It was too hard. It made her head spin. She picked up the little cane basket she carried instead of a purse and opened the door to the kitchen.

They were washing dishes. Rafael was washing, Matty was wiping. Rafael had his sleeves rolled up. He’d used too much soap and suds were oozing out of the porcelain bowl and on to the wooden bench. Matty was manfully trying to wipe suds off plates. He had suds on his nose.

There it was again. The combination of de Boutaine sexiness that made her want to gasp.

She swallowed it firmly, but both guys had turned to her and were looking at her in frank admiration.

‘Wow,’ said Matty.

‘Wow,’ Rafael repeated and she felt herself blushing.

‘I…it’s what we all have to wear.’

‘My mama’s pretty,’ Matty said, satisfied. ‘Isn’t she, Uncle Rafael?’

‘She certainly is,’ Rafael agreed. ‘Modern men don’t know what they’re missing.’

‘It certainly covers me,’ she said, struggling for lightness. ‘There could be absolutely anything under these hoops.’

‘Hoops,’ Matty said. He walked forward, fascinated, and gave one of her hoops a tentative poke.

Her skirt swayed out behind her.

‘It’s like a little tent,’ Matty said. ‘Mama could have really, really fat legs. Or she could be hiding something. A little dog.’

It was said with a certain amount of hope and for a dumb moment Kelly wished she had a dog.

A dog under her skirt. Right.

‘There’s nothing your mama needs to hide,’ Rafael said, turning his back to the suds, eyeing them with a degree of bewilderment and then sternly turning back to her. ‘Let’s go play on the goldfields.’

‘You haven’t finished washing up.’

‘My suds seem to be taking over the world,’ he said. ‘I just shook the little holder with the washing up liquid in and suds went everywhere. I think we should go out and shut the door and lock it after us. And hope like crazy the suds don’t follow us down the mineshafts.’