Ark Angel Part 6

But there hadn't been a single guard in sight.

THE LAP OF LUXURY.

"Welcome to Neverglade," Paul Drevin said.

Alex stepped out of the luxury car that had brought him here and looked around. He had seen wealth before. He had once gone undercover as the son of a supermarket magnate, which had meant spending a week in a mansion in Lancashire. But this place was something else again.

His first sight of Drevin's country estate had been a pretty but very ordinary gatehouse on a country lane about twenty miles north of Oxford. But even here, Alex had noticed the high walls and woodland surrounding the estate, and the closed-circuit television cameras rotating discreetly between the trees. The driveway must have been a mile long, emerging from the woods into fields so perfectly mown it was hard to believe they were made of gra.s.s. On one side was a lake with two jet skis and a Lapwing wooden sailing boat moored beside a jetty. On the other, partly hidden in a slight dip, a miniature racing circuit twisted and turned, with its own grandstand for spectators. Four of the most beautiful horses Alex had ever seen were grazing in a paddock. The sun was shining. It was as if the summer had returned.

And there was Neverglade. It wasn't a house but a fourteenth-century castle with its own moat, battlements, towers and outlying church. It was built of grey stone, with dark green ivy spreading diagonally across the face. Alex caught his breath as they drove towards it and crossed the drawbridge. The castle didn't seem real. It was like something out of a picture book. And why had it been built here of all places? He wondered why he had never heard or seen pictures of it before.

Alex wished now that Jack Starbright had decided to come.

She had seemed uneasy and deep in thought in the taxi home from the Waterfront, but it was only later in the evening that she announced her decision.

"I'd love to come with you, Alex," she said. "And I'd love to watch this rocket being launched. But I can't. I haven't seen my mum and dad for nearly a year, and I need to go back home to Washington DC. It's their wedding anniversary next week, and this would be a good opportunity to take a vacation. You're safe, and you're going to be well looked after. Anyway, you've got Paul Drevin. He's your age and you won't want me hanging around. So go and enjoy yourself. And just you make sure you don't get into any more trouble. Rest and recuperation. That's what the doctor said."

This time Nikolei Drevin had sent a uniformed chauffeur to pick Alex up and he had arrived in a Rolls-Royce, a pale blue Corniche with a retracting hood. They had cruised out of London and up the M40, the 6.75 litre V8 engine effortlessly gliding past all the other traffic as if the roads had been built exclusively for its use. Now the car disappeared round the side of the house as Paul Drevin came out to greet him.

The last time Alex had seen the other boy, he had been wearing a dressing gown and pyjamas. Now he was dressed in jeans and a loose-fitting jersey. He looked a lot healthier than he had in hospital but there was more to it than that. He was more confident. This was his home, his territory, and one day he would inherit it. Alex had to remind himself that this boy was probably a multimillionaire himself. His weekly pocket money probably arrived in a security van. Suddenly Alex wondered if coming here had been a good idea.

"Quite a place," he said as they walked towards the front door, their feet crunching on the gravel.

"My father had it built here. The castle used to be somewhere in Scotland. It was falling down so he bought it and shipped it here, piece by piece, and then put it back together again. Come on, I'll show you your room."

Alex followed Paul into an entrance hall with flagstones, tapestries and a fireplace big enough to burn a bus. As they climbed up a majestic staircase, they pa.s.sed paintings by Pica.s.so, Warhol, Hockney and Lucian Freud. Nikolei Drevin obviously liked modern art.

"What you did at the hospital was amazing," Paul said. "Did you really mean to take my place?"

"Well, it just sort of happened..."

"If those men had kidnapped me, they were going to cut my finger off!" Paul shuddered and Alex wondered how he knew about that. The exact details of what had happened at Hornchurch Towers hadn't been in the papers. But he a.s.sumed that for a man like Drevin, even the most cla.s.sified information wouldn't be hard to get. "They nearly killed you because of me," Paul went on. "I don't know what to say."

"There's no need to say anything."

"I'm glad you agreed to come."

