‘So how long do you intend to wear the willow for Ben?’

‘I’m not.’

‘You’re living with his parents.’

‘That’s because they’ve become my parents,’ she said. ‘Sometimes I wonder whether I fell in love with Ben himself or if I fell in love with the whole concept of family. Like you tonight, looking round the dining table and looking…hungry.’

‘I didn’t,’ he said, revolted. ‘Can we leave it with the inquisition?’

‘Sure,’ she said, and she thought maybe she had pushed it too far. This man was supposed to be her boss. She should be being a bit deferential. Subservient.

He didn’t make her feel subservient. He made her feel…

She didn’t understand how he made her feel. She tried to conjure Ben up in her mind. Kind, gentle Ben, who’d loved her so well.

‘It’s tough,’ he said into the stillness, and she wondered what he was talking about. ‘The first Christmas was the worst, but it’s still bad,’ he added, and she knew he knew.

‘It’s okay.’

‘But it’s tough.’

‘I’ve got thirteen years before I catch up to you in the mourning stakes,’ she snapped, and turned the car into the front yard of Braeside. ‘Here’s your guesthouse.’

It was a fabulous spot, Guy thought, staring around with appreciation. The moon was glinting through bushland to the river beyond, hanging low in the eastern sky over the distant sea. The guesthouse was a sprawling weatherboard home, with vast verandas all around.

‘I’ve heard it’s sumptuous,’ Jenny said, climbing out of the car to stretch her legs.

‘You’ve never been inside?’

‘The likes of me? I’d be shown out by security guards.’

‘I’m sorry about Paris.’

‘I shouldn’t have told you about Paris.’ She hesitated while he hauled his gear from the trunk. ‘Are you serious about me driving this thing home? You realise it’ll be parked near chooks.’

‘Chooks?’

‘Feathery things that lay eggs.’