Richard lingered in the post office as Adelaide sorted the mail and dealt with customers, who cast him curious glances. The click of the telegraph came as a relief. With Richard leaning on the counter, it took all of Adelaide’s concentration to complete the telegram, a message for Mr Cowper, on the current share price of the stock. She transcribed her shorthand onto an official form and sealed it in an envelope.

Richard smiled. ‘Anything interesting?’

‘Absolutely none of your business,’ Adelaide said, reaching for her hat.

‘Are you going out?’

‘Yes, I have to deliver this telegram.’

‘Don’t you have anyone to do it for you?’

‘No.’ That was not quite true. Danny, if he was not in school, delivered telegrams around the town, for which she paid him sixpence.

She summoned Netty to mind the counter.

‘I’ll walk with you.’ Richard leaped for the door, holding it open for her.

‘You can walk where you like,’ Adelaide said.

An unrelenting February sun beat down on them as they stepped outside. Only the most intrepid townspeople were out in the heat, keeping to the shade of verandahs as they hurried on their way. Richard ran a finger around the starched collar. ‘Is it always this hot?’

‘No,’ Adelaide said. ‘It can snow in winter.’

Richard shuddered. ‘What on earth made you choose this—this—ghastly little place?’ he said, his voice embarrassingly loud above the noise of the stampers.

Because I thought my father would never find me here.

‘I happen to like it,’ Adelaide said.

‘How long have you been here?’

‘Nearly four years.’

‘And before that?’

‘I worked in the General Post Office in Melbourne.’

‘I’m sorry, Addy, there is so much I don’t know about your life and I get so angry at the thought of you having to work for a living.’

She glanced up at him. She remembered him as being so very much taller than her. He seemed to have shrunk in the intervening years—he barely topped her by three or four inches.

‘It might surprise you but I enjoy it.’

‘Not that way, you idiot!’

The liquid cadence of the Virginian accent interrupted their tense conversation and her heart clenched as she looked across the road at the Britannia Hotel. The tall familiar figure in the bright waistcoat stood on the road, hands on his hips and shirt sleeves rolled up. He seemed to be directing two men who were trying to fit a large desk through a narrow doorway.

Caleb saw her and waved, indicating for her to stop. He loped across to her. As he reached her, he pulled off his hat, his dark hair sticking to his forehead.

‘Mrs Greaves, I clean forgot why I called by this morning.’ His gaze flicked to Richard. ‘Mr Barnwell. I apologise for waylaying you but I have a favour to ask.’ He turned back to the hotel and shouted. ‘Posy, come out here.’