‘Yes, but…’

‘I’m not interested in job offers.’

She sounded as if she was serious, Marc thought incredulously. She sounded as if she seriously thought he’d travelled all the way to Australia and come to find her in this outlandish place, dressed in this ridiculous rig, to ask her to look after some trees?

He hated it. He hated this ornate, over-the-top uniform. He hated Charles’s damned ostentatious car and his chauffeur. He hated royalty.

And the only way to get rid of it was via this chit of a girl.

‘I’m not offering you a job,’ he told her stiffly, and she stared.

‘Then why…?’

‘I’m here to ask you to sign some release papers,’ Marc told her. ‘So I can take your nephew back to Broitenburg where he belongs.’

Silence.

The silence went on for so long that it became clear there was lots going on behind it. This was no void, for want of anything to say. This was a respite, where all could get their heads around what had been said.

Tammy had hauled herself up onto a branch and now she sat stock still, staring down as Marc stared back up at her.

She was accustomed to people hunting for her with job offers-which was crazy, as she didn’t intend to leave Australia ever again-but this was crazier still.

Charles discovered there were ants crawling over one of his shoes, and started shifting from foot to foot. He glanced up at Tammy and then at Marc before returning his gaze to the ants. Annoyed, or maybe to block out the silence, he started stomping on them.

His action gave Tammy more breathing space. ‘Excuse me, but those ants are protected,’ Tammy said at last, almost conversationally, as though the previous words had not been said at all. ‘You’re in a National Park. The ants here have more rights than you do.’

Charles swore and shifted sideways. Onto more ants. He swore again, and cast an uncertain glance at Marc, and then, when Marc didn’t speak, he shrugged and headed for the car. He’d done his job. He hadn’t taken on an ambassadorship to stand under trees being bitten by ants.