The Pink Bean is too busy for Micky and Josephine to ask me prying questions so they have to content themselves with inquisitive stares, which I ignore. I buy coffee and a couple of croissants and Camille and I sit.

“How long are you staying in Sydney?” I ask.

She chuckles. “I’m staying in your rental apartment. You should know.”

I shake my head. “It’s a long story why I don’t have a clue about any of this.”

“So, I can stay as long as I like.” Camille tips her cup back. “You wouldn’t even notice.”

“I probably wouldn’t.” I push the plate with croissants in her direction.

“Thanks. I’m famished.” She picks one up and tears off a corner. Before she puts it in her mouth, she says, “Croissants in Sydney are surprisingly not disappointing.”

“You’re the expert, I guess.” I look at her as she chews. She seems so at ease. So unperturbed by what happened. “Are you here for work or pleasure?”

“Definitely pleasure.” She nods slowly. “I flew in from Brisbane last night. I’ve spent the past two months in your beautiful country. Sydney is my last stop before I go back to France.”

“Ah, that’s why you’re so Zen.”

She slants her head. “Perhaps. Only a week left to relax.” Her cheeks dimple when she grins.

“Where in France are you from?”

“Paris.” She pronounces it the French way. “Born and bred. But as much as I love it, sometimes you just need to get away.”

“If you can, then, yes, I guess.” I wish I could have run away from Sydney after Rebecca told me she was leaving me.

“I believe that if you really want to, you can.” She rips off another piece of croissant. “Are you sick of Sydney?” Her eyes bore into me.

“Not Sydney so much as certain people who live here.”

She purses her lips together and nods. “I think I know exactly what you mean. But let me guess. Your children and your job prevent you from going away for a longer time. And your Airbnb property, of course.” She follows up with a chuckle.

I laugh at her dig. “No children, but my job is pretty demanding.”

“Whose isn’t these days?” She sighs.

It’s refreshing to talk to an interesting woman, who, at first glance, looks like she could be the perfect demographic for my TV show but doesn’t have a clue of who I am. “What do you do?”

“I work for the CNRS, the Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique. I advise the French government on scientific matters.”

“That sounds important.”