‘I don’t feel safe here,’ Winston said again. ‘AIDS is everywhere. It’s in the papers. It’s on the radio. There’s no escaping it. For all you hear about AIDS in Hong Kong, it might as well not exist. Of course it does, but not in the plague proportions it is here.’ He pulled a tissue from his pocket and swiped at his eyes. ‘I can’t manage it anymore, Leo. I can’t.’

‘But we’re fine, we’re safe.’

‘I don’t feel safe here anymore,’ said for the third time.

Not a religious man, Leonard nevertheless found himself thinking of Judas, his betrayal uttered three times. Absolute and immutable.

‘I’m sorry, Leo. But I’ve made up my mind.’ Winston sounded so cold, he might have been a stranger. ‘Two weeks’ notice from today.’ He withdrew an envelope from his breast pocket and put it on the desk. Without meeting Leonard’s gaze, he turned and left the office.

11 UNCHARTED WATERS

11

UNCHARTED WATERS

The summer dragged on, with day after day of baking heat. Every so often a rough southerly would blast in, the sky would darken, and the temperature would plummet ten degrees in ten minutes. A cool day or two would follow before the heat flared again.

Since Leonard’s return to work, peace in the household had become less of an effort. They had not discussed what had happened, Sylvie suspected they never would. And besides, what would Leonard say? He loved her, he didn’t feel as if he had betrayed her, he believed these acts of his had no impact on his marriage and family life. And while she was inclined to believe him, they certainly had an impact on her marriage and her family life. The irritations that had niggled over the years had now ruptured. Her comfortable life no longer gave her much comfort.

It was in this mood, on the evening of a cool change with the rain beating down, that Sylvie telephoned Galina to suggest lunch together the following day. She’d not seen the girl since Christmas, and had no particular reason for seeing her now; but then perhaps she didn’t need a reason — for this or anything else she might want to do. Her husband followed his inclinations, so why shouldn’t she?

Galina sounded delighted. ‘Your call is such a coincidence,’ she said. ‘I was about to telephone you. To invite you here, to my home.’

Galina, it emerged, wanted Sylvie’s opinion — not about cooking or furnishings or where to have her hair cut, but about her work. Galina had made a picture book. ‘And I cannot know if it is good or bad.’ There was a long pause with an audible intake of break. ‘I have called this book When Melbourne Meets Leningrad.’ She explained that her paying jobs went into recess over the Christmas–January holiday period. ‘So I have been working with no interruption.’