But here they were, following close on her heels, allowing her no time to slam the door before they entered.

The child’s gaze was everywhere, his eyes enormous, clearly astonished that behind the façade of an ancient weatherboard hut was a snug little home. There was no requirement by the park administration that the interiors were kept authentic but Kelly loved her ancient wood-stove, her battered pine table, the set of kangaroo-backed chairs with bright cushions tied to each and the overstuffed settee stretched out beside the fire.

She had soup on the stove-leek and potato-and the smell after a cold and bleak day was a welcome all by itself.

Now they were inside, she didn’t know where to start. The man-Rafael-was watching her. She watched the child. Mathieu watched everything.

‘Is this where you live?’ the little boy asked at last. He was backing away from eye contact with her now. The mother-child thing…neither of them knew where to start.

‘Yes.’ She couldn’t get enough of him. She didn’t believe-yet-but she wanted to, oh, she wanted to, and for this tiny sliver of time she thought what if…what if?

‘Do you have a real stove?’

‘This is a real stove. Do you want to see the fire inside?’

‘Yes, please.’

She flicked open the fire door. He stared at the pile of glowing cinders and frowned.

‘Can you cook on this?’

‘You can see the pot of soup.’ She lifted a log from the hearth and put it in. ‘My fire made my soup. It’s been simmering all day. Every now and then I’ve had to pop home to put another log on.’

‘But you must have a stove with knobs. Like we have in the palace kitchens.’

The palace kitchens. Alp de Ciel. Maybe…maybe…

‘I do have an electric stove,’ she said cautiously, feeling as if she were buying time. She opened a cupboard and tugged out a little electric appliance-two hotplates complete with knobs. ‘In summer when it’s really hot I cook with this.’