They are on the terrace that hangs out over the steep cliff-path down to the fjord, where a small wharf has replaced the jetty. The water is still, a canoe comes into view and glides in under the trees.

‘So where are Jericho and Bili?’ Milton asks Jim, the manager. ‘Weren’t they to meet us here today?’

That had been the plan, for them to come here with the German television crew as soon as they were finished in Collingwood Bay. Approaching in the plane, Martha had looked across to the wide scoop of land continuing into the distance, east from the fjords. An uninterrupted tract of forest, saved by the landowners’ resistance, and Bili’s tenacity. The crew are booked to leave the fjords on the flight that will bring Leonard and Laedi in two days’ time.

‘They’re held up,’ Jim says. He spoke to Bili on the radio early that morning. The dinghy has arrived, but they have a sick boy with them and can’t leave until the elders decide what should be done. Bili wants him taken out to Moresby. The family says it’s sorcery, and they don’t want him leaving their land. There might be a delay while it’s decided. Bili, Jim says, is very determined.

‘Tomorrow?’ Martha asks.

‘Hopefully,’ Jim says. Then someone calls, and he goes off, always busy, leaving Martha and Milton alone on the terrace.

Neither of them entirely welcomes the prospect. Thirty years is a long time and, as Martha learned in Moresby, the ease of youth doesn’t necessarily translate into ease now. In a strange way, old familiarity adds to current unease. They watch two parrots on the railing. The female, glossy in green and red, takes the chunk of banana that’s been left for them. While she pecks at it, the male bats her aside and takes it. She acquiesces, turns her back, droops her head. The male ignores her, finishes eating and flies off. Shreeesh. Martha laughs. Milton doesn’t.

‘You know Jericho’s been to stay with us at the school,’ he says.

Martha nods. ‘How did you find him?’

‘There’s a lot of Leonard in him. At least, that’s what I thought at first, and that it’d be best if he could accept that England is where he belongs. But I came to see I was wrong. It’s not just out of curiosity that he asks about the past, there’s a part of him still tied here.’ He turns towards Martha and the awkwardness eases. ‘He was on the mountain for a long time. When he came down he was different.’

‘Different how?’ Martha asks.

‘More Papuan. Less English.’ He frowns. ‘He and Hector were like this.’ He holds up two crossed fingers.

‘Who’s Hector?’

‘A cousin. The son of one of Janape’s brothers. He was at school at Martyrs. Smart boy, when he wasn’t playing the fool. He should have stayed on, he could have made a contribution. I tried to get him to think about government, but he’d make a joke of it and crinkle his hands as if he was counting the money. He went back to the mountain.’