The Federation vote had been a success, though many towns and suburbs had voted against it. But the majority had been secured and the first federal election was to be held in two years’ time. And somewhere along the line, in the few short weeks since the referendum, the Premier’s government had been swept aside and Mr Lyne—about whom no one had heard very much at all during the referendum—was the new Premier, though how this had occurred, or why, most people in the colony could not say. For there had been no election, yet a number of important men in parliament now sat in different seats to those they had occupied in June, and a number held quite different offices and some held no office at all. Such was the life of the politician.

In one of his first acts as Premier, Mr Lyne had discontinued the Office of Public Monies. It duplicated much of the work of the Colonial Treasurer and the Secretary for Public Works, after all. The Secretary for Public Monies now found himself without office, position or staff, but as he had expectations of being appointed Minister for Federation the loss was, it was hoped, only short term. Mr George Drummond-Smith had also lost his position with the formation of the new government, but as he now, unaccountably, sported a black eye and a dislocated jaw—the origins of which were the source of much speculation but little in the way of hard fact—his temporary withdrawal from public life was prudent. One of Mr Lyne’s former ministers sported a badly bruised hand but as no one, not even this gentleman’s wife, put these two incidents together, it was not remarked upon.

At the house in Elizabeth Bay the frangipani had burst into life, sprouting a host of new buds, and the view down to the bay was gone now until April.

Eleanor Dunlevy stood at the window with the baby in her arms. He was awake, his eyes focusing on her face, or appearing to. Really, it was hard to know but she fancied he knew her face, now. And she pointed out to him the things she saw from the window—the new buds on the branches of the frangipani, the carriage that came down the hill and went on to the water’s edge, the currawongs in the branches of the old fig tree and the cockatoos circling overhead. All of it was new for spring, all of it was new for the baby.

Alasdair came in dressed in his best suit and smartest tie and a new pair of gloves, for there was to be a reception that afternoon at the governor’s house.