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.

Back in the Soviet Union, understanding people and knowing what made them tick was simple. You all lived with the same restrictions and deprivations; you all wanted the same things, feared the same things, valued the same things. But with each new person here, she needed to discover their current, that absolutely fundamental source of their being that revealed their loves and desires, their biases and beliefs, their struggles and pains, their successes and losses. Questions had been essential.

She now asked Leonard about his family in Perth, about the business, about his sports and hobbies. Leonard answered politely, but briefly. She found him strangely opaque. He seemed to live behind his face — an attractive mask, particularly given his age, but revealing very little.

Ever since Andrew had mentioned that his father wrote poetry, she had been intrigued to know how the businessman and the poet cohabitated. Now seemed an opportune time to find out.

‘Andrew has told me about your poetry,’ she began. And opting for an oblique approach, ‘Are you familiar with our great Russian poets?’

Her question caught him by surprise, and suddenly the unreadable face slipped into focus. She saw his discomfort, his eye contact faltered, and in the long silence that followed she found herself wishing she’d not broached this subject.

Then he returned his gaze to her.