Katherine Scholes was in awe of Roger, but on a hike together, things didn’t look promising from a romantic point of view. Then night fell
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I
met Roger in 1975, when I was just 16 and he was 25. Returning home one afternoon, I found him having tea with my parents. He had been living in an artist’s community in Switzerland and had ideas of starting one in Tasmania. My mother is a painter, and my father one of those people who makes things happen. I listened to them talk of buying a farm.
Roger was wearing worn-out Levi’s jeans, Western boots, a blue-grey suit jacket. His blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail. More than six feet tall, he towered over me. He had an enamelled brooch pinned on his lapel and a string of tiny turquoise beads around one wrist. This was country Tasmania. No one looked like this.
