Rita regarded him for a long moment, her eyes challenging, for they both knew from past experience that his good intentions could fly out of the window if he thought she needed protecting. She finally gave a sigh and looked away. ‘Come on then. He’ll probably be in the garden having elevenses, and I don’t know about you, but I could do with a cuppa after that ride.’

Jack had never been on the estate before, but he’d listened to Ron’s tall stories about his poaching expeditions with his sons Jim and Frank, and it all felt surprisingly familiar as she led him along paths shaded by trees and hedges of hydrangeas, and past a long hut where she told him Sarah used to work as a secretary for the Women’s Timber Corps. It had clearly been turned into a sort of day room, for several men were sitting in wheelchairs on the veranda enjoying the sun as they chatted and drank beer.

They passed pretty nurses in crisp white caps and blue dresses who strolled alongside their patients or sat with them on the lawns to watch a game of croquet being played by an enthusiastic but inept group of amputees, and Jack wondered if the girls had been picked especially for their looks to boost the men’s morale. The atmosphere was certainly easy-going and cheerful – and so very different to the chaos of the makeshift field hospital he’d been sent to in Belgium to get the German bullet out of his thigh – but that was something Rita didn’t need to know about.

They eventually found Peter sitting alone in a cane chair at a table laid for morning tea in the shelter of a white-painted gazebo smothered in clambering roses and honeysuckle.

Jack saw the younger man hurry to his feet and stumble slightly before he regained his balance, and realised he still had a way to go in his recuperation. As they approached one another it was immediately apparent to Jack as to why Rita was so enamoured with him. He was tall, well-built and handsome in his RAAF uniform, with the open face and sunny smile that seemed to be the characteristic of all Australians.

‘This is Pete,’ Rita said needlessly. ‘Pete, this is my dad, Jack.’

The Australian’s handshake was dry and firm and the two men appraised one another steadily until the moment stretched uncomfortably and they drew apart. ‘How do you do?’ said Jack rather formally.

‘It’s good to meet you at last, sir,’ Peter replied with equal formality. ‘Rita’s talked about you a lot.’

‘I hope it wasn’t all bad,’ Jack said jovially. ‘And please, call me Jack.’