Pearly didn’t watch much television either. What with civic duties, his business and section chores, there wasn’t much opportunity. Sometimes he was out for five or six nights on the trot. Rugby, of course: he watched that, and as much other sport as he could. Increasingly he liked to watch golf, although he’d rarely played it. The outdoor setting, the lithe power of the contestants, especially the women, the pressure and the drama. The stewardship of the courses impressed him: immaculate greens and tees, tailored fairways, limpid water hazards, bunker sand as smooth as yoghurt, artfully maintained pines and bluegums. Golf had a sculptured appeal as well as the display of physical accomplishment.

‘Esther’s coming to the citizenship awards on Tuesday and we’ll talk about the harbour and hospital,’ he told Helen when they were preparing for bed. She had gone into the ensuite to put night cream on her face, and said something Pearly didn’t hear clearly. ‘What?’

‘I said that’s fine, but you don’t want her to take all the credit. It’s the council that’s been behind both projects. Okay, the radiography fundraising committee has boosted finance, but the port project has been all council.’ Helen was usually supportive of Pearly’s position and ambitions, although not herself particularly interested in politics. She understood his nature: the drive that was a search for meaning and value in the freefall of life experience. She was accustomed to his assumption of worth, achievement and leadership, but quite capable of pointing out occasions when those assumptions proved false.