Easing herself onto the oak bench, Betty delved into the goodies she bought from Coles in Hunter Street. This was a singular pleasure she kept from Eleanor. Sisters can be so insistent upon sharing everything. She nibbled the quince paste, the water crackers and the King Island Double Brie, washing it down with the spring water that accompanied her everywhere.
Beside the sandstone wall behind her, another Elizabeth had stood two hundred years earlier, at her husband’s side. Lachlan had helped her over the stile entrance at the top of the bent path, and escorted her to this vantage point. Together they dreamed of English garden demesnes, loop roads, and horse-drawn carriages at a smart clip-clop, heading towards the harbour glinting through the wooded slope.
Finishing her repast, Betty cleared the remaining crumbs with her moistened finger, and leant back against the bench, watching the yachts on the harbour below.