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 massive glass 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 glass doors leading out onto the front lawn. Alex counted four phones on the desk, as well as two computers, a printer, several piles of documents 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 chink 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
