Crocodile Tears Read Online Free PDF Page B

proud-eyed women in tartan and bonnets. Suits of armor had been placed in many of the alcoves, and crossed swords stood guard over every archway and door. The animals they had killed—stags, foxes, wild boar—looked down on the scene with their disembodied heads and glass eyes. Coats of arms dotted the walls, the fireplace, even the windows.
    Desmond McCain must have spent a fortune on the party, ensuring that at the very least his guests would get value for their money. A buffet table reached from one end of the hall to the other, piled high with great slabs of beef and salads, whole salmon, venison, and—on a giant silver platter—a roast suckling pig complete with angry eyes and an apple in its mouth. There were dozens of different wines and spirits, punch bowls, and as many as fifty brands of malt whisky in bottles of various shapes. One archway led to a dance floor, another to a fully equipped casino with roulette, blackjack, and poker. Somehow, McCain had managed to park a brand-new Mini Convertible in the hallway. It was the first prize in a raffle that also included a Kawasaki 260X Jet Ski and a two-week Caribbean cruise—all of them had been given free to First Aid by wealthy sponsors.
    Outside, the snow was still falling. The wind was cutting through the night like a scalpel. But all that was forgotten as, inside, the guests enjoyed the warmth of each other’s company and the spirit of the celebration as the minutes ticked down to the New Year.
    And yet, despite all this, Alex and Sabina felt out of place. Not many other teenagers had been invited, and the ones they met all lived locally, seemed to be at least six feet tall, and clearly regarded them as outsiders. Alex and Sabina ate together, had a couple of sodas, and made their way to the dance floor—but even here they didn’t feel comfortable, surrounded by adults twisting and swaying to music that hadn’t been popular in decades.
    “I’ve had enough of this,” Sabina announced as the band lurched into an ABBA classic.
    Alex knew what she meant. The center of the dance floor was dominated by three bald men in kilts, jabbing their fingers into the air to the tune of “Money, Money, Money.” He glanced at his watch. It was only ten past eleven. “I don’t think we can leave yet, Sabina,” he said.
    “Have you seen my dad?”
    “He was talking to one of the politicians.”
    “Probably hoping to get a story. He never stops.”
    “Come on, Sabina. Cheer up. This place is meant to be hundreds of years old. Let’s go and explore.”
    They pushed their way off the dance floor and headed down the nearest corridor. The stone walls twisted around, and the music and the noise of the party were cut off almost at once. Another corridor led off of it, this one decorated with tapestries and heavy gilt mirrors with glass blackened by age. At the end, they came to a staircase that led to one of the towers, and suddenly they found themselves outside, surrounded by a low brick wall, looking out into the white-spotted blackness that the night had become.
    “That’s better,” Sabina said. “I was suffocating in there.”
    “Are you cold?” Alex could see the snow falling gently onto her bare neck and shoulders.
    “I’ll be all right for a minute.”
    “Here.” He took off his jacket and handed it to her.
    “Thanks.” She slipped it on. There was a pause. “I wish I didn’t have to go back to America,” she said.
    The words jolted Alex. He had forgotten momentarily that she would be returning in a few days’ time. She’d enrolled at a school in San Francisco, where the family was living, and it would be a while before they saw each other again. He’d miss her. The thought saddened him. He’d seen so much of Sabina over the Christmas break that he’d gotten used to having her around. “Maybe I could come over for the Easter holidays,” he said.
    “Have you been to San Francisco?”
    “Once. My uncle took me on a business trip. At least,