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‘Gosh, you’re fun, Tom. Everything’s a new experience. That’s a date, then.’ She gestured at a doorway he recalled. ‘We’re here.’

‘I’m staying not too far up the road at the Alberton Hotel.’

‘Oh, yes, I know it. Is it all right?’

He shrugged. ‘It’ll do for now until I find more permanent lodgings.’

‘You know your mother is buried about five minutes from the pub?’

‘Really? That close?’

She nodded and smiled. ‘Don’t hesitate. I’m sure just being near her will help to settle some things in your mind.’

‘I will go on Monday.’ He grinned. ‘Can’t wait for tomorrow.’

‘Counting the hours?’ she shot back cheekily.

‘I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep,’ he replied just as fast, causing her to throw back her head with delight.

‘Feels good to feel good,’ she said. ‘You do that to me. Kiss me goodnight, Tom.’

It felt both impossible and beyond his childhood dreams to be kissing the girl he’d loved for twenty years. The childish crush had turned to a deep fondness almost instantly, and to imagine that the Fleur of his dreams had this very evening been in his arms, beneath his lips, made him believe it was this doorway and her embrace that he had been travelling towards all of his life. His mother’s death, his father’s rejection, the years of raising himself and carving out his path in the shearing shed, the trauma of Sparra’s death, the fever that took him to hospital and the revelation that Vern was not his real father . . . every one of those turning points had contributed to sending him to Adelaide. And not just Adelaide, but down to the port’s woolstores and to agreeing to the dance that would have him cross the path of Fleur Appleby again.

It was meant to be. Did he believe in destiny or was it fate? He wasn’t sure. He just knew as he deepened the kiss that this was where he wanted to be forever, and nothing else mattered any more except loving Fleur.

13

It had been more than a kiss. Fleur had sensed that immediately. It had felt like home . . . or at least how home used to feel when Mae had been alive and Henry had been a happier man. Back then, the house had been a vessel for love, laughter and hugs. Now it felt like a repository for dislike, silences and awkward meals of polite conversation at best. Even the two women who worked for Irma rarely cracked smiles; they barely spoke unless answering a question fired at them by the lady of the house.

But kissing Tom changed everything.

It prompted all her pleasurable memories at once, wrapping them into a neat, tender feeling of joy, allowing her to glimpse all that she missed about her childhood. He suddenly felt like her safe harbour away from the rocks of misery, or the currents of despair, with his strong arms encircling her and the way he looked at her with what seemed like awe or disbelief. She loved knowing that he couldn’t hide his own pleasure at being with the grown-up Fleur. He had certainly grown into a fine-looking man but, more importantly, Fleur could tell he was the best sort of man – someone to rely on, who would be the closest of friends, the gentlest of lovers.

She had decided all of this as they kissed. It felt like their lips had wanted to touch again for all these years and now that they had, she wanted them to touch forever. She hadn’t wanted to let him go after their final kiss and when she finally did, it had led to a lovely moment of embarrassed laughter between them.

‘I don’t want to leave you again . . . not ever, Fleur,’ he’d told her, and she loved how vulnerable he could be in his honesty. He was stroking back a wisp of her hair that had come free.

She’d cupped his jawline in her hands . . . strong, with just the first rasp of evening stubble against her skin. ‘Then don’t, Tom Catchlove,’ she’d whispered back, kissing him again and smiling at the sound of a distant wolf whistle coming from across the wide road. Someone had noticed them, maybe envied them.

They pulled away.

‘I have to, though,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow feels like a lifetime to wait.’

She grinned in the dark. ‘I might be able to get one of the boys to drive us up to the city. I’ll meet you outside the pub at ten.’

‘It would take several strong blokes to stop me,’ he assured. Tom kissed her hand softly. ‘Tomorrow, then.’

‘No church this morning, Dad?’ Fleur enquired brightly at breakfast.

Henry frowned. ‘No, I didn’t wake you because I have a call-out. Old Mr Jones.’

‘Oh,’ she said sadly. All of her father’s peers were dying. ‘He was ailing, though.’

He nodded. ‘I’ll go shortly.’

Fleur watched again as Irma joined Nan at the sideboard, where she now preferred breakfast to be laid out so that the family could help themselves. It was beyond pretentious and, given that all they were eating this morning was porridge, it seemed a waste of time, effort and washing up.

Her stepmother’s latest decision, though, was to insist on pouring Henry’s coffee herself and she seemed to take an age over it.