Jack listened as he talked of his childhood on the isolated sheep station in the Outback of Queensland: his older sisters who were now married, and the little brother who’d been tragically killed by a snake bite at the age of four.

‘I was only six at the time,’ he said, ‘but felt his loss as much as everyone. But these things happen out there, and I had a few close calls myself.’

Peter went on to describe the education all Outback children received by two-way radio until they were old enough to attend boarding school in Brisbane, which he’d hated – and then the three-year mechanical engineering course which he’d thoroughly enjoyed. However, city life was not for him, and he’d returned home as soon as he was qualified to help on the station and learn to fly his father’s elderly twin-prop. His ambition was to set up as a roving mechanic and shearer, and when time allowed, he’d prospected for gold and the other treasures which lay beneath the empty red heart of Australia.

‘I’m used to the open spaces and big skies of Australia, you see, Jack. There’s a freedom out there where a man can breathe and be in touch with the ancient people who once roamed a land that has barely changed since time began.’ His smile was wistful. ‘We had Aborigines working for us on the property, and as a kid I used to love listening to their Dreamtime stories.’

He crushed the butt of his cigarette under his heel and stared out at the view of green fields and rolling hills. ‘I fell in love with flying in Dad’s old plane, and once I could afford to buy my own, I was rarely home. There’s nothing like the freedom it gives you, Jack, and when you land in the middle of nowhere to camp under the stars and watch the glory of the Milky Way arch across the sky, it’s as if you’re at one with the earth and the people that came before.’

Jack was mesmerised by his story and the vivid images he’d conjured up with such lyrical skill. It was no wonder Rita had been so taken with the idea of going there to see it for real. But the tale held a thread of warning to Jack, and he knew he had to follow it. ‘I hope you’re not planning to live the same nomadic life if you marry Rita,’ he said mildly.

Peter gave a deep sigh. ‘My flying days are over, Jack. The knock I took to my head when I crash-landed means I could black out at the controls – and that’s not a risk I’ll take after surviving the last time.’

‘But you seem perfectly all right,’ murmured Jack.