Point Blanc

by Anthony Horowitz

  “Who are you?” she asked. “What are you doing in here?”

  “I’m Alex.”

  “Oh yes.” She reached for a towel and wrapped it around her neck. “Daddy said you were coming – but I didn’t expect you to just walk in like this.” Her voice was very adult and upper-class. It sounded strange, coming out of that fifteen-year-old mouth. “Do you swim?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Alex said.

  “That’s a shame. I don’t like having to share the pool. Especially with a boy. And a smelly London boy at that.” She ran her eyes over Alex, taking in the torn jeans, the shaven hair, the stud in his ear. She shuddered. “I can’t think what Daddy was doing, agreeing to let you stay,” she went on. “And having to pretend you’re my brother! What a ghastly idea! If I did have a brother, I can assure you he wouldn’t look like you.”

  Alex was wondering whether to pick the girl up and throw her back into the pool – or out through a window – when there was a movement behind him and he turned to see a tall, rather aristocratic man with curling grey hair and glasses, wearing a sports jacket, an open-necked shirt and cords. He too seemed a little jolted by Alex’s appearance, but he recovered quickly, extending a hand. “Alex?” he enquired.

  “Yes.”

  “I’m David Friend.”

  Alex shook his hand. “How do you do,” he said politely.

  “I hope you had a good journey. I see you’ve met my daughter.” He smiled at the girl who was now sitting beside the pool drying herself, ignoring them both.

  “We haven’t actually introduced ourselves,” Alex said.

  “Her name is Fiona. I’m sure the two of you will get on fine.” Sir David didn’t sound convinced. He gestured back towards the house. “Why don’t we go and talk in my study?”

  Alex followed him back across the drive and into the house. The front door opened into a hall that could have come straight out of the pages of an expensive magazine. Everything was perfect, the antique furniture, ornaments and paintings placed exactly so. There wasn’t a speck of dust to be seen and even the sunlight streaming in through the windows seemed almost artificial, as if it was only there to bring out the best in everything it touched. It was the house of a man who knows exactly what he wants and has the time and the money to get it.

  “Nice place,” Alex said.

  “Thank you. Please come this way.” Sir David opened a heavy, oak-panelled door to reveal a sophisticated, modern office beyond. There was a desk with a chair on either side, a pair of computers, a white leather sofa and a series of metal bookshelves. Sir David showed Alex to a chair and sat down behind the desk.

  He was unsure of himself. Alex could see it immediately. Sir David Friend might run a business empire worth millions – even billions – of pounds, but this was a new experience for him. Having Alex there, knowing who and what he was. He wasn’t quite sure how to react.

  “I’ve been told very little about you,” he began. “Alan Blunt got in touch with me and asked me to put you up here for the rest of the week, to pretend that you’re my son. I have to say, you don’t look anything like me.”

  “I don’t look anything like myself either,” Alex said.

  “You’re on your way to some school in the French Alps. They want you to investigate it.” He paused. “Nobody asked me my opinion,” he said, “but I’ll give it to you anyway. I don’t like the idea of a fourteen-year-old boy being used as a spy. It’s dangerous—”

  “I can look after myself,” Alex cut in.

  “I mean, it’s dangerous to the government. If you manage to get yourself killed and anyone finds out, it could cause the prime minister a great deal of embarrassment. I advised him against it, but for once he disagreed with me. It seems that the decision had already been made. This school – the academy – has already telephoned me to say that the assistant director will be coming here to pick you up next Saturday. It’s a woman. A Mrs Stellenbosch. That’s a South African name, I think…”

  Sir David had a number of bulky files on his desk. He pushed them forward. “In the meantime, I understand you have to familiarize yourself with details about my family. I’ve prepared a number of files. You’ll also find information here about the school you’re meant to have been expelled from, Eton. You can start reading them tonight. If you need to know anything more, just ask. Fiona will be with you the whole time.” He glanced down at his fingertips. “I’m sure that in itself will be quite an experience for you.”

  The door opened and a woman came in. She was slim and dark-haired, very much like her daughter. She was wearing a simple mauve dress with a string of pearls around her neck. “David…” she began, then stopped, seeing Alex.

