above the bed.

This had to be Lucy’s studio. The place she had come to work on her patchwork. Suddenly, Keely felt guilty at her intrusion and went back to the verandah, closing the door behind her. The river caught her attention again and she sat for a moment, letting the tranquillity of the scene wash over her.

A rustling noise came from the side of the studio. Someone was coming. She stayed where she was, frozen to her seat, afraid to be caught snooping. A man came into view, dragging a large roll of poly pipe behind him. She recognised his tall frame and broad hat. It was the same bloke who had walked past the house a few days earlier.

Keely huddled into the chair. He continued down the dirt track to the river then turned and followed the path to his left, which took him past the studio. He was intent on his job and seemed unaware of Keely’s intrusion. Just as he was about to step out of her line of sight he stopped, bent down, fiddled with his boot then glanced in her direction.

Keely held her breath, silently cursing herself for being nosey.

He turned back to the pipe and walked on, dragging the bundle behind him. He mustn’t have seen her or, surely, he would have spoken.