Alex shrugged. "Your dad made it difficult for me to refuse."

"Yes. He's like that." They had reached the top of the stairs. Paul took out an inhaler and puffed at it twice. "I have asthma," he explained.

"That's bad luck."

"This way..." They walked down a corridor with ornate wooden doors at intervals on either side. "There are thirty bedrooms," Paul told him. "I don't know why we need so many. They're never full. I've put you next to me. If you want anything, just pick up the phone. It's like living in a hotel, except you don't have to pay."

They came to an open door and went into a bedroom with windows looking out over the lake. The chauffeur must have come in through another entrance; Alex's luggage was on the bed. The room was modern. Alex took in the plasma screen television mounted on the wall, the console with DVD, video and PlayStation, the phone with about a dozen b.u.t.tons for the different services it provided, a shelf of books all brand new by the look of them the bathroom with bath, power shower and jacuzzi. Drevin had promised him a luxurious lifestyle and he had certainly been true to his word.

"What do you want to do?" Paul asked.

"You tell me."

"Well, we can go horse-riding if you like. We've got two swimming pools: indoor and out. Later we can watch a film. There's a cinema and Dad gets all the new releases. We can play tennis or golf, or go clay pigeon shooting. You saw the lake; we can go jet-skiing or sailing or fishing or whatever. I suppose I'd better start by showing you around. That'll take most of the day, and Dad's having dinner with us tonight. It's up to you."

Alex didn't know what to say. "I don't mind."

"Well, I'll show you the house and then we can grab a couple of quad bikes and I'll take you round the grounds. There are about two hundred acres. Are you hungry?"

"No. I'm fine."

"Then let's go."

"Right." Alex tried to sound enthusiastic, but somehow he couldn't.

Paul had picked up on this. "I guess this must be very weird for you," he said. "You don't know me and you probably don't even like me. Not a lot of people do. They think I'm a rich, spoilt brat and if they come here at all it's only because of all the free stuff. My father invited you because he wanted to thank you for what you did at the hospital. But it was more than that. He's hoping we're going to be friends and it's the one thing he can't actually buy. Friendship. But I'll understand if you want to take your bags and get the h.e.l.l out of here. Sometimes I feel the same."

Alex thought for a moment. "No," he said. "I'm glad to be here. I can't go back to school and I'm meant to be resting for the next couple of weeks, and to be honest, I've got nowhere else to go. So if your dad wants to treat me like a multimillionaire, I'm not going to complain."

"OK." Paul looked relieved. "We're going to New York on Sunday and that'll be cool. And then there's Flamingo Bay. Have you tried kite-surfing?"

Alex shook his head.

"I can show you how to do it. We're on the Atlantic side so we get huge waves." Paul had suddenly become more animated and Alex found himself warming to him. "Let's start in the cinema," he said. "We can work our way down..."

Two hours later, they still hadn't finished. Alex had seen more wealth than he could possibly imagine. This wasn't how the other half lived. There were probably only a handful of people in the world with the resources of Nikolei Drevin. Anything he wanted he could have from the medieval suit of armour outside the dining room to the two Polaris MSX jet skis out on the lake. He had also learnt a little more about Paul's background. He was an only child. His parents had divorced when he was six and his mother was now living in America. He saw her a couple of times a year, but she and his father never spoke. When Paul was younger he had gone to an ordinary school, but in the end there had been too many security problems and now he was being educated by private tutors. Part of the house had been converted into a school. Alex had seen it and felt sad. There were books and blackboards, desks and computers. But no schoolchildren. No shouting. No real life.

At five o'clock he went back to his room and dozed for an hour, then showered and changed for dinner. He had seen the grand dining room at Neverglade with its chandeliers and antique oak table long enough to seat twenty and he was relieved that they would be eating in the conservatory next to the kitchen. This was a pretty room with marble columns, Italian tiles and exotic plants in huge terracotta pots. Nikolei Drevin was already there when he arrived.

