Their Doorstep Baby. Barbara Hannay

      With its own separate nursery wing built in the late nineteenth century, it was a beautiful, welcoming house crying out for a family to fill it.

      But Claire refused to let her mind linger on that dead-end path. She turned her attention to the familiar garden features.

      One of her very special delights was to revisit her garden after a time away. There was always something new to discover. New shoots, new buds, and sometimes, sadly, the discovery that a struggling plant had succumbed to the heat, or that others had been eaten by wallabies.

      So now, she revisited each part of her garden in turn. The jacarandas sweeping in a row away from one end of the house were still flowering and beneath them the lawn was covered by a romantic carpet of fallen lavender bluebells.

      The jasmine and bougainvillaea that rambled along the trellises on the veranda were still making a good show and her rose beds, filled with her favourite mixture of hybrid tea and David Austen roses, were a riot of colour.

      She smiled. Italy was grand, but it is most definitely good to be home.

      Stepping onto one of the rustic stone paths, she followed it past the hardy, summer stalwarts—pentas, zinnias and dahlias—around to the western side of the house where she wanted to plan a new garden. As she walked she brushed past lavender bushes and they welcomed her by giving up their fresh, heady perfume.

      From this side of the house, she could see the flash of the river—the Maronoa—mighty in flood, but quiet and peaceful now. Wide and brown, the river was bordered by black-soil banks lined with century-old river gums.

      Adam had told her once that during all the years he’d lived on Nardoo, the river had been like a favourite friend. And she’d understood exactly what he meant. Together, they’d spent many happy hours sitting and chatting, picnicking or fishing beside its wide, silky waters.

      He’d built a rough stone barbecue up closer to the house in the shade of a row of ancient Moreton Bay fig trees. But from between the tree-trunks, they could still see the river and they’d enjoyed many outdoor meals there. Now she wanted to make the area into a proper courtyard to be lit at night by dainty fairy lights threaded through the tree branches.

      She could picture a central pergola covered in yellow Banksian roses and perhaps a lily pond. And she wanted perfumed plants climbing over trellises to scent the evening air—hoya, port-wine magnolia and night-scented jasmine.

      As Claire wandered further, planning happily, checking what other patches in the garden needed weeding or pruning or watering, she felt her garden begin to work its magic…soothing her and healing her hurt.

      Restoring her faith in herself.

      From the house, she heard the tinkle of the telephone, but she continued her inspection. Nancy would take the call.

      The fresh tang of tomato plants reached her as she arrived at the raised vegetable gardens at the back of the house. Here, bok choy, tomatoes, parsnips and eggplants were planted alongside herbs for the kitchen—parsley, basil, oregano, mint and rosemary.

      A garden fork was stuck in the earth and she picked it up and began to break up the soil. The ground gave up its moist, earthy scent and her nostrils twitched with pleasure.

      She promised herself to put babies completely out of her mind, trusting that once she became absorbed in her garden again, she wouldn’t feel so empty or downhearted.

      It was ironic that she had a talent for winning fertility out of the earth when she…

      No! No more negative thoughts.

      She couldn’t resist testing the rich chocolate texture of the freshly turned earth with her fingers and, almost immediately, she felt her spirits lift.

      ‘Claire!’ Nancy’s voice reached her and she looked up to see their housekeeper standing on the back porch, holding the screen door open.

      ‘Am I wanted on the telephone?’ Claire called, annoyed, because she’d just started to get her hands dirty.

      The housekeeper hurried towards her. ‘You don’t need to come, but your sister called,’ she said as she drew closer.

      ‘Sally? What does she want?’

      Nancy grinned. ‘She’s staying in Daybreak and she’s coming to visit you.’

      ‘She’s in Daybreak? Again?’ Claire was genuinely surprised. Daybreak was the country town nearest to Nardoo, but Sally worked as a journalist in Brisbane and claimed to be an urban animal. In the past, she’d always shunned the bush. But over the past couple of years, Claire had noticed that her visits had been becoming more frequent.

      ‘That explains why she didn’t answer my call when I tried to ring her in Brisbane,’ she told Nancy. ‘I wonder what on earth has dragged her out here this time. Did she say when she’s coming?’

      ‘This evening.’

      ‘Oh.’ Claire realised as soon as it was out that her reply sounded less than enthusiastic. ‘That’s great,’ she added with more energy. It wasn’t that she wouldn’t love to see Sally. There was never a dull second when her little sister was around.

      But she couldn’t help wondering if Sally had been in contact with Jim. Had she dashed out here to check on her? Her stomach churned at the thought. If Sally planned to cross-examine her, she could be in for an uncomfortable time.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      ‘I’VE been in contact with Jim.’

      It wasn’t the first thing Sally announced after she arrived that evening, but it came far too early in the conversation for Claire’s comfort.