It probably would be better if he were on a lighthouse somewhere, alone with his dog and his yearnings. He could keep Galina close twenty-four hours a day without making a mess of things. And with his lively imagination, anything and everything would be possible with her. Yet he couldn’t be entirely incompetent here, in the real world. Galina was quick to accept his invitations for a meal, for their Saturday adventures; and if he touched her, the sort of touch that couldn’t be misconstrued, she never brushed him away. She kissed him on the cheek in greeting and again when departing; she shared the armrest with him at the cinema. But did she know he loved her? And did she have any special feelings for him? After nine months of regular contact he could answer neither question.

For the sake of his own sanity he needed to know. He had considered recruiting Sylvie to the task — she had her own friendship with Galya, the sort of woman-to-woman interaction in which confidences are shared — but his well-meaning, over-protective mother already intruded far too deeply into his life. And besides, he was afraid the relationship between Galya and his mother was more of a mother-daughter connection, in which case the main Morrow attraction for Galya might be Sylvie, not him.

He entered the studio, busied himself with Godrevy, and attended to some mail. But thoughts of Galya would not be silent. Which was why he needed some answers: he simply could not go on this way. Surely it was better to know the truth and risk losing his dreams than to live with so much uncertainty. Tonight, he decided, he would reveal himself tonight. Then immediately changed his mind: he didn’t want to jeopardise their trip to the High Country.

He picked up the telephone and dialled his parents’ number. He knew he was sending the wrong message to Sylvie, but he needed help, and his mother was always so astute about people. The phone rang and rang. Perhaps he had dialled the wrong number; he tried again, but still no answer. It was not his mother’s driving-for-the-blind day, it was not the day she lunched with her sister, it was not her shopping day, and besides, it was nine o’clock in the morning. You could set your calendar by Sylvie — although now that he thought about it, this was not the first time recently he’d telephoned to find her out when she should have been home.

He would have to deal with this alone. He telephoned the travel agency in Carlton. Yes, they said in response to his question, they had material on the High Country. He dithered over whether to pick it up now or after his afternoon meeting, then decided later. He needed to work. He tried some sketches for a new commission, he tried working on a maquette for the same project, he tried some paperwork, but his mind simply would not leave Galina alone. In the end, he gathered up a delighted Godrevy and took him for another walk.