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At 44, Susan Duncan appeared to have it all. Editor of two of Australia's top-selling women's magazines, a happy marriage, a jet-setting lifestyle covering stories from New York to Greenland, rubbing shoulders with Hollywood royalty, the world was her oyster. But when her beloved husband and brother die within three days of each other, her glittering life shatters. In shock, she zips on her work face and soldiers on - until one morning 18 months later when she simply can't get out of bed.

London, 1847: On shore leave while his ship is being repaired, sailor Thomas Rutherford is restless, waiting to return to sea. At twenty-eight years old, Tom knows nothing but life on tall ships and is determined to captain his own. But Tom has a second passion: painting. And so he passes time with his paintbox and sketchbook... until he is struck by the discovery of a delicate glove laced with the unmistakable scent of turpentine. The owner is Catherine Ogilvie – captivating, headstrong and a talented artist in her own right.

At 44, Susan Duncan appeared to have it all. Editor of two of Australia's top-selling women's magazines, a happy marriage, a jet-setting lifestyle covering stories from New York to Greenland, rubbing shoulders with Hollywood royalty, the world was her oyster. But when her beloved husband and brother die within three days of each other, her glittering life shatters. In shock, she zips on her work face and soldiers on - until one morning 18 months later when she simply can't get out of bed.

The third memoir from the author of best sellers Salvation Creek and The House at Salvation Creek. In The House on the Hill, Susan Duncan reaches an age where there's no point in sweating long-term ramifications. There aren't any. This new understanding delivers an unexpected bonus - the emotional freedom and moral clarity to admit to hidden and often fiendish facts of ageing and, ultimately, to find ways to embrace them.

I'm an RN in the ER - strong, assertive, and capable, with a potent array of sophisticated equipment and medications at my disposal. Exactly one week from the day of my mother's funeral, an investigator from the Florida Department of Health shows up at the ER and informs me that I may be charged with a felony. Someone is making anonymous complaints that I'm practicing medicine beyond my scope of practice. I have no idea who or why!