  “This is my wife,” Friend said. “Caroline, this is the boy I was telling you about, Alex.”

  “It’s very nice to meet you, Alex.” Lady Caroline tried to smile but her lips only managed a faint twitch. “I understand you’re going to stay with us for a while.”

  “Yes, Mother,” Alex said.

  Lady Caroline blushed.

  “He has to pretend to be our son,” Sir David reminded her. He turned to Alex. “Fiona doesn’t know anything about MI6 and the rest of it. I don’t want to alarm her. I’ve told her that it’s connected with my work … a social experiment, if you like. She’s to pretend you’re her brother. To give you a week in the country as part of the family. I’d prefer it if you didn’t tell her the truth.”

  “Dinner is in half an hour,” Lady Caroline said. “Do you eat venison?” She sniffed. “Perhaps you’d like a wash before you eat? I’ll show you to your room.”

  Sir David passed the files to Alex. “You’ve got a lot of reading to do. I’m afraid I have to go back to London tomorrow – I have lunch with the president of France – so I won’t be able to help you. But, as I say, if there’s anything you don’t know—”

  “Fiona Friend,” Alex said.

  Alex had been given a small, comfortable room at the back of the house. He took a quick shower, then put his old clothes back on again. He liked to feel clean, but he had to look grimy. It suited the character of the boy he was supposed to be.

  He opened the first of the files. Sir David had been thorough. He had given Alex the names and recent histories of just about the entire family, as well as photographs of holidays, details of the house in Mayfair, the flats in New York, Paris and Rome and the villa in Barbados. There were newspaper clippings, magazine articles … everything he could possibly need.

  A gong sounded. It was seven o’clock. Alex went downstairs and into the dining room. This was a room with six windows and a polished table long enough to seat sixteen. But there were only the three of them there: Sir David, Lady Caroline and Fiona. The food had already been served, presumably by a butler or maid. Sir David gestured to an empty chair. Alex sat down.

  “Fiona was just talking about Don Giovanni,” Lady Caroline said. There was a pause. “It’s an opera. By Mozart.”

  “I’m sure Alex isn’t interested in opera,” Fiona said. She was in a bad mood. “In fact, I doubt if we have anything in common. Why do I have to pretend he’s my brother? The whole thing is completely—”

  “Fiona,” Sir David muttered in a low voice.

  “Well, it’s all very well having him here, Daddy, but it is meant to be my Easter holiday.” Alex realized that Fiona must go to a private school. Her term would have ended earlier than his. “I don’t think it’s fair.”

  “Alex is here because of my work,” Sir David continued. It was strange, Alex thought, the way they talked about him as if he wasn’t actually there. “I know you have a lot of questions, Fiona, but you’re just going to have to do as I say. He’s only with us until the end of the week. I want you to look after him.”

  “Is it something to do with the supermarkets?” Fiona asked.

  “Fiona!” Sir David didn’t want any more argument. “It’s what I told you. An experiment. And you will make him feel welcome!”

  Fiona picked up
her glass and looked directly at Alex for the first time since he had come into the room. “We’ll see about that,” she said.

  * * *

  The week seemed endless. After only two days, Alex had decided that if he had really been a son in this frigid, self-important family, he probably would have ended up rebelling. Sir David had left at six o’clock the first morning and was still in London, sending messages to his wife and daughter by e-mail. Lady Caroline did her best to avoid Alex. Once or twice she drove into the town nearby, but otherwise she seemed to spend a lot of time in bed. And Fiona…

  When she wasn’t quoting opera, she was boasting about her lifestyle, her wealth, her holidays around the world. At the same time, she made it clear how much she disliked Alex. She’d asked him several times what he was really doing at Haverstock Hall. Alex had shrugged and said nothing – which had made her dislike him all the more.

  On the third day, she introduced him to some of her friends.

  “I’m going shooting,” she told him. “I don’t suppose you want to come.”

  Alex shrugged. He had memorized most of the details in the files and figured he could easily pass as a member of the family. Now he was counting the hours until the woman from the academy arrived to take him away.

