If she didn’t slug him it was only because they were surrounded by a score of onlookers, but it was a really close thing. Somehow she managed to keep hold of a shred of dignity. A scrap. ‘Right.’ She took a deep breath. ‘You want me to drive all the way back to Sydney by myself?’

‘Of course. Unless the bushfires block the road. I’ll understand if you’re delayed.’ He tossed her the car keys and she was so astounded she caught them. But that was all she was doing.

‘No.’

‘Rachel…’ His tone became patient-consultant talking to slightly stupid junior. ‘You know I can’t be replaced. Hubert needs a cardiologist and he needs the best.’

‘I have hay in my hair,’ she muttered through gritted teeth. ‘I can’t show a potential Australian champion.’

‘Yes, you can. You just need a-’

He got no further. She lifted the car keys and threw them right at his freshly shined shoes. ‘Your dog, your problem. I’m going home,’ she told him, one syllable at a time. ‘I’ll hitchhike if I must, but I’m not touching your car.’

‘Rachel-’

‘Stuff it. Stuff you.’

‘But Hubert-’

‘Hubert can die for all I care, but he won’t die because you’re not there. He’s over eighty, he’s grossly overweight and there are at least five cardiologists in Sydney who are as qualified as you are to care for him.’

‘You know that’s ridiculous.’

‘I know nothing of the kind.’

‘Can I make a suggestion?’ It was Brown Eyes. Hugo. But Rachel wasn’t in the mood for interruptions. She wheeled and gave him a look to kill.

‘Butt out. This is my business.’

He held up his hand, placating. ‘Whoa…’

‘I’m out of here.’ She leaned back into the cubicle, grabbed her overnight bag and hauled it out. It was a fine gesture which didn’t come off quite as planned. She hadn’t snibbed her bag shut, and it flew open. Out tumbled her spare jeans, her toilet bag-and a bra and a couple of pairs of very lacy, very scant panties.