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‘I remember you at the window when I was here as a child.’

Emily smiled. ‘You and that little girl. I envied you.’ At Tom’s frown, she continued. ‘You were both laughing at the things you were talking about, and I wanted to be like that – to be with you both, but I wasn’t allowed to meet you.’

‘Even though I was your cousin.’

‘Especially because you were my cousin. They wanted absolutely nothing to do with poor Moira and her bastard child. But Grandpa insisted – and caused a huge stink until they agreed – that they bring your mother’s body back to be buried in Adelaide. Grandma refused to have her in the family plot, but Grandpa bought her a special place at the Cheltenham Cemetery, where another of our wayward family members was buried – Uncle Albert. I don’t know his misdemeanours but we’re not even allowed to mention him.’ She giggled.

‘Thank you for this, Emily,’ he said and stepped forward to kiss her cheek.

She touched her face, blushing. ‘You’re welcome, Tom. It was worth holding on to for all this time, because it brought you here. I don’t know how much help it might be – it doesn’t say what he does for a living – but hopefully that address is a start. I hope we’ll see each other again. I’m sorry for the circumstances, and for my parents’ appalling behaviour, but you went for their softest spot – well done. Money and status are everything to the Darnells. I wish I was a Wintrow, to be honest, because Grandpa was wealthy but generous and a real sweetie. You’d have liked him.’

‘Well, I plan to get to know his granddaughter from here on.’

Emily hugged him. ‘Oh, this is going to really make my parents’ day. You know they’ll be watching from the shadows.’

He grinned, then turned to leave.

‘And Tom?’

He turned back.

‘If you’re happy in your present, maybe don’t go digging back into the past.’ Emily shrugged. ‘Just a thought,’ she said with a bright smile as she closed the iron gate between them. ‘Take me out of this gaol soon.’

‘I’ll write.’

‘You’d better.’

His grin was his promise and as he walked away he realised how novel the feeling of happiness was. Since leaving the Alberton Hotel and meeting his cousin, he’d known only a dark mood as he made plans to return north. Tom had telephoned the woolstores to explain he was going home, using the excuse that life in the big smoke did not suit him.

‘I miss the big space and the peace,’ he’d said to his boss. ‘Can you let Charlie know I’ll drop him a note and sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye?’

‘You all right, lad? Heard you took a hiding from a jealous fella.’

‘Something like that. I’ve had worse,’ he lied. Or was he lying? No. He could admit to himself he was far more broken from the wounds of Fleur’s letter than anything Jimmy’s fists or boots could do to him. He said none of this, of course. ‘I’ll be fine, Mr Chapman.’

‘Sorry it didn’t work out, Catchlove. I liked your style but I especially liked your speed. Easy to tell you’ve come from a shearing shed.’

‘And where I probably belong,’ Tom said in a rueful tone, not wanting to believe it. ‘Bye, Mr Chapman.’

Tom put the phone down in the hallway of the hotel called the Seven Stars that he was staying in. He could hear the drone of men from the front bar, punctuated by bursts of laughter or roars of ridicule and the clash and clatter of glasses.

A man lurched out through the swing doors into the hallway and turned towards him, looking confused. He was intoxicated but not yet fully drunk, with the presence of mind to smooth his clothes and his hair. ‘Mate,’ he said in greeting.

Tom nodded in response. ‘I think you want that direction,’ he said, gesturing towards the doors that led out onto Angas Street.

‘Lost my girl today,’ the man groaned.

Tom felt his insides flip but he didn’t let his expression betray the feeling of brotherhood. ‘Sorry to hear that.’

‘Her friend told me lies about her,’ the man said, his gaze swimming slightly as he moved towards Tom.

‘And you believed her?’

His companion held up a forefinger and waggled it before Tom. ‘She’s a cunning one, that one. Very . . .’ He let out a small burp. ‘Very convincing.’

Tom nodded. ‘Girls can be cunning.’

‘Yes!’ the man hissed. ‘She lied, told me Sarah – that’s my love – fancied another. Always had. But that I was a good catch and Sarah thought I’d make a good husband, good father.’