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they passed along seemed no more than a track. Rough cultivation and backyards gave way to plantations and then dense jungle. Miranda put her hand to the glass of the back-seat window just to make sure the barrier was there. Only a few cars passed them going the other way. Occasionally they had to overtake a slow-moving truck.
    Her father and Mr Lefevre talked all the way but they seemed to be merely confirming matters agreed long ago, dull, practical matters about land and money. Only when her father said, “We may be out of here sooner than I expected,” did she take notice and therefore heard, remembered, but didn’t understand when he concluded, “Knowing you, you’ll have been watching the markets closely enough, Lefevre, so you’ll see there’s a storm brewing already. That’s my doing. Soon there’ll be people arriving here cap in hand, people who’ve never had to take instructions from anyone. But they’re going to have to now. I’ll make sure you gain from this, Lefevre. I’m going to need some dependable people around me when I get moving again. How does a spell in Europe sound?” And Mr Lefevre replied that it sounded very good indeed.
    Miranda’s attention returned to the tinted glass and the jungle beyond. It was like the wildwood back home, only worse. Back home, the trees were contained within a clear perimeter and, scary though the sight was, she could at least be reassured it did not go on forever. But here, apart from a few small villages set in patches of plantation or tilled ground, the trees were everywhere. The boundaries of the little human settlements did not contain the jungle; rather they were contained within it. Miranda’s initial dislike of the island deepened.
    Her growing despondency was eventually interrupted by Mr Lefevre announcing their arrival. She looked around but could still see only jungle. Then she caught the movement of high, remote-control gates, felt the limousine turn sharply and they were sweeping up a broad drive to the front of the house.
    The building was different from home – new concrete rather than old stonework – and the feel was different. Nowhere were there any open vistas for her to look out on; no formal gardens, nor steps where she could lie down and gaze at the clouds. Instead, there was some grass, some bushes and a high wire fence, which, but for the gates onto the entrance drive, appeared to run unbroken around the house and grounds. Beyond the fence there was nothing but a wall of jungle.
    On the inside, the house looked ready for occupation but entirely unlived in, much as their home had looked when they left it. Donnell came out to greet them, pick up their bags and lead them in. He offered Miranda a choice of three rooms, one on the ground floor, two upstairs. She chose the one that was upstairs at the back. If she was going to have to look out on the wildwood again, it might as well be from a similar vantage to that offered by her room at home. She recalled Lissel saying of the wildwood view from her old room, ‘It’s a site of special scientific interest. Your father is only allowed to cut the wood under strict control.’ Miranda looked out through the metal-framed window of her new room at the tangled, unbroken mass of vegetation. This might be the wildwood, but it was clearly no site of special interest, subject to agreements and controls.
    As he put Miranda’s bags down, Donnell said to her, “Your father’s renting this place, though he’s still a guest of sorts. I believe the government uses it, mostly to put up visiting VIPs – but it looks to me like they haven’t had many of those lately. A bit down on its luck this place, I’d say. But your father’s got some ideas for it. That’s probably why they’ve let him take this house on. There’s less than a hundred thousand live on this island and most of them don’t have a