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club.”
    “The Henley Regatta, tell me all about it.”
    “I missed going last year, but it’s rather fun.”
    “Is it true men have to wear tails and opera coats when attending the Royal Opera?”
    “Yes, carry silver topped canes, too. Enough of my social life, what about yours?”
    “I don’t do anything much. Sometimes a couple of the other nurses and I might go late night shopping on Friday, and treat ourselves to supper. A pie, chips, peas and tomato sauce, not bad for a shilling, especially with a cup of tea thrown in as well.”
    Dear God, she felt happy with that. After an evening out, a snack laid out for his friends might include smoked salmon sides, lobster, caviar, game pies, champagne and cigars.
    “What else do you do?” he queried, cursing the difference in their backgrounds.
    “Nothing much, I spend a lot of time studying. My parents sacrificed a lot so I could become a nurse and I want to do well.”
    She would be good at nursing he decided. Behind the laughter lurking in her eyes there was real compassion. He had never come across anyone so caring, so sweet or unspoiled. Working class. Completely unsuitable as a wife, Sir Phillip would say.
    “I wouldn’t mind being one of your patients. Would you visit me after hours, or do my shopping in your own time?”
    Her cheeks flamed and she hung her head. “Jean exaggerates. At home it’s different. I go to church dances, oh a ball or two, the odd card evening. In summer I swim in the river with my brothers. Sometimes a group of us might get together for a ride on our bikes, from one town to another just for fun.”
    “I normally use a car for getting around in.”
    “Do you work?” she asked.
    “Yes, I look after the managerial side of things in the family business.” His lip twisted slightly. “I’m not a complete lay-about, you know.”
    “I didn’t mean to imply you were. Everyone is entitled to a holiday.”
    “Strictly speaking, this isn’t a holiday. Well, it’s a working one, anyway. We have some interests out here.”
    “Oh?”
    “We’re into wool.” He didn’t want to sound evasive, but didn’t want to elaborate too much, in case he scared her off. For once, having wealth could prove to be a curse.
    “Are you?”
    “Yes, my father owns a mill.”
    “What a coincidence. My brother Tom worked in the woolen mills at Wangaratta for a while.”
    He opened his mouth to confess the family company had connections there, then quickly shut it again.
    “You’re terribly rich, aren’t you?” Her speech sounded quite English at times.
    “Yes, I suppose so.”
    “I wish you weren’t, Paul, I mean, so rich.”
    “Why should it matter?”
    She didn’t answer, but continued staring at the passing countryside.
    “I thought we might go to the sanctuary first.” He finally broke the silence between them
    When they alighted from the car, he took her hand. He enjoyed the feel of her soft fingers and the sweet subtle perfume of her skin. He liked everything about her. More than liked, to be brutally honest.
    “Leave your hat. In the sun your hair turns red.”
    “Tom called me carrots for years. It used to send me into screaming fits once,” she confessed with a girlish giggle.
    “You get on well with your brothers?”
    “Yes. You would like Tom, everyone does. Rob is quieter, but he’s a good kid.”
    “I would like to meet your family, Daphne.”
    “Really?”
    “Yes.” She stared into his eyes. Something flashed in their deep, chocolate depths, something dangerously sweet, a secret promise that she couldn’t quite understand.
    “I’m going home for Christmas. My parents would make you welcome, provided you don’t mind bunking in with Rob, and Tom if he’s home.”
    “I went to boarding school for years, so I’m used to sharing.”
    She let him lead her into the bush. A kookaburra laughed loudly from somewhere close by, a grey kangaroo, so tame it came right up close, watched them with large soulful eyes.
    “I