Georgie tailed Franklin to Musk Vale, a little place on the Ballan–Daylesford Road. They convoyed up a short gravel driveway to a white-weatherboard and red-tin-roofed farmhouse. Various roof pitches were evidence of a series of extensions. Its homeliness appealed to her.
She stepped out of the Spider and scanned the farm. Precise rows of lavender in rich, red soil filled a large paddock adjacent to the house block. Further afield, black and white cows munched and viewed the newcomers. On the right, a couple of horses ran, graceful and free-spirited. As she watched them, Georgie breathed the fresh air deeply, letting it relax her. It smelled like more rain on the way.
A woman called, ‘Hello!’ She approached in blue jeans and a black T-shirt with a long-faded logo. She held a white plasti
