The tea trees had been laid out in unerringly straight rows. Nearly a third of them had died, but the remainder, left untended, had spread wildly, swamping the gaps, rising up to merge overhead.

Julia left Tobias behind, walking a little way down one of the long tunnels of black branches. Her trainers crushed the crisp dead leaves littering the ground, making sharp popping sounds. For one moment she almost believed they heralded the long-lost autumn, an end to England's eternal Indian summer, when frost would fall and pull down white-fringed leaves. She missed the snow. It had been such a long time since a flake had fallen on her outstretched palm. In Switzerland even the Alps had occasionally been denuded of their sparkling white caps.

She sat with her back to the smooth bole of one of the living trees. The temperature had dropped appreciably in the orange-hued shade. She fanned her face with the boater and pulled out her cybofax.

When Greg's face formed on the little screen it didn't match her memory of him. Free fall had swollen his cheeks, his eyes seemed enlarged, but even through the slightly distorted features he looked dispirited. Something she would never have imagined. She'd been a little bit afraid of him the other night. Physically he wasn't exceptionally big, the same height as Adrian, but there'd been an impression of strength; the way he moved, clean and unhurried, knowing nothing would be in his way. And he'd never smiled, not meaning it anyway. Like he was only play-acting civilised. He'd seemed a very cold fish, hard. Which, on reflection, was an interesting kind of challenge. What would make him take notice of someone, respond with kindness? And if he did, how safe that person would feel with such a guardian angel.

"Miss Evans," he said, expectant.

Julia wedged the cybofax into a fork on the gnarled branch in front of her, and put her boater back on. "Julia, please."

"Julia. What can I do for you?"

"I called about the spoiler operation."

"You can tell your grandfather I've got all the guilty furnace operators under custody, and the person who destreamed the microgee module squirts."

Tell Grandpa, indeed. Like she was some sort of second-rate office messenger. "Oh, yah. Is Norman Knowles under sedation yet? Mr Tyo's report said he put up quite a struggle."

"How the bloody hell did you know that?"

"My executive code gives me access to all the security division communications." She regretted saying it instantly, flinching inwardly at how pompous she must've sounded.

"Oh. Well anyway, Knowles isn't going to be any more trouble. It's finished now, we're due down in another six hours."

"It isn't finished, Greg."

He frowned, inviting explanation.

She began to reel off her research findings, praying he wouldn't think she was talking down to him. The girls at school always said she talked as though she was delivering a lecture. But he listened intently, not interrupting like most people.