Flags flew everywhere; the city threatened to be airborne under the pull of fluttering bunting. Citizens walked around with bemused smiles, as if wondering how they had arrived at this anniversary: history is not comfortable if one has to wear it personally. The Lucky Country over the past year had begun to question its luck. “Phil Norval must be questioning his luck,” said Malone. “Being landed with Timori just as he’s about to have his biggest shindig.” “What about our luck?” said Kenthurst. “We’ve got to move him out of here by tonight. The PM wants Kirribilli House back for the big day on Tuesday,” “Where are you taking him?” said Joe Nagler. “We haven’t been told yet. We suggested we take him back up to Richmond, to the RAAF base—security would be much tighter there. But Madame vetoed that. I gather she wants to be somewhere around the harbour, so they can see all the celebrations.” “What’s she got to celebrate?” “Twenty-two million bucks, for one thing,”
