They arrived back in reception just as Leonard exited his office. He greeted her with a kiss. ‘Have you eaten lunch?’

She hadn’t, but neither did she want him to feel obliged to buy her a meal. He silenced her protests. ‘We can talk business over a sandwich at my local café.’

It was indeed local, only about twenty metres up the street. Leonard ordered his ‘usual’ — a hot roast-beef sandwich with English mustard — and she settled for a home-made meat pie with tomato sauce. She’d taken a great fancy to the Australian meat pie; so Russian in consistency, carbohydrates and salt, she suspected that the original recipe had come from the kitchen of a Russian Australian.

The business was settled quickly. She had thought she was to be interviewed for the job, but Leonard simply flipped through her folio, pausing at some of her work for Merridale Graphics — ‘I occasionally see Ralph Merridale at the commerce club’ — asked a couple of questions, and the job was hers.

Leonard laid out the roughs for the catalogue, and took her through what he was after. ‘Four pictures,’ he said, ‘painterly, and portraying a variety of library users sitting at our desks, in our carrels, browsing our shelves, searching in our catalogue drawers. And one of the pictures needs to feature teenagers in school uniform as we want to increase our penetration into the private-school market.’

They discussed style and size, they settled on a timeline, and by the time their food arrived, the business was finished.

The café was crowded with workers on their lunch break, and there was a steady stream of people entering for takeaway food and coffee. Despite the surrounding bustle, Leonard remained focused on her. He asked about her family, about Leningrad, about her time at university; he asked about her life in Australia and the adjustments she’d had to make. There were, as far as she could see, no ulterior motives driving his questions, so she let herself talk freely. He would glance up now and then at a loud noise or a burst of laughter, but his gaze quickly returned to her. Other male patrons would be distracted when an attractive woman walked in, would track her progress from door to counter or to a table, and might continue with their blatant staring even after she had sat down; this sort of behaviour was so common among Australian men that Galina had come to expect it. Now what drew her attention was its absence. And it was not because Leonard was old — the Australian male gaze seemed not to weaken with age — but because he was interested in her and what she was saying.

However, after fifteen minutes of responding to his questions, she was feeling uncomfortable. Her experiences this past year in Australia had shaped her preference for asking questions rather than talking about herself — a quality she shared with Andrew, she had noticed. It was not simply that Australians rarely asked her questions, her own questions had been essential to help her navigate through the ever-changing Australian maze.