  “Have you ever been shooting?” Fiona asked.

  “No,” Alex said.

  “I go hunting and shooting,” Fiona said. “But of course, you’re a city boy. You wouldn’t understand.”

  “What’s so great about killing animals?” Alex asked.

  “It’s part of the country way of life. It’s traditional.” Fiona looked at him as if he were stupid. It was how she always looked at him. “Anyway, the animals enjoy it.”

  The shooting party turned out to be young and – apart from Fiona – entirely male. There were five of them waiting on the edge of a wood that was part of the Haverstock estate. Rufus, the leader, was sixteen, well-built with dark curly hair. He seemed to be Fiona’s official boyfriend. The others – Henry, Max, Bartholomew and Fred – were about the same age. Alex looked at them with a heavy heart. They had uniform Barbour jackets, tweed trousers, flat caps and Huntsman leather boots. They spoke with uniform public school accents. Each of them carried a shotgun, with the barrel broken over his arm. Two of them were smoking. They gazed at Alex with barely concealed contempt. Fiona must have already told them about him. The London boy.

  Quickly, she made the introductions. Rufus stepped forward.

  “Nice to have you with us,” he drawled. He ran his eyes over Alex. “Up for a bit of shooting are we?”

  “I don’t have a gun,” Alex said.

  “Well, I’m afraid I’m not going to lend you mine.” Rufus snapped the barrel back into place and held it up for Alex to see. It was eighty centimetres of gleaming steel stretching out of a dark walnut stock decorated with ornately carved, solid silver sideplates. “It’s an over-under shotgun with detachable trigger, hand-made by Abbiatico and Salvinelli,” he said. “It cost me thirty grand – or my mother, anyway. It was a birthday present.”

  “It can’t have been easy to wrap,” Alex said. “Where did she put the ribbon?”

  Rufus’s smile faded. “You wouldn’t know anything about guns,” he said. He nodded at one of the other teenagers, who handed Alex a much more ordinary weapon. It was old and a little rusty. “You can use this one,” he said. “And if you’re very good and don’t get in the way, maybe we’ll let you have a cartridge.”

  They all laughed at that. Then the two smokers put out their cigarettes and they set off into the wood.

  Thirty minutes later, Alex knew he had made a mistake in coming. The boys blasted away left and right, aiming at anything that moved. A rabbit spun in a glistening red ball. A wood pigeon tumbled out of the branches and flapped around on the leaves below. Whatever the quality of their weapons, the teenagers weren’t good shots. Many of the animals they shot were only wounded, and Alex felt a growing sickness following this trail of blood.

  They reached a clearing and paused to reload. Alex turned to Fiona. “I’m going back to the house,” he said.

  “Why? Can’t stand the sight of a little blood?”

  Alex glanced at a rabbit about fifty metres away. It was lying on its side with its back legs kicking helplessly. “I’m surprised they let you carry guns,” he said. “I thought you had to be seventeen.”

  Rufus had overheard him. He stepped forward, an ugly look in his eyes. “We don’t bother with rules in the countryside,” he muttered.

  “Maybe Alex wants to call a policeman!” Fiona said.

  “The nearest police station is forty miles from here.”

  “Do you want to borrow my mobile?”

  They all laughed again. Alex had had enough. Without saying another word, he turned round and walked off.

  It had taken them thirty minutes to reach the clearing, but thirty minutes later he was still stuck in the wood, completely surrounded by trees and wild shrubs. Alex realized he was lost. He was annoyed with himself. He should have watched where he was going when he was following Fiona and the others. The wood was enormous. Walk in the wrong direction and he might blunder onto the moors … and it could be days before he was found. At the same time, the spring foliage was so thick that he could barely see ten metres in any direction. How could he possibly find his way? And should he try to retrace his steps or continue forward in the hope of stumbling on the right path?

  Alex sensed danger before the first shot was fired. Perhaps it was the snapping of a twig or the click of a metal bolt being slipped into place. He froze – and that was what saved him. There was an explosion – loud, close – and a tree one step ahead of him shattered, splinters of wood dancing in the air.

