Natalie buried her head in the fridge. She did know. Trouble was, often Bree’s ideas were good ones and it was Milt who wasn’t prepared to listen. There was regular tension between father and daughter when it came to work, like there had been between Milt and his father. She tried to keep out of it, but lately she’d noticed a restlessness in Bree.

“Have you seen this bill?” Milt said.

She turned to look at the paper he was waving at her. It was apparent none of the envelopes had been opened before he got to them. “No.”

“Fuel’s gone up.”

“Put it in the tray. I’ll catch up with the paperwork over the weekend.”

“Isn’t Bree meant to be doing that now?”

“She is…will be. There’s a lot to get your head around.”

“Did you pay the bill for the sheep?”

Natalie turned to the calendar. “No. Has it been a week already?”

“Yes.” Milt’s brow creased. “You’re usually on top of all that.”

“I’ll do it after dinner.”

He nodded and looked down again at the papers in front of him.

Natalie set out the vegetables beside the chopping board and picked up the knife. The damned account-keeping got more and more complicated every year. Once upon a time all bills came due at the end of the month, but these days it was any time; the fuel bill one day, phone bill another and for sheep, accounts were due within seven days from purchase. She thought about the early night she’d planned. That wouldn’t be happening. Farm paperwork was one of the jobs that had been handballed to Natalie once it became computerised. Olive had been happy to hand it over and Natalie had tackled it alone for years. Milt pretended to know little about computers and Bree wasn’t showing a lot of interest. Not that Natalie blamed her. She had enough to do without paperwork as well.

“What’s that message on the whiteboard?” Milt asked.

“Terry from Landmark rang.”

“What did he want?”

“He wouldn’t say.”

Natalie looked around as Milt took out his mobile. The Model Wife lay on the desk beside the open drawer. She strode over, slid the book into the drawer and pushed it shut a little too forcefully. Milt glanced up, a puzzled expression on his face, which changed to a frown. He jabbed at his phone. “It’s gone straight to voicemail. Surely he could tell you what he wanted.”

“No.” Natalie shook her head. They’d had this conversation a dozen times before.

“I’m off,” Bree called from the passage and the back door shut.

Natalie went back to the vegetables.

“Bree’s been on about restoring the tennis court again.” Milt’s statement sounded more like a question.