Zara tried to catch Liz’s attention, but she was concentrating on her story.

‘Hey, Zara, have you finished that piece on China buying the largest shipment of wool in three years?’ called Michael, another reporter, as she walked past. ‘I’m just off the phone from the state buyer for Elders and I’ve got something you might like to use.’

‘Great, Michael, thanks. Can I get back to you in five?’

‘Sure.’

Zara sat down at her desk with a sigh. The adrenalin of hearing the verdict was ebbing away and she could feel the onset of a headache. She knew she had to call her mum, but she wanted to put it off for just a while. Ignorance was bliss, after all, and she felt sick at the thought of what her mum might tell her.

Rubbing her temples, she rummaged through her top drawer looking for some Panadol. Punching two out of the foil, she put them in her mouth, then reached for her water bottle. It wasn’t there. Swallowing hard, she managed to get the pills down her throat without the help of a drink. She looked around for her bottle. Another strange thing on top of some other weird incidents in the office lately. During the last two months small things had been mysteriously disappearing from her desk, but when she’d asked the others if they’d noticed anything odd, no one had. It was an open-plan office, so if someone was playing silly buggers, someone would have noticed. But no. Nothing.

Odd.

The red light was flashing on her desk phone. Messages.

Grabbing a pen, she tucked the receiver against her ear and shoulder and punched the code for her message bank.

‘Zara, Bonny Murray from Livestock Now here. I’d love it if you were able to do a story on the convention we’re running in a few months’ time. Got a focus on lamb production. Thought it was right up your alley. Give me a call.’

Writing down Bonny’s number, she recalled that the last time they’d caught up for a drink Bonny had mentioned something about getting all the lamb producers together to have a conversation around births to market percentages, among other things.

‘Scott Founder. AgriMachinery. Call me, regarding new product release.’

‘Tosser,’ she muttered, but dutifully wrote down his name. The last dealings she’d had with him were when they’d had a machinery sales guru out from America, and she’d followed Scott, his dealership and the American throughout the state as they’d road-tested the header in different shires and in heavy and light crops. It had been the final night and they’d all been in the pub together when Scott made his move. She’d come out of the ladies’ room to find him waiting for her. He’d tried to push her against the wall and kiss her. ‘You’ve had my attention this whole trip. I haven’t been able to think of anything except you against me.’

‘Really?’ she remembered saying. ‘Is that why you were busting a move on Chris yesterday?’