‘Was your Dad a park ranger too?’ Hillary asked.
Victoria chuckled. Her father wasn’t in one spot long enough to hang onto any sort of job. ‘He’s a bushman.’
‘Like one of those people who can live anywhere without anything and survive?’ Stan asked. ‘Could you live off the land, like your dad?’
‘I could. And I could manage to eat more than flies,’ Victoria said. ‘Nothing like Hillary’s feasts though. Bush tucker is a bit plainer.’
‘Hillary, this meal is fit for royalty,’ Harry said, raising his glass of wine in her direction. She lifted hers good-naturedly and the rest of the table followed. Victoria grabbed her own glass, raised it into the air and sipped the heavily oaked red. It was a powerful drop; half a glass had made her a little tipsy. She watched Dan sip his. The swirling red l
