He seemed so excited by his idea that Galina could neither refuse nor correct him: nowhere in Australia, even if it snowed for a month, even if the eucalypts started soughing in Russian, could be mistaken for Leningrad. But his enthusiasm was infectious, and soon the two of them were discussing dates and destinations, lodges versus flats, skiing, hiking and other activities for their High Country holiday.

The time sped by. A sharp white sun had risen, and people cocooned in clothes were hurrying to work. Galina glanced at her wristwatch, and instantly Andrew fell silent. It took so little to throw him off, Galina thought, and quickly proposed they continue their planning that evening over dinner.

He brightened up immediately. ‘I’ll bring maps,’ he said. ‘And I think I have some old pamphlets about the High Country.’

‘As you will be supplying the adventure,’ Galina said, ‘I will supply the meal.’

Andrew hurried home. He had some work to finish, followed by a meeting with a committee from Parks and Gardens, and he would also need to fit in a visit to a travel agent for maps and pamphlets of the High Country. It had been a small lie in service to a good cause. A few uninterrupted days with Galya: the prospect was thrilling. And overwhelming.

The fact was he wanted to see her as often as possible, and he wanted their time together to be perfect. Every single time. Before each meeting he was excited and hopeful, during the meeting he was tense and flustered, and afterwards he felt an abysmal failure.

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.