The Clearing by Dan Newman Page A

about, boys,” said Vincent in mock sincerity. “Nothing at all.” Then he turned and winked at them. “Well, not much to worry about – as long as it doesn’t take a dislike to you...” Then he threw his head back and laughed a belly laugh.
    â€œUncle Vince, quit it!” shouted Richard, half laughing himself, and the effect was only to ramp up the ham factor in his uncle, who twisted his laugh into the classic villain’s mwa-ha-ha .
    â€œYeah, quit it, Mr D,” said Nate, also smiling. “You’re scaring your son!”
    Tristan smiled acidly at the others, who all started laughing – including Pip. “I got nothing to be scared about – I’m the heir,” said Tristan defiantly. “I don’t get messed with...”
    Vincent laughed his laugh. He leaned over to Nate and spoke just loud enough to be heard above the growl of the engine. “What are they talking about, Nate? What’s up there, up at Ti Fenwe?”
    Nate had been wondering too, but didn’t want to be embarrassed by asking. “It’s nothing,” he said, looking up ahead to stop Pip seeing the lie in his face. “Just Vince and Tristan being stupid.”
    â€œYou sure?”
    â€œSure I’m sure. Don’t be such a baby, Pip. This is gonna be cool.”
    The Land Rover trundled on. It took the group further into the rainforest, deep under the canopy that blocked out the sun for minutes at a stretch, and on through a wet lushness that seemed to close in on them more with every turn of the old four-wheel-drive’s knobby tires.
    At last, the disorder of the forest fell away. The tangle of broad leaves, the sprawling vines woven through banks of lianas, the knots of bougainvillea tied inexorably to and through trees – it was all abruptly replaced by a strangely ordered scene of monoculture. Organised rows of tall and spacious nutmeg trees appeared, each with a sudden and jarring expanse of space around their trunks, and each laden with clusters of woody colored fruit among their waxy leaves. The lush forest had just suddenly stopped, the daylight washed back in, bright and dry. The boys drank in the space like clean, fresh air.
    Behind them, beyond the first few rows of nutmeg trees, was a green wall of jungle. Were it not for the ruts that had guided them in, those two brown furrows, the expansive green snarl would seem an impenetrable barrier designed to let no one leave. As Nate looked forward again, he saw Vincent was grinning. It was clear he was the king of this land, and he basked unabashedly in his own return.
    But the boys all liked Vincent. He was larger than life, and they liked him all the more for the fact that their parents collectively regarded him with mild suspicion. He was the De Villiers family bad boy, and with Tristan, it appeared the apple had come to rest just inches from the husky, weather-beaten trunk.
    Nate knew from listening to his parents that Tristan was thought of as “just like his father” – but he also knew it had never been meant as a compliment. Tristan lived, as his father did, swathed in an uncontested miasma of entitlement, and the reality was that the De Villiers family name alone was enough to extract him from whatever trouble he managed to get himself into. But it was the same sense of privilege that made Tristan so interesting to others; he had no sense of boundaries, and no inhibitions brought on by the financial and social implications of his actions. He was a De Villiers, and on the tiny island that sparkled like a jewel in the Caribbean, that was enough.
    â€œNot far now, boys,” yelled Vincent over his shoulder. “Not far now!” Vincent forced the Land Rover into gear stiffly and the old box-shaped four-wheel-drive lurched forward with a new determination. The vehicle followed the two dark scars in the earth that rounded the edge of the nutmeg orchard, and then gathered speed as