And during all their years together, that’s exactly what he’d given her. Karen never had any intentions of entangling herself in a relationship—why give a man an opportunity to control her life when she’d fought so hard to get out and away from her father’s vicious dominance? But Peter had walked unexpectedly into the life she’d built herself.

They’d met at a tiny, inner-city art gallery in Melbourne. The art teacher at her school had invited her to an exhibition there, and since Karen was still making up for a childhood devoid of any culture, she’d accepted. Jittery with nerves, she’d planned to wait for Sylvia outside but rain drove her indoors. Her friend never arrived and Karen found out later that her car had broken down in the wet weather.

Utterly out of her depth, Karen had stared at the major canvas of the exhibition, trying hard to match the artist’s story of the work with the image in front of her. People around her murmured affirmations about the use of light, color and texture and how brave the artist was to expose his soul in such a harrowing work. As they drifted away, Peter walked up and scratched his head.

“Looks like …” he peered at the artist’s name, “… Dukes had an accident in the garage with a can of blue paint and he didn’t want to waste an expensive canvas.”

She laughed. Peter grinned. They strolled around the rest of the exhibition together and as they studied each work, he drew her out, seeking her opinions. He didn’t always agree, but his equable responses were always delivered with polite regard. When the gallery owner flashed the lights at eight o’clock to hurry out the lingerers, Peter said, “If you’re hungry, there’s a cheap Greek around the corner.”

Perhaps it was the casual invitation and the way it gave her control, or the fact that a noisy BYO restaurant full of Greek families was devoid of any of the ritual signatures associated with a date, but whatever the reason, Karen found herself sitting opposite a man for dinner for the first time in years. Over taramasalata, baba ganoush and gyros—foods she’d never tasted before—she became increasingly drawn to Peter’s intellect and his quiet and relaxed manner. It scared her, so she deliberately made some outrageous statements to elicit a strong response, telling herself that the moment he yelled at her or called her a stupid woman, the attraction would be cut off at the knees. Her busy single life would once again be safe. But nothing ruffled Peter. He smiled and gently but evenly argued, either deconstructing her statements or firming them up. It was a new and heady experience.