"Please come in, Alex. Take a seat." Drevin was drinking wine. He had changed into jeans and a denim jacket, and Alex couldn't help thinking that the clothes didn't suit him. He was somehow too old for them. He was a man born to wear a suit.

"Will you have some wine?" Drevin asked. "Or perhaps a beer?"

"Water will be fine," Alex replied.

"In Russia, children drink alcohol from an early age."

The door opened and a young woman came in, carrying the first course on a tray: melon and serrano ham. Alex had no idea how many people worked at Neverglade; the servants had the knack of staying invisible, except when they were needed. He helped himself to iced water. Paul arrived and sat down without speaking. The servant left and the three of them were alone.

"Has Paul shown you around?" Drevin asked.

"Yes. It's quite a place."

"I bought it when I first came to your country. The original Neverglade was a sixteenth-century manor house. There's a story that Queen Elizabeth I stayed there and saw a production of Twelfth Night Twelfth Night in the great hall. But I wasn't fond of the architectural style. The house was too dark, and it only had eleven bedrooms. It was too small." in the great hall. But I wasn't fond of the architectural style. The house was too dark, and it only had eleven bedrooms. It was too small."

"What happened to it?"

Drevin sighed. "A dreadful accident. It burned down. This present castle rose out of the ashes or rather, I brought it here. I liked it the moment I saw it. The only problem was that it was in Scotland. But happily I was able to do something about that. Have the two of you decided what you're going to do tomorrow?"

"I thought we might go for a walk," Paul said.

Drevin turned on him and Alex saw something flash in the grey eyes. It was very brief and he couldn't be certain, but it was almost a look of contempt. "Surely you can think of something more adventurous than that!" he said. "Why don't you take the horses out? Or the dirt bikes? Of course, you're both recuperating. Paul from his appendix operation. And you, Alex" the eyes came to rest on him "from your cycling accident."

"Yes." Was Drevin questioning his story? "I went over the handlebars and hit a fence."

"You must have been going very fast."

"I was, until I hit the fence."

"Then perhaps dirt bikes aren't the best idea." Drevin thought for a moment. His fingers were tugging at his ring but his face gave nothing away. This was a man who was used to keeping his secrets to himself. "I'll tell you what," he said. "I have a conference call tomorrow morning. With the launch just over a week away, I have to keep in constant contact with my own people as well as NASA and, of course, the British government. But in the afternoon, how would you like to race against me?"

"On horses?"

"Go-karts. You may have seen I have a track here. I built it for Paul, although I'm afraid he seldom uses it."

"I do use it," Paul protested. "But it's no fun when you've no one to race against."

Drevin ignored him. "I have several karts," he went on. "You'll find it quite exhilarating, Alex. You against me. What do you say?"

"Sure." Alex didn't much like the sound of it but there was something about the way he was being asked. He'd felt the same when Drevin had invited him to stay. He wasn't really being given a choice.

"And to make it more fun, why don't we have a bet? If you beat me, I'll give you a thousand pounds."

"I'm not sure I want a thousand pounds," Alex said. It wasn't the money that bothered him; he just wasn't sure he wanted to take it from this man.

"Well, in that case I'll give it to any charity you care to name. But you don't need to worry. There is absolutely no chance that you will win. Paul can be the flagman. Shall we say two o'clock?"

"All right."

Drevin picked up his knife and fork and began to eat. Alex noticed that his son hadn't touched his food. Already he could sense the gulf between them. It was obvious with every word that was spoken, every moment that they spent together. Once again he asked himself what he was doing here. And once again he found himself wondering if it had been such a good idea to come.

Two hours later, Alex was making his way back to his room on his own. Nikolei Drevin had gone out into the garden to smoke a cigar. Paul had announced he was tired and had already gone to bed.

He was walking down the main corridor on the ground floor. There was a fully equipped gymnasium and an Olympic-sized indoor swimming pool at the far end, and Alex was tempted to go for a swim before bed. He wasn't tired any more. He wanted to dive into the warm water and wash away some of the memories of his first day at Neverglade. He was tempted to ring Jack Starbright. She would have arrived in America by now. He was still sorry she had decided not to come with him, and he was worried he had let her down. Maybe he should have gone with her.