  Alex turned round, searching for whoever had fired the shot. “What are you doing?” he shouted. “You nearly hit me!”

  Almost immediately there was a second shot and, just behind it, a whoop of excited laughter. And then Alex realized. They hadn’t mistaken him for an animal. They were aiming at him for fun!

  He dived forward and began to run. The trunks of the trees seemed to press in on him from all sides, threatening to bar his way. The ground beneath him was soft from recent rain and dragged at his feet, trying to glue them into place. There was a third explosion. He ducked, feeling the gunshot spray above his head, shredding the foliage.

  Anywhere else in the world, this would have been madness. But this was the middle of the English countryside and these were rich, bored teenagers who were used to having things their own way. Alex had insulted them. Perhaps it had been the jibe about the wrapping paper. Perhaps it was his refusal to tell Fiona who he really was. But they had decided to teach him a lesson and they would worry about the consequences later. Did they mean to kill him? “We don’t bother with rules in the countryside,” Rufus had said. If Alex was badly wounded – or even killed – they would somehow get away with it. A dreadful accident. He wasn’t looking where he was going and stepped into the line of fire.

  No. That was impossible.

  They were trying to scare him, that was all.

  Two more shots. A pheasant erupted out of the ground, a ball of spinning feathers, and screamed up into the sky. Alex ran on, his breath rasping in his throat. A thick briar reached out across his chest and tore at his clothes. He still had the gun he had been given and he used it to beat a way through. A tangle of roots almost sent him sprawling.

  “Alex? Where are you?” The voice belonged to Rufus. It was high-pitched and mocking, coming from the other side of a barrier of leaves. There was another shot, but this one went high over his head. They couldn’t see him. Had he got away?

  Alex came to a stumbling, sweating halt. He had broken out of the wood but he was still hopelessly lost. Worse – he was trapped. He had come to the edge of a wide, filthy lake. The water was a scummy brown and looked almost solid. No ducks or wild birds were anywhere near the surface. The evening sun beat down on it and the smell of decay drifted u
p.

  “He went that way!”

  “No … through here!”

  “Let’s try the lake…”

  Alex heard the voices and knew that he couldn’t let them find him here. He had a sudden image of his body, weighed down with stones, at the bottom of the lake. But that gave him an idea. He had to hide.

  He stepped into the water. He would need something to breathe through. He had seen people do this in films. They would lie in the water and breathe through a hollow reed. But there were no reeds here. Apart from grass and thick, slimy algae, nothing was growing at all.

  One minute later, Rufus appeared at the edge of the lake, his gun hooked over his arm. He stopped and looked around with eyes that knew the forest well. Nothing moved.

  “He must have doubled back,” he said.

  The other hunters had gathered behind him. There was a tension between them now, a guilty silence. They knew the game had gone too far.

  “Let’s forget him,” one of them said.

  “Yeah.”

  “We’ve taught him a lesson.”

  They were in a hurry to get home. The group disappeared back the way they had come. Rufus was left on his own, still clutching his gun, searching for Alex. He took one last look across the water, then turned to follow them.

  That was when Alex struck. He had been lying under the water, watching the vague shapes of the teenagers as if through a sheet of thick brown glass. The barrel of the shotgun was in his mouth. The rest of the gun was just above the surface of the lake. He was using the hollow tubes to breathe through. Now he rose up – a nightmare creature oozing mud and water, with fury in his eyes. Rufus heard him, but he was too late. Alex swung the shotgun, catching Rufus in the small of the back. Rufus grunted and fell to his knees, his own gun falling out of his hands. Alex picked it up. There were two cartridges in the breach. He snapped the gun shut.

  Rufus looked at him and suddenly all the arrogance had gone and he was just a stupid, frightened teenager, struggling to get to his knees.

  “Alex!” The single word came out as a whimper. It was as if he was seeing Alex for the first time. “I’m sorry!” he snivelled. “We weren’t really going to hurt you. It was a joke. Fiona put us up to it. We just wanted to scare you. Please!”