He was right, and it was what she wanted. She hesitated a moment longer, then let him have his way. He positioned her against the window and took some photos; he asked her to move to the left and took more photos; he moved her to another position and took still more photos. He was taking each picture as if it were a masterpiece, while at the same time interrupting the pedestrian traffic.

‘She’s a new author,’ he explained to passers-by. And, pointing to the book in the window, ‘There’s her book. Don’t forget that name. Galina Kogan.’

It would appear that when it came to her being in the limelight, Andrew managed to overcome his shyness.

At last he was finished and the camera put away.

‘Did you take an entire roll of film?’ she asked.

He shook his head. ‘Not quite. But I’m happy to finish it off if you’d like.’

He was laughing at her, and she joined in. However, when he suggested they go inside the bookshop to see how her book looked on the shelves, she begged off. She’d had enough. ‘Another day,’ she said. And then, as explanation, added, ‘It is good to spread out your joys.’

He guided her to a nearby café where they toasted the success of her book with cappuccinos and jokes.

‘The Soviets might invite you back when your book becomes a runaway success.’

‘Success on foreign soil? No, they would not like that at all. This book makes me even more of an enemy in Soviet eyes.’

‘So different from Australia.’ Andrew was shaking his head. ‘When someone hits the big time overseas, having been previously ignored in Australia, he suddenly becomes Australia’s favourite son —’

‘Or daughter.’

Andrew nodded, ‘Yes, of course. Son or daughter.’

Galina recalled Zara telling her about the great Australian cringe. She raised the issue now with Andrew. ‘This is like relying on the acknowledgement and judgement of your betters?’

Andrew nodded. ‘I’m afraid so.’

‘You condemn this?’

‘Of course I do. It’s bloody 1988. Our generation of Australians must stand up for itself.’ He paused. ‘All Australians should.’