“I can’t stay for long,” she says as my boots crunch towards her.

“Nobody’s asking you to,” I respond sullenly.

She tips her head to one side. “You’re in a mood.”

“What’s the Director doing at your house?” I’m certainly in no mood to fool around, or to be made a fool of.

“Oh, he wants to consult my uncle on an engineering problem. Something very important, top-secret.”

“So you have a party.”

Her laughter rises swiftly, like music, and its falseness repulses me. “No, silly. That’s not a party. We are having a special dinner, of course! Then my uncle will take the Director into another room when they are ready to discuss the engineering problem.”

“They could do that at the House of Law,” I persist, wanting to score a point.

My anger seems unreasonable. Just because the Director is visiting Emee’s house – what should I care? Or maybe it’s because he kissed her hand.

“Ye-es,” she drawls, “they could talk about it at the House of Law. But how much more comfortable to do it at our house.”

Her tone contains an echo of the aunt and, simmering, I remember the caged bird twined in her hair.

She turns with a secret smile and I follow her to a bench by a fountain – the water the only sound in the park – and we sit side by side.

“Why are you in such a mood? I thought you Cerels are supposed to be a happy-go-lucky bunch who don’t let anything worry you too much.”

A snort. “Is that what the Director says?”

“The Director says many things,” Emee says mysteriously. “Well?”

The fight goes out of me. “I’ve got over it.”

Emee sighs. “I should get back.” Though she makes no move. “My aunt is besotted with the Director.” Besotted, the word rings in my head.“It’s embarrassing.” She sighs. “They probably won’t notice I’m gone. Not until they sit down to eat.” A dark pause. “Although the Director does like to talk to me – he’ll miss me if I’m not there.”

“What do you talk about?”

“Oh,” she says breezily, “all sorts of things … he has a brilliant mind, you know.”

A movement through the long grass rustles behind us. Maybe a rat; hopefully not a snake.

“Still, things would be different if my parents were alive.”

“Do you miss them?” I wonder.

Emee plays with a ribbon on her dress. “I miss being part of a proper family. They died when I was so young, though I still remember my mother singing to me.”

The water in the fountain burbles on. A yawn escapes me. It’s nice and cool here, sitting in the dark. I should like to sleep in this park away from the sticky heat.

“Where are your parents?” she murmurs.

“My mother is at home with us. My father is in one of the wild camps.”