His path took him past the double doors of Drevin's study. Paul had pointed it out earlier but they hadn't gone in. On an impulse he stopped and looked left and right. The corridor stretched on, empty, in both directions, its black and white tiles giving it the appearance of the world's longest chessboard. He turned the handle. The door opened. Without quite knowing what he was doing, Alex switched on the light and went in.

The study was enormous, dominated by a ma.s.sive gla.s.s and steel desk shaped like a crescent moon. The wood floor was partly covered by a Persian rug that must have taken years to weave. Behind the desk were gla.s.s doors leading out onto the front lawn. Alex counted four phones on the desk, as well as two computers, a printer, several piles of doc.u.ments and a series of clocks showing time zones all over the world. There was one small picture of Paul in a silver frame.

If Alex had hoped that this room would tell him a little more about his host, he was disappointed. Nikolei Drevin was very rich and very powerful but he didn't need an oversized desk and a stack of expensive equipment to tell him that. One of the walls was covered with photos and Alex went over to them. This was more like it. He had at least found one tiny c.h.i.n.k in the man's impressive armour. Vanity. The wall was a gallery of celebrities.

There were photographs of Drevin with pop stars and actors, photographs taken at glitzy parties and de luxe hotels. He showed little emotion in any of them, but even so Alex could tell that he was quietly pleased to be there. Here was Drevin with Tom Cruise, Drevin with Julia Roberts, Drevin chatting to Steven Spielberg on the set of his latest film. He was in Whitehall with the prime minister (who was smiling cheesily) and in Washington with the president of the United States. Here he was shaking hands with the Russian president Alex was surprised to find himself looking at the bloated face of Boris Kiriyenko. The two of them had met when Alex had been a prisoner on the island of Skeleton Key.

The pope had given Drevin an audience. So had Nelson Mandela in Cape Town. Some of the pictures had been taken from newspapers, and the headlines told the story of his life in bold, simple statements: DREVIN MOVES TO THE UK.

DREVIN RICHER THAN THE QUEEN.

DREVIN BUILDS 50 MILLION OXFORDSHIRE HOME.

DREVIN BUYS STRATFORD EAST.

This last headline was accompanied by a photograph of Drevin with Adam Wright, the England striker who had been his first major purchase for his new team. Alex glanced at the other articles.

DREVIN ANNOUNCES ARK ANGEL PLANS.

DREVIN BUYS WATERFRONT HOTEL.

DREVIN MOVES INTO LONDON PROPERTY MARKET.

There was a movement behind him.

Nikolei Drevin had come into the study through the French windows. He was still holding his cigar and was examining Alex curiously. "Alex? What are you doing in here?" There was no anger in his voice. He seemed, if anything, just a little perplexed.

"I'm sorry." It took Alex a few seconds to find the words. He knew he was trespa.s.sing. On the other hand, the door hadn't been locked. "I was just on my way to bed. I hadn't been in here and I thought I'd take a look."

"This is my private study; I would prefer it if you didn't come in here."

"Of course. I was about to go but then I saw these pictures." Alex gestured at one of them. "You've met the Queen."

"Several times, as a matter of fact. She spoke a great deal about her horses. I didn't find her very interesting."

"And Nelson Mandela."

"Ah, yes. A great man. He gave me a signed copy of his book."

Silence and suspicion hung in the air between them.

"Well, I'd better go up," Alex said.

"Can you find your way?"

"Yes. Thank you." Alex smiled. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Alex was feeling dizzy. His left arm was throbbing. He left the study as casually as he could and didn't stop until he'd reached his own room on the second floor. He sat down heavily on the bed. He knew what he had just seen. But he couldn't make sense of it.

The last newspaper cutting had shown Drevin wearing a fluorescent jacket and hard hat, standing outside a derelict building in east London. Alex had recognized it at once and hadn't needed the banner, stretching out high in the background, to tell him its name.